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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

Text

Jay Halstead x Reader

The Return

Written by @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: swearing, pregnancy, birth, medical jargon that may not be accurate, Erin Lindsay bashing

Meeting detective Hailey Upton had been more nerve wracking than meeting Jay’s brother Will. He and Hailey were just closer, they had the same job, saw the same things, and had an irreplaceable trusting bond. You never, at any point felt threatened or worried by her presence or relationship with Jay. It was because of their bond that you were nervous, it was important for her to give you the stamp of approval.

You’d all met up at a nice family owned Italian restaurant. You’d all talked about movies, the blackhawks, and food before finally coming to a crucial topic; work. You were an OR nurse at MED while putting yourself through med school, you’d seen and operated on enough cops to know what you were getting into. It could happen at any point, it could easily go south, and you would not be alone in the waiting room if it happened. Miraculously you passed with flying colours, becoming good friends with her.

After that you met the rest of the team when they all went to Adam and Kim’s place to watch the cubs game. Kim was glowing, pregnancy going well aside from her vicious morning sickness, and she took to liking you as well when you made sure she got to eat first. Adam, Kevin, and yourself bonded over your love of puns and bad jokes. Vanessa and Antonio started speaking in rapid Spanish with you, creating a quick and lovable bond. Hank just shook your hand and nodded at you, you weren’t sure what that meant but Antonio assured you it was a good thing.

—————��————————————

You were putting the finishing touches on your ensemble for the CPD Chief’s gala when Jay appeared behind you. “Hey hon, are you ready to- holy fuck you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you Jay. You look handsome.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

——————————————————-

You made your way to Vanessa who was talking with Kevin with a distressed look on her face. “Hey! What’s wrong? We’re at a party with an open bar, what’s with the long face?”

“Uh....... Nothing? You know what, let’s find Hailey. And bug her about Dr Bekker.” You already suspected something was off but knew for sure when you felt Jay go completely rigid. “Jay?” You’d turned to look at him and he was completely pale, looking like he was seeing a nightmare. You followed his eyes to a gorgeous woman standing next to Hank and arguing with Kim in a sleek black dress. “What is she doing here? Why is she here?”

“Who? Who is she Jay?” Kevin and Adam came up to try and support Jay, move him into a chair. The lost and betrayed look in his eyes made it all click in place for you. “Erin.” It was as if she heard you from across the room, she turned and looked at Jay before meeting your eyes with a guarded look.

————————————

You were all seated at the same table and it was fucking awkward. Jay had his arm or hand on or around you the whole time. Erin was clenching her jaw and looked like there should’ve been steam coming out of her ears. Food was served and speeches were made and it was clear that Erin was still unhappy. Despite the fact that she was seated across from him, Jay refused to look her in the eye. It wasn’t nerves, those had worn off, he was pissed. And rightfully so. Voight invited her as his plus one. He didn’t tell anybody, didn’t warn anybody. Everyone was exchanging funny stories, barring Jay, Erin, and Voight. Jay wasn’t opening his mouth except to eat, Voight was glared into silence, and Erin was always cut off by Kim or Hailey.

“So, Y/N/N, any funny patient stories for us?” Erin perked up at Adam’s question. “Oh, you’re a doctor?”

“No, I’m an OR nurse at Chicago med.”

“Hmph. Not smart enough to be a doctor, then?”

“I just couldn’t afford medical school at the time I went to university. I managed to save up enough and get enough scholarship money to start medical school and stuff a few years ago. So now I’m working part time in the OR and I finish medical school this year. As long as I do well, I’ll get a placement for my residency in three months.”

“Oh.”

“So, to answer Adam’s question, last week we had to surgically remove a brand-new toilet brush that a man had shoved so far up his own anus, that it looked like he had a bunny tail.” Kevin choked on his water for a moment before spitting it out all over the centrepiece flowers. “Hahaha, oh my god! Are you serious?!”

“Unfortunately.”

Erin’s bitter voice broke through the hyena-like laughter of the rest of the table. “Saying the word ‘anus’ is a bit uncouth don’t you think?” Kim stared at her, regarding her in disbelief as she mouthed the word ‘uncouth’.

“Not particularly, no, considering it is the medical term for that part of the body and part of the name of a planet.” You shrugged her comment and mood off. It was pretty damn clear why she was behaving like a bratty spoiled child, and it said a lot more about her than it did about you. Besides, it felt like it would be a complete waste of energy to entertain her need for a verbal martial arts battle. She just wasn’t worth it.

“She’s got a point, besides Lindsay, if you make what she says dirty that’s really on you and not her.” Jay shrugged and kiss the top of your forehead.

———————————————

You were encompassed in the warmth of Jay. Low jazz was playing through the speakers as the two of you swayed softly, your head on his chest soothed by his steady heartbeat. At some point Jay had started to hum along to the music and you felt all the stress and anxiety buried deep inside of you just melt away. Nothing but you and the man you love existed. You were in your own glowing golden bubble of warmth and love.

You moved your head up and kissed him on the side of the mouth, humming along with him. He spun you around, tugging a joyous laugh from you throat before tugging you back and leaning his forehead against yours. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, his around your lower back. Your noses moved around one another as your dancing slowed to a stop. It didn’t matter that you lived together, or that you’d been dating for four years, your heart was beating faster than it had the first time you kissed Jay. Suddenly your bubble had burst, you screamed and jumped away from Jay when you felt cold and wet all over your exposed back. The warmth was gone, replaced by a pitcher of ice and water that had been dumped on you courtesy of one Erin Lindsay.

———————————————

The floral smelling bath bomb you’d decided to finally use was just the thing to treat yourself to after your boyfriend’s ex decided to dump ice water on you at a public and major gala right before being called into an emergency at work. While your boyfriend had jumped into action, moving you towards the bathroom to dry up and offering his coat, your newly-made friends jumped to help you and defend you. A very angry and very pregnant Kim escorted you to her car with her husband while Voight made Jay and Erin ‘have a talk’. The only person who didn’t scowl at that news was Erin. Adam kept looking at you and asking if you were okay in the rear view mirror. “Adam, I’m okay. Annoyed, fuck yes, but I’m okay. And I know Jay will be too. I’m not worried.”

“You’re not? Even with their history?”

“No, I’m not worried. We talked about her when we started getting serious actually. She was an incredibly important person in his life, and she turned into a very vicious skeleton in the closet. I’ve got my own skeletons, too, everyone does. I know that he was hurt. Little shocked when he saw her at first, but Jay didn’t talk about everything that happened with her in depth with anyone but me. So I know what’s going on in his head, and I have a pretty good idea of what he’s going to say to her.”

You’d only been home (and dry) for half an hour before you got an ‘all hands on deck’ page from MED. Hastily pulling yourself together and running the three blocks between your apartment and the hospital. There had been a collision which caused several others, leading you to the OR for back to back surgeries for a total of fifteen hours. You’d been dismissed with the promise of forty eight hours off and an impressed nod from your boss.

You’d missed Jay because he’d had to go into work but smiled at the loving note he’d left on the fridge, along with a container of your favourite take out. Your heart absolutely soared at the thought of him.

Stepping out of the tub you patted yourself dry and dressed in soft shorts and sweater. Padding down to the kitchen, excitement at the thought of food bubbling up. The smell of your favourite take out wafted out of the container as you moved it onto a plate. Exhaustion was creeping up and taking hold of you as you shovelled food into your mouth. You welcomed the exhaustion and went to bed, leaving your dirty plate in the kitchen, something you wouldn’t normally do.

———————————————

When Jay returned to your shared apartment well into the evening you could tell that he was worn out. “Tough case?”

“No, actually. It was pretty straight forward, it’s just that Erin kept trying to call me. Since we were in the middle of a case Voight wouldn’t let her up but she kept calling me and Voight kept giving me these looks... I’m just glad that the case is shut, the day is over, and that I got to come home to you.” He gave you a peck on the lips, you could feel the soft smile that he had. “Dinner’s almost ready, would you mind setting the table?”

“Not at all.” You sat across from him at the small table pushed to the side of your kitchen, really looking at him. He looked tired, weighed down, but the tension gripping his body did seem to be lessening the more he was home, the more he ate, and the more he spoke. His eyes were light and happy, truthfully he looked a bit like a puppy. “I have time off tomorrow. Would you want to head up to the cabin?”

“Just for the day?”

“I know that it would be a lot of driving just for a day trip, but yeah.”

“Just to get out of the city for a bit?”

“Exactly.”

“You know it’s not that late, if we left now we could be there in a couple of hours, pick up some groceries on the way, we won’t need much. Wake up there, drive back in the evening.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“On a regular basis. And I love you too, so, so much.”

“How about you pack the necessities and I’ll clean up the kitchen?”

—————————————————-

You and Jay were on the road in forty minutes, just leaving Chicago as dusk started to dissolve into night. Jay’s secret country playlist was winding its was out of the speakers, the silence between the two of you was peaceful. The cooler bag filled with quick meals and leftovers Jay whipped together, removing the need for a grocery store. The coolness of the night encompassed you both, and the further you got from Chicago the heavier your eyelids got. A deep chuckle left your boyfriends throat. “Get some sleep, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

——————————————

Jay Halstead was a dirty liar. He didn’t wake you up when he got to the cabin, instead he went in ahead to put the power and water on, put away the food, changed the sheets, dusted quickly, and then carried you in and put you in bed. And when you woke up and realized what he did, he even put on your pajamas for you, all he could do was kiss your nose and tell you how adorable you were when you pouted. Leftover stir fry was breakfast for the both of you. You were miffed that he did everything alone last night, and in the back of your mind you knew it was because he felt guilty about Erin showing up, but you couldn’t be mad at him. Not when he’d made your favourite food while you were packing last night. “Are you wanting to fish at all today or just swim?”

“Just swim around, we’ve missed the part of the morning that’s best for fishing and honestly I’m not really in the mood for it, unless you want to fish. I can take the boat over to the marina and pick up some bait if you want.”

“I’m okay for today too, Jay. But I think it would be nice to take the boat over to the marina and get ice cream before we leave.”

“Ooh, yes. I’ll go check to see how much fuel we have for the boat.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you out on the dock in a minute, I’m just gonna deal with the dishes.”

“That’s a funny expression, ‘deal with the dishes’ you sound like your going to ground them for throwing a baseball through a window or something.”

“Haha, I guess it does.”

——————————————

The bottom of the lake was brown, a result of the rocky bottom, but it didn’t matter that it didn’t look like the perfect insta post. It was fresh, and clean, and stunning, even with the mosquitos the size of a dog. And that’s how the morning was spent, swimming around the lake and laughing, enjoying the lighter air and the refreshing feeling from swimming around underwater amongst the algae and skittish fish. Carefree joy was a good look on Jay. The image of him throwing his head back as he tread water with the lake glistening around him, the sun enhancing the beauty of all the trees, plants, and cabin on the shore far back behind him as birds called out to each other was one that captivated you. “What?” His shoulders were sagging back to their regular position and Jay tilted his head slightly at you. You swam a few strokes closer and kissed him. As deeply as you could while both of you were treading water in the middle of a lake. Your legs kicked each other’s as you worked to stay afloat without your arms. You gripped onto each other, just reveling in the love you both shared. It didn’t last long unfortunately, because neither of you could tread water entangled in another persons limbs and without your arms. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“On a regular basis. And I love you too. So, so much.”

——————————

Lunch had been absolutely delicious. What could be better than your favourite food, with your favourite person, in your favourite vacation spot, after a breathtaking kiss in the middle of a lake? Absolutely nothing. That’s what. What made the day even better was Jay taking you both over to the marina in the boat to get locally made ice cream. “Halstead, it’s good to see you again.”

“You too, Martin.”

“And who’s the lady you’ve brought with you?”

“This is Y/N, my girlfriend. How have you been? I didn’t see you the last couple of times i was here.”

“I was retired in Florida. Didn’t like the heat though, so I came back. I’m living in the old O’Reilly property, they needed something bigger cause it’s only one bedroom, but it’s perfect for a retiree like me.”

“So you’re back to micromanaging Josie?”

“No, she’s run this place better than I ever did, it’s in the best possible hands. What are you guys here for? It’s too late in the day for bait.”

“Ice cream, we’re driving back to Chicago tonight cause we both have to work tomorrow.”

“Shame, how long have you guys been up here for?”

“Oh, just today, we drove up last night. Just needed a break from the city, you know?”

“I do. Well I don’t want to keep the two of you from ice cream, but you’ll have to give me a holler the next time you or Will are up here, we’ll have dinner or something.”

”Definitely. I'll see you around.”

”And you should come too, Y/N, I have plenty of stories about your boy from when he was wee.”

”Oh, well, I would not miss that for anything.”

”What? No, come on, you don't want to listen to embarrassing stories about me.”

”I really, really do.”

”They have mint chip.”

”One day, I will hear those stories. One day.”

”I like you already, Y/N.”

-----------------------

You were a little sad to leave the cabin, even though you'd only really been there for 24 hours. It had been a nice escape of reality, and Josie had been more teasing than her father. As you packed the rest of the bags in the car, there had only been three in total, really, you let out a bit of a sigh. The crickets we're playing a concert and the dreaded mosquito dogs had come out to hunt, but the aura was something you'd miss, even though you and Jay could come back.

The car ride back was filled with soft rock this time, and you felt yourself mouthing along to the songs.

---–--------------–

You were both a bit groggy the next day but it wasn't anything either of you couldn't handle. You arrived to your shift relaxed and we'll rested. ”Good morning Y/L/N. You look well rested, I take it the 48 treated you and Jay well?”

”Yeah, it did.” Your bubbly mood was it short though, when Dr. Bekker stormed into the prep room, clearly angry. “Well I should hope so, considering the rest of us had to pay for it.”

“What? There are other OR nurses, and I didn’t think either of you were scheduled for that time either.”

“No, it we did go to Molly’s. And do you know who else went to Molly’s?”

“Ava-“

“Erin Lindsay.”

“Oh no.”

“Damn right. She spent hours pulling on people’s arms and shouting about how you’re a whore-“

“Excuse me?!”

“Ava, really-“

“Okay!” She stopped her ranting for a moment. She leaned on the metal basin, completely ignore the suds on her arms and that she’d have to wash them again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak to you like that. It not your fault and you’re not a whore, no woman is. I just- it was the first time Hailey and I have been to Molly’s together since we started dating and your boyfriend’s cow of an ex had to ruin it.”

“I’m sorry, Ava. I- it’s not my place to handle her or anything. She’s not my ex.”

“No, but she is Jay’s, and the reason she was unhappy at Molly’s is because Jay apparently told her that they’re never getting back together.”

“Yeah, she was screaming at everyone, mostly intelligence that Jay had to still love her and all that. She got pretty hammered, Voight had to be called in to take her home.”

“What do you think- they just rolled the patient in, time to get in there and repair his left ventricle.”

———————————————

Your day was long and so was Jay’s so you decided to eat out, at a great Thai place Jay had introduced you to. “Erin wants me to move to New York to be with her, I don’t want to and I’m not going to, I just figured I should let you know.”

“Okay... I have to be honest Jay, I don’t know what to make of any of this.”

“Erin just got out of a bad relationship and I guess she remembered the good times we had together, and forgot that we had more bad times. It was both of our faults really. We both lied, and omitted, and kept things from each other. Our relationship wasn’t healthy, and it took me a long time and therapy to realize that. I don’t have anything against her and I wish her well, but I don’t feel the need to have her as a significant person in my life anymore, or be one in hers. I think that our story ended four years ago and that she’s just in a bad place right now, like I was when I dated Camila.”

“Okay. That doesn’t make her behaviour okay-“

“Oh absolutely not-“

“But I get it. I’ve been in that place too, so I get it.”

——————————————

Erin wasn’t as ready to let go of the subject as Jay, apparently. Voight remained quiet on the subject, something that infuriated you because he brought Erin back into everyone’s lives with no notice and no concern for their well being. Kim was still mad, so angry that she had banned Erin from meeting her newborn baby. “I deliberately never said a word about you to her all this time bec- ahhhhhhhhh.”

“Okay, Kim, I get it. You were a good friend and didn’t tell her anything about my life since she left because you knew I wouldn’t want her to know, it seriously, please stop focusing on an unnecessary apology to me when you should be focused on breathing until we get to the hospital.”

“Adam will meet us there?”

“Yes.”

“You promise you’re not ma-aaaaaaaaaaaaadddddd!!!”

“I promise, you never did anything wrong. Okay we’re here.”

“I can’t believe you’re having a baby with ruzek. He’s kindof annoying-“

“KEV! Let’s focus on getting Kim out of my truck and into the hospital so that she can have her baby in a sterilized environment, okay?”

“Right, let’s go girl.”

Kim hadn’t needed to worry about epidural as it turned out, the baby went into distress almost immediately after she passed through MED’s doors, causing her to go into distress, and resulting in her needing an emergency C-section. You weren’t part of the OR team for that surgery because of how close you were, it you knew everyone who was and knew she was in good hands. You had been put in charge of giving the anxious police officers updates.

“They just finished the surgery, it went amazing. Kim’s in recovery and they baby’s getting checked out as we speak. And, Adam didn’t faint. He did very well, actually cut the cord.” Grumbles filled the waiting room as money was passed to Hailey. “Come on guys, you really had that little faith in him?”

“No one will be able to see Kim or the baby until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, but it might be longer. They both need time to recover.”

A few days later the waiting room was once again filled with police officers, this time some of their relatives were in attendance. You sat beside Jay, in regular clothes this time, waiting to be given the all clear to visit. You two were called over with Hailey and Ava, clutching a homemade blanket for the baby and a homemade meal for the parents. They were immensely grateful, Kim especially since she’d just been told that she could go back to non-hospital food. You were sitting on the recliner cradling baby Eliza, who was cooing in your arms when there were shouts and crashes in the hall. Everyone turned towards the door. The cops who hadn’t given birth less than a week ago, Hailey, Jay, and Adam, went into tactical mode, Kim stopped eating and took Eliza back, Ava grabbed the hospital phone to figure out what was going on, and you stood in between Kim and the door as the three cops made their way slowly into the hall. You’d locked the door after they left, peeking out of the small window. “I don’t see anything.”

“Erin.” You turned towards Kim, who just looked tired. “I talked to hospital security when she first got here, said that I didn’t want her to be able to see me. Or the baby. I just... I don’t trust her anymore. I spoke to her the day before she flew down here, I actually asked if she was ever coming back to visit. She said ‘no’. And then she just showed up at the gala... I feel pretty betrayed by her, honestly. She never initiates contact. Ever, it always falls on me. She’s spent years trying to get me to say something about Jay every once in a while, but I’ve always just said that she left him, you know? She left and didn’t say good bye or call or text so she doesn’t have any right to know anything about him now. And she’s been acting like a spoiled brat, you know she’s used the excuse of hanging out with me to try and get information about you and your relationship. I don’t feel like I’m her friend anymore. I feel like I’m her tool. And I just had a baby, a tiny human who relies on me, I don’t have time for toxic friends who make me feel like that. So I told her not to come and for security not to let her in.”

“Do you feel a bit better now that you’ve said all that out loud and to someone who isn’t Adam?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay, well, if you don’t want to see her, you don’t have to. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks.”

——————————————-

Erin had burned pretty much every bridge she had in Chicago in the two weeks she was there. She lost a lot of people’s respect after the incident in the hospital. When it became clear that some of her once closest friends were done with her, people felt it was okay to voice their grievances. After being shunned at 51, MED, 21, Molly’s, and her mother’s house, she showed up at your and jay’s apartment. A last ditch attempt at... Something.

“Please Jay, I love you.”

“No Erin, you don’t. You haven’t even seen me in four years. You’re just in a bad place right now. Go back to New York, okay? Your life is there now.”

She’d been in tears when she left, ugly crying, her face blotchy and make up running, as horrifying sounds ripped out of her throat. Jay just looked sad as he called Voight to pick her up.

———————————————

TWO WEEKS LATER

You were in stitches beside Jay, trying to breathe while laughing so hard. “Seriously?!”

“Hey, I was seven!”

“And I was five! Just listening to my idiot older brother!”

“We couldn’t believe it, the two Halstead boys running across the marina docks completely naked, and covered in blue paint!”

“Hey, I thought it was funny, and I ended up a doctor Jay, and I’ve stitched you up a few times, I’m not so much of an idiot, huh? Nat, c’mon, it’s not that funny.”

“Yes it is!”

“Y/N.”

“What? It is!” Another round of laughter peeled out from you, Natalie, Owen, and Martin’s daughter Josie as Martin continued to make gestures. “It took us a good minute to round them up. Me and Miriam, mind you, Pat just sat in the boat. Your mom was laughing so hard by the time we caught you both.”

“Please tell us more stories, Martin. That was REALLY funny.”

“Owen! You want to hear more embarrassing stories about me?”

“They’re funny!”

“Alright, well you heard the little man, Martin, more stories.” Will and Jay sighed, tried to relax, and resigned themselves to their fate. Their girlfriends and surrogate son/nephew were going to hear every single embarrassing story that Martin had. Which was a lot considering he was their father’s childhood best friend, had spent most of their summers around him, and he had a memory like a steel trap. “Don’t worry Jay, I’ll still love you after this, I promise.”

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princessofbadnews · 3 years

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🍖 THE HAMPORN'S POWER 🍖

Mandy was squirming her buttocks in the halls, spanking herself ogled by the technical guys, she was living hissing and fucking her last days but her heart seemed to stop beating when she saw him. Mandy Rose, the creation of god was ecstatic before him ...

Otis ...

He was stuffing himself with roast ham as the juice slowly dripped from his butt. For some time now, she had loved watching him in action. Many superstars had come to see her offering her roses and jewelry, but the heart of the golden goddess only beat for the meat eater.

Mandy approached him taking out a tube of whipped cream that had been planned for a long time for the occasion but was stopped by her friend Sonya who came to disturb her just as she was about to do her charm act.

- "Damn Sonya! Can't you see I'm trying to bait my little roast love?" she got angry, hiding the tube of whipped cream behind her back.

- "Frankly sometimes you scare me ... Anyway, with my girl, we're going to celebrate Valentine's Day tonight so leave us the room and find someone for the night."

- "Are you serious? Why am I the one who has to leave the bedroom?"

- "Well maybe because you told me the other night that you wanted to hit a 26 membrane ... That's good because there is one who would like to see you at the other end of the building..."

Mandy walked away, exasperated by her friend. She went to sit in the corner of the cafeteria when it was empty, people had left when they saw Otis devouring this poor ham. When he ate, nothing could distract him. Mandy finally decided to stand in front of him having a great idea to tease him for tonight.

She approached Otis, whipped cream in hand before getting on the top of the neckline. The blonde smiled and squirmed in front of him, spanking him react. He looked up at her as his piece of ham continued to call out to him.

- "Oops ... I put it everywhere ..." she said, approaching him, not paying attention to what was in front of her.

Yet she was wrong.

Otis had messed up the room so much with his ham that his dear little peach slipped onto a puddle of juice, smashing his mouth against the floor and exploding his bottle of whipped cream at the same time. Otis rushed over to her, dropping her juicy meat from his hands to pounce on her creamy chest.

Mandy and he looked at each other.

- "Oh my fishing, I thought you would never come ..."

He started to lick the little whipped cream she had on the corner of her cheek.

- "There are too many people ... Come with me." Otis hugged his beauty, dodging the whipped cream bomb and the juice on the floor.

They both went to the parking lot, not being able to wait any longer, he threw her in the car and eating the corner of the door in the face. Mandy was already naked and had planned it. Otis had only his wrestling outfit left, he took it off in two seconds with the help of Mandy who closed the door behind her. She stared at her membrane as big as 26 centimeters, Mandy finally had what more she wanted in the world. They were hungry for sex, Otis tried to get inside her but struggled.

- "Shit ... It won't come in!"

- "Maybe you should take off my pantyhose first, right?"

The latter stared at Mandy before tearing her Calzedonia pantyhose at the crotch before turning her over and putting her on all fours. Her stomach slammed against Mandy's buttocks, making her scream with pleasure as she stood at the window. The sweat of the two of them misted the windows, letting Mandy's hand slowly descend against it. The juice from the roasted ham that had run down her stomach was now serving as lubricant.

- "Oh yes go ahead, slap my butt!" She screamed when a sledgehammer hit her behind.

-"Stronger !"

- "But I didn't do anything! It's my stomach that does that and then I can't see all the space it takes."

Mandy didn't seem to care. Tucker entered the parking lot at the same time and alerted by the screams of the beautiful blonde who came from his friend's car, he said nothing while taking a selfie in front of the orgy that was happening. He made a video and threw it right after on PornHub.

Mandy turned and let Otis take her on a mission. She was almost choking on this mass of fat that was the belly of her evening partner. The blows were so loud that a tire exploded, leaving a few superstars to come near the car wondering what the fuss was. Dolph Ziggler was vomiting as Shinsuke Nakamura took canvas and paint to create a work he called "The Clash of the Two Spheres".

Children screamed in front of this orgy but the two lovers continued without suspecting that disgust was waiting for them. Mandy pushed Otis who let himself be taken over, breaking a bone in the process.

- "I'm going to impale myself on your big cock. YOU WILL BE KING ARTHUR AND I WILL BE THE ROCK THAT WILL RETAIN YOUR BIG SWORD."

Mandy was screaming even more, letting herself bounce on Otis' stomach and penis who was now spanking her as a trampoline, her eyes were turned and all white. She was possessed by sex. Unfortunately, Otis' member slipped into the forbidden door that was Mandy's anus. She uttered a shrill cry, to make the windows pop.

EC3 seemed to be recovering from the sight of this.

- "IF OTIS HAS SUCCEEDED A CHOPER MANDY, WE CAN ALL DO IT!"

The latter got naked while throwing himself into the car where the two were copulating in a bestial way. Unfortunately, he was freed from the car by Otis who got out of Mandy to suplex EC3 afterwards.

Arriving and seeing the monstrous scene that was happening, Vince McMahon went into cardiac arrest because his erection was so big. He pronounced his last words in the arms of Seth Rollins who was hardening more than he was breathing.

- "I said that I will have a beautiful death. Tell my wife that I will not be there for Christmas and that Mandy will have a big push, as big as her pretty little ass."

It was with death on his conscience that Otis ejaculated on Mandy's stomach. The beautiful blonde came to her senses with her new lover, the two were now madly in love.

Moral of the story: Sex is too good, especially with food and ESPECIALLY IN THE ASS.

(Yeah, that's mine...)

#wwe #wrestling #editing #meme #otis wwe #mandy rose #foodporn #wwe fanfiction #fanfiction #funny #vince McMahon #seth rollins #king shinsuke #sonya deville #lovers

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justsomewheretorantaboutthings · 4 years

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A Piece of Shit’s Dream

(I just found this stupid and vulgar short story I wrote sometime last year. Wanna post it here because I found it really hilarious)

I'm a piece of shit. Literally. I'm a piece of sturdy shit in Jessica's butt. As a piece of shit, I know my fate at the moment that I was formed in Jessica's bowel, that I'll end up in a toilet then be flushed down to the sewer and get mixed with all the other people's shit and pee and stuff. I'm okay with everything except the getting mixed with other shit part. If that happens, I know I won't be myself anymore. That's the most horrifying fact. Even though I'm just a regular piece of shit, I value free will very much. As a piece of shit, I won't be living forever. On the contrary, I think I'm gonna faded away pretty soon. I'll be good as long as I'm still a piece of fresh shit but if my body become too dry or break down into smaller pieces, I'm a goner. I'm not afraid of dying even if my impending doom is within a day at most but I have a dream that I want to fulfill before I'm gone. My dream is to see the sea. I'm bestowed with some knowledge that my host knows that's why I have a faint image of the sea in my mind. The vast blue collection of unimaginable amount of salty water, how facinating! I just can't stop thinking about it. I don't even understand why am I so obssessed with the sea, maybe Jessica was thinking about it when she conceived me, maybe I was made of what remained of seafood, or maybe it's just my unique trait! Anyway, I just have to see the sea before I die. Somewhere behind me, I can sense some diarrhea is coming. I think this is my chance.

'Hey, Diarrhea! Can you hear me?' 'Yeah, you piece of shit. What do you want?' 'Do you think you can do me a favor? Can you speed up a little and eject me out of the rectum real fast?' 'WHAT? Why would I do that?' 'Because I don't want to end up in the toilet. I've gotta see the sea!' 'Are you crazy? If you don't go down the sewer with all the other shit, how long do you think you are gonna last out there?' 'I know that but I don't want to be just a part of an entity just to exist for more days. I'd rather be myself for one single day and die after I see the sea.' 'Alright, you've convinced me. I'm diarhhea so I'm not even gonna make it to the sewer since we always dissolve into the water and fade the second we spray out from the ass. I'll make my last moment count by helping you fulfill your dream. Are you ready? Okay, here we go!'

As Diarrhea activates himself, the bowel squirms violently as it's eager to eject everything within it.

'I can't squeeze myself out of Jessica's anus! She must be holding us back pretty hard! Try harder!' 'Right right. I'm trying here. Just wait for several minutes, she can't hold it for that long.' 'Okay. I'll try to squeeze harder too. Wait, why is it shaking in here?' 'Oh no, it must be Jessica going to the toilet! We have to let you out before she reaches it!' 'Hrrrrggnnnn!! LEMME OUTA HERE!! YOU LITERAL STINKY ASSHOLE!! HEY! I THINK I CAN SEE THE LIGHT! I'M ALMOST THERE!' 'Good work, soldier! Let me lend you a hand! I've been save this fart in me for this vital moment! Good luck out there, you little piece of shit!' 'FAREWELL, DIARHHEA! THANK YOU FOR YOUR HEEELLLLLPPPPP--' As I yell goodbye to diarrhea, a fart explodes behind me so I have enough momentum to finally push through the tightly closed anus. I can feel myself flying. Thank god Jessica is wearing dress today, no offense but I don't want to be trapped with a pile of diarrhea in her pants. That sounds miserable. 'Ouch.' That's a tough landing. I'm now rolling on the ground and then I stop after I hit a wall. It's a far corner in a corridor where I stopped. I think I hear Jessica wailing from far away. Sorry girl, but this is what I have to do to fulfill my dream. Boy, do I feel bad about this. Lying in this dim corner, I have to come up with a plan. It's painful to admit my total lack of mobility and it's certainly not possible for me to call a taxi. First, I have no money on me. Second, there ain't no shit taxis as far as I can remember. Just like moments ago, I need someone else's help. How fortunate! Just a second after I wished for help, a fat fly lands on me.

'Hello there, Miss fly. How are you?' 'Aren't you a beautiful piece of shit? Say, sonny, what are you doing at a place like this? Shouldn't you be in some toilet like the rest of your kind usually do?' 'I can't lose myself yet. I have to see the sea.' 'To see the sea? That's a weird purpose for a piece of shit to have.' 'Yeah, I know that's uncommon. But I just have to. So can you lend me a hand?' 'Sure, it's not like I have any thing better to do with my life anyway. You know, the usual fly stuff. Flying around, annoying people and getting smashed into fly jam for doing that.' 'Thanks! Then can you help me moving around? You see I can't move even a little bit of my body by myself.' 'I'm too small to carry you. In fact, I couldn't lift you up even a single bit.' 'Aww, that's too bad.' 'Don't worry. I know a friend who can help you. But I'd like to ask a favor from you, too. I want to lay eggs in your body after everything is done.' 'I don't have a problem with that. I bet I won't even notice you doing that since I will probably already be gone by the time!' 'Deal. I'll go get my friend. Oh wait, I think I see him over there. Hey! Roachy! Come here!'

As fly calling out, I can see a mass black thing is approaching towards us. It's a huge cockraoch that is almost as big as myself.

'Howdy, Fly. Say, why are you hanging out with a piece of shit in the middle of a corridor?' 'This piece of shit wants to see the sea and I’m gonna help him. That's why we need your strength to move him around. So would you help us?' 'Sure, I guess. As long as you let me eat some shit after all this is over.' 'What? You eat shit?' 'We cockroaches would eat anything that is free.' 'Ok, I'm fine with this.' I said. 'So, where is the sea anyway? I haven't seen any place called sea in my life before.' 'It's supposed to a vast pool of salty water. Maybe we just need to head toward whichever direction that smells salty?' 'Alright, you can leave this to me. We flies have good sense of smelling.'

Thus the filthy trio begin to follow the saltist smell the fly can sense. After some journey, they end up in a kitchen of a seafood restaruant. Somehow I have a familiar feeling to this place.

'I ate at your place earlier and your food made me crapped myself! I must be compensated!'

I hear Jessica's voice. That must be it. I really was made of remains of seafood. Now let's see if we can find sea anywhere near.

'Hey! What do you think you are doing here?' We turn our head to the source of the sudden voice. It's a grey mouse who looks quite old. 'We are looking for the sea. This piece of shit demands to see it before he dies.' 'That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Anyway, you should get out of here immediately! There's a girl raising a ruckus outside and if people find out that your kinds are in the kitchen, this place is sure to be closed! And if that happens my family will lose the precious source of food! Can't you see how much damage will you cost for just being here?' 'I know but I've got too short a life to care about that.' 'Same for me and roach. We are short-lived beings too. We only care about our next meal.'

As we arguing with the grey mouse, I glance upon something blue upon the wall in the dinning area outside.

'Hey! I think I've found the sea!' 'What? Are you joking? This city is no place near the ocean!' The mouse exclaimed. 'But outside! That's definitely the sea!' 'What? You mean that painting?' 'Yes! The smell of fish, the saltywind and the vast blue! That's definitely the sea that I'm looking for! Cockroach, please roll me near to it!' 'You got it!' 'No you can't go out! People will see!'

Mouse desperately tries to stop cockroach from rolling me forward but cockroach is just too strong for a feeble old mouse to stop.

As I'm being rolled down near the sea I've been yearning. I'm finally at peace and my conciousness starts to fade. I can feel the most satisfaction that my short life could brought. The fly starts to lay egg onto half of my body and the cockroach is devouring the other half. But I don't care anymore. I think I hear Jessica yelling again. She must has seen us, a piece of shit and a fly and a cockroach and a mouse coming out of the kitchen. I don't care what's gonna happen next.

I'm not afraid of losing my myself anymore.

What a meaningful life I've had.

#writing #short story #short story writing #vulgar story #shit story

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illegiblewords · 5 years

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FROM UMBRA

Summary: The Warrior of Light is an instrument of death and always has been.

Black Mage origin.

There are not twelve patron gods of Eorzea but thirteen.

People forget that the Traders, who share freely with each other what would cost the world dear, remain two deities. Nald deals in metal and grain, jewels and fine cloth, all luxuries and necessities alike. If he’d walked alone, perhaps his worship would have been more widespread. Perhaps people would not hesitate to speak his name.

Because Nald’s brother is a merchant too, and his wares are lives, and theirs is a shared office.

***

At Thal’s Respite, beneath death’s curved scimitar, a shadow waited, and watched, and was silent.

It wasn’t a very large shadow. New, delicate fingers curled in upon themselves experimentally. Opened again.

The man who entered paid no mind at first, his steps heavy beneath the weight of his grief. This was a pilgrimage and a plea. Immin Asher left his cart laden with personal effects behind, glasses crooked atop his nose.

Saewynn, his wife, would be dead by morning.

No.

Saewynn was already dead. The primal puppet that took her body would have its strings cut. Just the same, Immin prayed her passage would be swift.

It wasn’t something he wanted to see, Twelve help him.

They were supposed to build a life together. They were supposed to make a home, to have children, to tease each other old. He tried not to call it theft.

The shadow murmured, as if in conspiracy, eyes intent upon the visitor. Immin froze, and squinted, and stilled again.

There was no cry. Only the wide and patient gaze of an infant.

In his heart, Immin understood this was compensation.

***

Eight years, Cenric did not fit in with other children.

It helped not at all that he wandered Thanalan with his adoptive father. Immin formed ties. People smiled to meet him, as they did most merchants who sold them goods. Whether his own habit came first or the nerves Cenric cannot remember. Either way, silence earned few friends in his early life. Most were content to avoid him.

The strangeness of his features made it worse.

“Duskwight blood,” Immin told him evenly when asked. Initially, Cenric had accepted that. He’d always been tall for a midlander, even then. The pale irises, the sharp nose, the cold, absolute darkness of his skin… that wasn’t a combination common in desert-folk. The elezen had it, though.

When a hyuran boy with pointed ears came searching for elixers, Cenric didn’t say a word.

Maybe more distant heritage was enough to look like him. Maybe it manifested differently between cases.

Maybe.

Immin was the closest thing most could get to a healer in these parts. Wealthy, foreign conjurers busied themselves in battle alongside mercenaries. The common man relied on peddlers with salves and eyedrops and inexpensive remedies. These were traveling medics who knew practical ways to treat the body’s ills. His father was well-educated in such matters.

Cenric learned to follow directions, to grind herbs into paste, to pass surgical knives and bandages upon request. He could press rags into the jaws of patients so they wouldn’t sever their own tongues in fits of pain. He learned that sometimes death is inevitable, and that more than stillness death empties a person’s eyes of direction. Sleep was not comparable. Death divided bodies between being people and being things.

Such were their realities. And from his quiet, from the shadow fixed about his form, from his unflinching examination of wounds or corpses, from his citation of unspoken truths, from how he would occasionally stare, mouth agape, as if into the soul itself… rumor about Cenric took root.

Voidsent was the most common. Thal’s spawn, next. The latter seemed to unnerve his father more than the former on occasions gossip became indiscreet.

“No voidsent could have been so unguarded,” Immin had explained softly, sitting side by side on the cot their inn provided. His eyes, green and framed by unkept black hair, did not meet Cenric’s own. “It was a miracle that I found you when I did. You’d never have lasted, being alone that way. Like any babe I had to find you milk. Burp you. Keep you clean and warm. Thal’s spawn…” His father scowled then, and Cenric thought for a moment he was going to say something ugly. Instead, his expression shifted. Smoothed. With an exhale, Immin continued, “If Thal trusted me with something so precious as his own son, then I should count myself blessed. Don’t trouble yourself.”

Forgetting was easier when they were alone in a cheap room, watching Dalamud ascend. Listening to the hum of blowflies while under a thin, shared blanket.

That was enough for him. The people who watched and those who looked away. Kids who played at which would be brave enough to tap his shoulder. Adults who muttered comments under their breath or suggested Immin leave him somewhere, for his own good… they were passing scenery.

He had a father. They ate breakfast together and scoured the land before sunup for supplies. They laid traps for beasts and separated helpful plants from useless or dangerous ones. They crafted splints when those were running short and tended the daily needs of their chocobo. And in evenings they would read, or practice numbers, so that when the time came Cenric would be able to pursue his own craft.

There was no one else. They needed no one else.

It was enough.

***

Fourteen, they came to stay in a town called Mirage. Their journey took them far across the Sagolii, with their time in the Forgotten Springs nearly a week past. Regionally unique sabotenders grew there. According to the miqo’te, potent remedies could be distilled from venom in their needles. It was an opportunity.

Travel proved difficult. They kept to their wagon during the day, ate little. Drank what was needed and no more. Upon arriving Immin’s beard had become an unruly mess—his skin raw and peeling in places. Cenric had been checking his own chin periodically for stubble, but so far nothing.

The journey left them both thinner than they began.

Most inhabitants of Mirage were hyuran, with only a few scattered lalafells. Constructed around an oasis, the trees and clay buildings offered a welcome respite. Gone were the dunes, gleaming white under the sun. In its place came soil, interrupted by scrub and grass.

Few visitors came this far south, the innkeeper told them over cups brimming with water. “Easy,” Immin murmured as he took his own. Cenric could hardly breathe for drinking, found himself empty in but a few moments. He couldn’t have replied if he’d wanted to. Thankfully, the next one was easier.

Their arrival was unusual enough to mark a community event. It was an occasion for exchange of not only supplies but news and tales from the road. Barely contained curiosity lurked in the scrutiny of all who saw them.

“We have an opportunity to do some good here,” Immin would say later, having listened to local hurts and determined how best to attend. “We’ll stay a while. Make sure they’re well and can manage once we’ve left.”

It seemed fair. He had yet to learn the price of kindness.

***

A jackal lay some distance beyond their gates, its eyes filmed over with a yellow-green mucus. Most of the fur had worn away, revealing countless sores and lesions. Its belly was swollen like an airship balloon. Insects swarmed at the anus, clustered on its tongue and nose until neither was visible anymore.

“Don’t go near it, Immin cautioned the townsfolk. To their credit they did not.

But the flies went where they pleased.

***

Malena Saei fell first. She was nearing her sixty-eighth year, hair fading from its original brown into gray. Her irises were blue against weathered, copper skin. When she smiled, it dimpled her cheeks. She left three generations behind her.

Immin forbade Cenric from accompanying him as he examined the body. “It’s an unnecessary risk,” his father explained, wrapping a cloth over his mouth. Hempen robes covered him from head to toe. “You don’t know what to look for, and it isn’t worth the exposure. Stay with her family.”

The entire house stank of bile and shit. Cenric tried to keep his expression empty as he offered sympathy lest disgust show up instead. When it was time for questions, he kept his voice low.

Maybe they’d noticed something. Maybe others could be saved.

It spread to Malena’s grandson next, and her daughter after. Despite meeting with both, Cenric found himself mercifully spared.

The stares he faced turned hard after that. From then on, every new incident spread whispers like a disease.

***

This was the anger of Nald’Thal. Of that there could be no doubt.

Perhaps someone overheard when he asked Immin if this was his fault. If maybe they should leave. There was no fixing this.

(“That isn’t true,” his father told him. His hands were painfully tight on Cenric’s shoulders, eyes unblinking and wide and furious.

“Don’t you dare say something so stupid in front of me again. Do you understand? Never again.”)

Perhaps any offering would have sufficed, and this was just the obvious one. A quiet young stranger with his whole life ahead. A weighty exchange without personal investment. Maybe the Twins could be tempted.

Maybe then the town would be left in peace.

A knock, loud and frantic. His father already out administering aid. The room was, at the moment, his alone.

Something’s gone wrong, Cenric thought. So he let them in.

***

They dragged him, hands bound, to a cave just past the town limits.

Desert nights were freezing compared to daylight. The sky remained clear and two moons, mismatched, circled overhead to bear witness. Bumps rippled across his skin, setting his hair on end.

What are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Silence. They wouldn’t even look at him.

Someone must have heard. Someone must have.

Nobody came.

Gathered in shadow and stone before a makeshift altar, there was something animal in the way the townsfolk watched him enter. Wide eyes that caught the moonlight, wild and empty. No hate, no anger. Families, from elders to children, ringed the space.

“Kneel.”

The mayor, a stout midlander with thin lips. His eyes creased when he laughed. In the moment, his body seemed animated by something that didn’t understand the skin it wore or its warmth.

Cenric found himself speechless, frozen. One of his escorts kicked him from behind, catching his knees. Of course he crumbled.

“You should gag him,” said the highlander woman quietly, unwinding a kerchief from her hair. It was the first time she’d said anything since he’d seen her, since she’d shoved him face-down into the inn floor. Since she’d dragged him here. “He wouldn’t shut up the entire walk over. We can’t afford distractions like that.”

Mutely, pressing his mouth into a firm line, the mayor complied. When Cenric tried to struggle he found fingers digging into his scalp, his arms. Forcing him still. The fabric tasted sour, like old sweat.

Before them, resting across several crates, was a pair of scales. A dagger. The blade rippled from hilt to tip.

“To the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives, we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…”

Cenric’s vision swam, burning, transforming his surroundings into a series of inarticulate shapes. The townspeople who held him did not relax their grip. His throat constricted.

Why?

He was shaking badly, pulse pounding in his skull. Drowning out the rest. Air whistled hard and frantic through his nose, arms trapped behind him, prayers echoing incomprehensible through the cavern.

I’m no one. I’ve never done anything important.

His cheeks were slick. The mayor wasn’t looking at him, but at the community he would be sacrificed for.

“…in this time of hardship, we all see the need for exchange…”

Voidsent. Child of Thal. Child left as a gift to the Twins, stolen in error. It made no difference.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Movement. The dagger before his eyes, held in broad hands.

“First we divide the offering in equal shares. Being as the heart carries life from our leftmost side, we’re weighted all of us toward survival. This’s the imbalance we must correct to make an appeal.”

It felt as if a worm, impossibly large, wound through him. Coiled in his stomach. Cenric retched hard against the gag, but nothing came of it. He found himself wrenched backwards by his hair.

The mayor met his gaze.

“We had none of this, before you came here,” he said quietly, as if reassuring himself. “Immin’s normal enough but every one of us can see something’s not right in you. Probably not even hyuran.”

Not enough.

Flesh splitting at the bridge of his nose. White pain, searing. The knife jerked to either side in a diagonal motion as it was dragged away by another set of hands.

His father’s hands.

“CENRIC!”

***

Back under the Sagolii sun, waves of heat rippled through the air. All they touched was made immaterial. Cenric found himself wandering as if in a dream.

“Run! Get out of here, I’ll be right behind you!”

Immin was not right behind him. Or maybe he was, for a while. The elder Asher tore his son’s gag loose before Cenric gathered himself to bolt. He hadn’t wiped the blood from his face yet. His hands remained bound. The wound felt crusted over.

There were a few people following him initially. Shouting to each other. Some babbling and hysterical. The words didn’t register to him then, and they made even less sense in hindsight. The world had tilted, dark and unsteady around him with each step.

It was the first time he felt truly certain he was going to die.

One foot in front of the other. Again and again and again, until his lungs burned. Head down. Push forward.

He had no direction in mind. No map and no compass. Just away.

Cenric didn’t stop when the voices faded, or the town itself, or the moons overhead. There was no time to cover his tracks. All he could do was outlast them, outrun them, and hope Immin would prove more determined.

Wrists swollen, throbbing behind his back. Mouth paper-dry. Weaving as he went, dunes sloping up and down underfoot like waves.

It took some moments to notice when he stopped moving. The sand seemed to shift before him, flickering like light through water. His head was full with the sound of his own wheezing.

When he crashed into the earth, it was inevitable. Cenric considered attempting to rise, then remembered he had nowhere to go. It would be the same blind march for days yet. The sun had already passed its peak, but its descent would take hours.

Maybe… maybe with rest things would be better.

***

He could not tell how long he remained there. Awareness faded in and out intermittently. Golden light on sand. Deep orange, bordering red. Silver against a darkened sky.

His head ached, heavy and thick and cotton-filled. With his legs he half-heartedly tried to bury himself in sand to stop his own shivering. After a time Cenric settled on collecting a pile of it to curl around instead.

Then, nothing.

Nothing for a long time after that.

***

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

A hushed conversation, separated by cadence. If asked he would not have been able to tell whether one man spoke or two.

The subject of debt was raised. Properties and inheritance and routes to travel by.

His head rested on a sack of grain. His face was sticky with ointment but seemed clean otherwise.

Sometimes, wordlessly, he found himself prompted to drink. To eat, something tough and gamey he couldn’t place.

These moments were always fleeting. Sleep took him before there was opportunity to ask a single question.

Boy.

Sand clung to his lashes, to the corners of his eyes.

Cenric.

Heed me.

Light, filtering through canvas. A cold hand on his shoulder. The shrouded figure beside him. Grain and shells and the rocking cart.

You cannot stay here.

What comes next belongs to you. What lies behind has been claimed.

“M-My…” Immin. “My father,” he croaked, “…I have to…”

Naught remains. It is done.

Silence. A lone heartbeat.

The figure, with its mismatched eyes, refused to look at him.

All will be well. We come to a familiar place.

There will be time enough for the rest.

***

A settlement in Southern Thanalan. The Sagolii behind him. The sky shrouded in dust.

“Merchant brought you here,” said the village elder beside his cot, her gaze dark and intense under a tight bun. “Said you would’ve died, else.”

These people had been kind. They remembered and allowed him to stay regardless of memory.

“Did he have a name?” Cenric asked hoarsely, hands in his lap. From the corner of his eye, he sees her head shake.

“Don’t think he wanted you chasing after him, son. We did trade and that was it. Oh,” she paused. Blinked. Found a pocket and rummaged there.

“Said I was t’give you this. So you’d listen.”

He held out his hand, and as if offering payment she placed a pair of wedding bands in his palm.

Immin and Saewynn. Reunited at last.

***

At sixteen, Cenric dedicates his life to half-truths.

Charity has its limits and his has been reached. He begins with a hempen set of clothes. A satchel. What gil won’t be missed. Young man like him shouldn’t want for work, his hosts argue. Folks can always use another pair of hands.

Right?

He learns quickly that what his hands can accomplish is limited. There’s no competing with the Ala Mhigans, who can carry twice as much without breaking a sweat. You need familiarity for an apprenticeship and he has cultivated little. Cenric finds himself half-grown and empty of potential as door after door shuts in his face.

He is no healer. What stock his father possessed was lost with him. Still, Cenric remembers how to bandage a wound. He knows what plants will stop scarring. If he can’t locate an exact match he goes by resemblance and prepares it just the same.

He spends his funds on vials and stoppers and tricks to look older. A bandana here, some kohl there. He repeats the slogans of an honest man as if he has any right to them. People respond.

Cenric does not form ties and he does not linger. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of them turn, after all.

***

Eighteen, he has almost stopped caring. His competitors are reliable but expensive. He can only retaliate with cheap potions and outrageous claims. A dazzling smile. Cenric plays at being exotic, draped in bright fabrics that do nothing to disguise the shadow cast over him.

Enjoy relief in the latest remedy from Thavnair! Impress your wife with a bottle of Menphina’s Favor! Cure even the most stubborn ills with Phoenix Down, yours for only 800 gil!

He remembers true medicine less with each passing day. The effort spent searching won’t put food in his mouth or guarantee a sale. If customers thank him afterward because a remedy worked, Cenric assumes faith and fortune are responsible. There isn’t enough substance in his work to justify gratitude.

The visions have been coming more often of late. He finds himself dragged into the memories of menders and brass blades, struggling out apologies with a laugh. Through his own headaches and vacant expressions he has found fanatics. Runaways. Murderers. Sometimes knowing makes a difference. Usually it doesn’t.

Tonight he finds himself in a tavern, the air tinged by fish and torch smoke. Ouzo clouds his glass while anise unfurls over his tongue. He sits alone, searching for relief in the apathetic hum of conversation that surrounds him. Just a stranger passing through. No one of consequence.

“You.”

It comes from the entrance. Snarled, almost animal. Cenric doesn’t turn to look. It’s not a voice he recognizes and he has no interest in engaging.

People have been passing behind him for hours. Some sloppy, some heavy, some quick.

When Cenric gets jerked off his stool, he doesn’t expect it. A hand, female, locks to his arm. Drags him across the floor toward the exit.

“Stop! What are you—“

He is hurtling, backwards, down the steps. Out of the tavern. The fall doesn’t quite wind him but his elbows have been scraped raw against dust and gravel. His eyes are wide as he finds his assailant.

Hellsguard woman. Late thirties. Hair tied back, red skin muted under the stars. His lips move, tracing the fragments of her name.

Say… Stay… Stray…

Ember. Stray Ember. A customer.

He doesn’t have time to gather the rest before her boot is in his gut, driving the breath from his body.

“LIAR! YOU LIAR, I COULD'VE SAVED FOR YIYIRUJI MOONS AGO!”

His head pierced, front to back. Pounding like a heartbeat, like a hammer bringing shadows forging form. The memories of others.

Not now.

A child, slick with sweat. Lungs catching against each inhale. Round, gray face. White lashes. She clutched her mother’s hand tight as she could manage.

“I COULD'VE GONE TO UL’DAH!”

He is in Mirage, twin moons mirrored in the stares of a mob. Maggots weave around bone. Air grows saturated with rot.

There is pain in his stomach, neither hot nor cold but sharp. Twisting. The cough forces Cenric inward and he tastes iron.

Stray Ember isn’t done. Tears stream down her chin even as she bares her teeth. He knows then she will hate him until she dies.

“BY THE TIME THEY TOLD ME WHAT YOU’D GAVE HER DOVE WAS IN THE LAST STAGE OF BHOOT’S BLESSING!”

She had a small, upturned nose. Broad smile. Freckles. Showed talent for weaving even at nine cycles.

Lone Dove was terrified when she passed and nothing could protect her. I don’t want to go… mama please, I…

Sightless. Corneas filmed over. Lips gone blue, tongue swollen.

Her toys have already been burned.

“Enough!” Cenric’s voice sounds distant to himself, “I-I can’t—“

They tore at his father’s clothes, his eyes, his skin for getting in the way. Hydaelyn traded away a kind man for a cheat.

I should count myself blessed.

It was a mistake to take him. It had always been a mistake.

Immin gave his life to protect his son. Cenric took a girl from her mother to protect himself.

There are nails dragging through his hair, locked in place. He struggles to anchor himself in that, his fingers twisting tighter.

“SHUT UP! MY GIRL’S GONE BECAUSE OF YOU! SHE COULD’VE GOT WHAT SHE NEEDED IF NOT FOR YOUR GODSDAMNED CHOCOBO FEED!”

“Hey! Enough of that!” A man’s voice. Maybe the one who’d prepared his ouzo.

Scuffling across the dirt.

“LET ME GO! THIS FILTH KILLED MY DAUGHTER!”

“Take it up with the blades then.” More scuffling. Cenric doesn’t move, doesn’t look up. Doesn’t release himself. Focuses on the hitch and burn of breath. “I’ll not have more of this around my business.”

There is a wet hiss. It takes him a moment to recognize it as spit.

Not at him.

Silence from the figures.

Then, very quietly, the barkeep says “Go home.”

Stray Ember doesn’t say another word.

She doesn’t have to.

***

Cenric doesn’t know how long he stays there. Something has been severed inside him. There is an impossible distance between his mind, his body, and the world outside.

“You too. You’ve caused enough trouble here tonight.” Shuffling. Blood in his mouth, pain like knives in his ribs. His arms and legs move of their own accord to obey.

She will not have been the first of his victims.

***

He fades in and out of awareness for some time. Days, months, years. It doesn’t matter.

Often he finds that he is hungry and the air rests thick with spices. His clothes are torn, his hair a tangled mess. Sometimes there are coins at his feet. Mostly, people avoid looking at him.

His world is heat and wingbeats, insects and vultures and airships and the murmur of strangers. Dust clings to him. Cenric stops talking.

He sleeps when he can behind the boxes of Pearl Lane, testament to the glorious city that is Ul’dah. He offends shopkeepers whose image is tarnished on his account. More than once he finds himself beaten back with a broom or dragged away by his shirt.

Parasites take what others earn. That is their nature and he knows his.

***

Cenric wonders, as he sinks back into himself, if there will come a time when he does not resurface. If this empty beggar who moves without thought or foresight or even a name will simply waste away.

As in all things, this is for the gods to decide.

***

Whispers of Dalamud’s descent don’t frighten him at first. Everything here is ugly. So far as endings go it isn’t a bad one.

Then slowly, slowly, he begins to look up.

***

As the sky erupts into flame and a dragon’s scream rings across Hydaelyn, Cenric is fixed in place once more.

You will remember this moment for the rest of your life. However long that takes.

He can taste the smoke. Around him people run, weep, cling to each other. Children shriek for parents who have left them behind. Prayers for protection erupt from masses ready to trample all in their path.

There are things no man can escape. Bahamut is one of them.

Standing, his gaze locked on the inferno swallowing Eorzea, Cenric can only laugh.

***

The city becomes unbearable following the Calamity as refugees pour in. Aether burns and missing limbs grow familiar. Native residents regularly fight against newcomers. With too much company on the streets, he leaves.

Thanalan itself has been scarred, crystals jutting uneven across the landscape. The year that follows is unusually dry. In the name of business water itself becomes expensive. Gridania and Limsa Lominsa profit. Those who can’t manage waste away.

Cenric goes without when he can, a decision based only somewhat in practicality. The world is dizzying, parchment-dry, unfocused. He is destitute.

And he’s taken enough as it is.

Today Cenric sits under an awning at The Coffer and Coffin. Shade proves only marginally cooler, but marginally remains better than not at all.

He won’t stay here. He only needs somewhere to rest without beasts.

When a miqo’te barmaid carefully presses a cup into his hands, at first he doesn’t follow.

“I can’t afford it,” says Cenric hoarsely. His hands tremble as he tries to return the gesture.

She’s younger than him, maybe seventeen. Sweat makes tawny strands of hair stick together. Her eyes are blue and her smile is sincere.

“That’s alright,” she says casually. Evenly. Pressing her hands over his so he won’t spill. “I can.”

Cenric is struck still and silent, unable even to blink. The miqo’te quirks her mouth and slowly lets go. Straightens. Walks away without looking back.

It’s a terrible waste. Nonetheless, he finds himself sobbing and unable to stop.

***

By twenty-four, his turn has come.

Initially he ignores it. A persistent cough. Pain that grates like swallowed needles. Unsteadiness across his limbs and skin gone ashen. Fire under his eyes.

When he can no longer keep food down it becomes real.

His vision blurs the first time he’s sick. Sour, meager results that wrack his entire body regardless. Cenric leans against the walls of Camp Drybone to keep steady. His lips are slick in the aftermath. Of course people give him a wide berth and pretend not to see.

It’s disgusting.

The Church of Saint Adama Landama has been treating those they can and burying those they can’t. These are things he has no right to, no desire for.

Besides. Thal’s Respite isn’t far.

***

Hear.

Myotragus goats bleating low. Horns locked in tests of dominance. Crashing hooves. Grunts from passing tuco-tucos. The steady thrum of insects. Distant, muffled wings circling in endless repetition.

No wagon wheels. No muffled conversation.

Instead, a persistent throb through his temples. Hitching when he breathes.

Silence stretching on and on in missed opportunities.

Nobody would notice. Cenric wants, desperately, to scream.

He doesn’t.

His throat hurts.

Feel.

Blowflies gnawing at the back of his neck. Dirt under fingernails. Clammy, twitching flesh. His own perspiration. Fluid viscera he imagines will erupt from his lips. Shaking, shoulders to fingertips. Being flayed alive by the sun.

Azeyma the Warden takes confession. With her golden fan and unwavering gaze, maybe she still expects something more.

Keep moving forward. Don’t look up.

It’s too late.

Think.

Stain [Smite] Suffer [Sin] Serve [Spite] Stumble [Save] Strive [Steal] Grieve [Turn] Lie [Leave] Pray [Lose] Cure [Tell] Sunder [Sleep] Fall [Stay] Plead [Hate] Feel [Want] Shoulder [Bleed] Weep [Learn] Follow [Flee] Roam [End] Falter [End] Seek [End] Wish [End]

No more.

***

No more.

***

Through stone and shadow the passage goes.

Through the womb of Hydaelyn herself, well-worn.

She stands beyond what the Twelve are, what they ever could be. Disciples call her Mother. They know her through the blind, unquestioning devotion of children.

There is truth in this… if an incomplete one. She cannot keep them forever. Fragile, temporary things are made precious for being so. They live with the promise of death at her blessing.

And so Thal waits within the earth, watching over this seat of creation. He memorizes those who arrive, those who exit. Souls birthed in the Lifestream—unscarred by trials ahead.

Thal seeks out the shapeless. He whispers, gently, I await your return.

They will not be alone in the dark.

In this place a man delirious, convinced of his own divinity, comes to kneel.

***

To the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn. From the start, mine has been yours. Any gifts were not charity but an investment. I can never own myself… those who linger with me fall one by one into your hands. You’ve taken—

No.

I gave these people as my expense.

They call you Nald’Thal the canny, Nald’Thal the fair. Judge and equalizer and Prince of Hagglers. You, too, are Twins and Traders and the God of Two-Tongues.

Please, I…

…I…

There is nothing left. I have nothing to offer you. This is all I am. My debts are endless. I’ve cheated others out of their lives. Your seven hells are mine to walk.

It… it burns everywhere…

The people of Mirage thought my worth enough to bribe you, once. If this is true then take me.

Please take me.

I can’t be an instrument of your will.

All Hydaelyn moves out of reach. There is no one else. I’ve… I’ve turned into a creature so empty the only thing left is my beating heart.

Life means something to you, doesn’t it?

DOESN’T IT?

…

I don’t mean to offend. There’s… there’s nowhere to go. Anything spent on me could be used better on another.

Why am I here?

Immin was worth saving. Lone Dove was worth saving. My customers, the people of Eorzea... you could have left any of them. They deserved it.

We lie and steal and destroy each other over nothing. I can’t stand to look.

And still there are exceptions.

You take the virtuous then leave snakes behind.

Spare them. There are few enough as is.

***

…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?

***

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

I’m sorry.

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

Forgive me.

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

Punish as I’ve earned.

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

Let it end.

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

Please let it end.

***

Rain falls over Eastern Thanalan like a broken fever. Yuyudana, priest of Thal, works behind a partition to break bread with visitors. Hyur and Roegadyn pilgrims often find it difficult to read age onto Lalafellian features. With only the barest flush remaining in his cheeks, Yuyudana can declare himself firmly middle-aged. The hood of his robe conceals a head edged in gray and he does not begrudge himself the omission. It is a convenient vanity.

Across from him sits one of two companions. U’thac Tia is a counterpart from Nald’s Reflection, arrived nearly a month past to compare notes on scripture. U’thac is a man who left clan and kin behind for a life of spirituality. The argumentative zeal he holds for his faith proves amusing and exhausting in turn. A wiry, sun-dark miqo’te—U’thac might have been a contender for Nunh had he felt so inclined. Good or ill, this proved beyond his interests.

The other is a more straightforward case. Memesu Mesu hails from Ul’dah, a woman dedicated body and soul to thaumaturgy. With brilliant yellow eyes and a chestnut complexion, Yuyudana estimates her to be thirty cycles or so. U’thac took her for far younger at first. Fortunately for him the caster was amused, and she occasionally calls him “kid” as a gentle reminder.

Memesu means only to pay respects. Nald’Thal has been good to her. Through years of piety and labor she now enjoys a life of small luxuries. Each comes as a blessing she knows could be withdrawn between heartbeats.

Memesu took leave to pray before breakfast. The sun has yet to rise and as she went the world was silent. Later she will hike to the Burning Wall, practicing spells along the way. Take her lunch at the nadir and make her way back before sundown. It is a period of routine and quiet reflection, away from the complications Ul’dah has to offer.

U’thac, still groggy, slumps across the table even as Yuyudana sets it. Initially he’d tried to lend his assistance but found it graciously declined by his host. “I am not your mentor,” Yuyudana had said, “or your parent, or your superior. Be at peace.”

There is precious little of that in such times.

When Memesu returns, eyes wide, gasping between words due to haste, Yuyudana listens in silence. Begins to walk before U’thac has finished gathering himself.

Bahamut was a shock. With the advance of Garlemald and her sister evils, despair is not uncommon.

***

Cold hands on his sleeve, on his arms, in his hair.

First we divide the offering in equal shares. Being as the heart carries life from our leftmost side, we’re weighted all of us toward survival.

Cenric does not miss a beat in his recitations even as he struggles. Twisting, bending into himself, thrashing, stumbling as the world tilts sharply to one side.

Someone he doesn’t recognize speaks a language he barely understands.

Sleep.

The candles glow brighter, out from the center of his vision before darkening at the edges. As if his joints have been unhinged he is dragged by his own weight to the floor. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, magic pumping through him like a drug.

When he opens his mouth again there is no sound.

***

A palm on his forehead, beyond temperature. Smoothing sweat-matted hair out of the way, thumb traveling back and forth.

You have time yet.

He cannot tell who speaks, only that the tone reminds him of Immin.

Rest.

I would see you well.

***

A bitter, chemical taste. Traces of glimshroom. Syrup gliding across his tongue. Cenric tries to cough, to spit it out.

This time a small hand covers his lips. “Swallow.” The order comes from a man, his voice high but steady.

Cenric’s back arches as he tries to break free, to twist his face out of reach.

More hands trapping his shoulders. His torso.

“You need this. Swallow.”

The sound building in him is animal, desperate. A gateway for the medicine. It goes down. When they let go he wails and it is mindless.

***

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

***

Every time, the same routine. They try to explain. They try to convince him. They want this to be easier.

His arguments come out of order and none are taken seriously.

Sometimes when he sleeps Cenric thinks someone sits with him.

It’s easier not to wake up.

***

“Hey.”

A female voice this time. Flat. Neither impatient nor pitying.

He doesn’t move.

“I know you’re awake. Your eyelids don’t move the same way.” A beat. “It’s just me. Come on.”

Reluctantly, Cenric looks.

A Lalafellian woman. Older than him. She keeps her hair long and neat, face framed in darkness. Behind her he finds the interior of a small, dimly lit hut. Decoration proves sparse, books the greatest extravagance in sight.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“Good. We had doubts you were even Spoken.” Silence. “What’s your name, boy?”

This catches him. He’s been grown for some time now. Cenric would be surprised if his visitor was even ten cycles his senior. “…Cenric,” he rasps. Shakily, he sits up. Finds a straw mattress beneath him. “I’m Cenric Asher.”

“Cenric,” she says smoothly, “you owe me. I traveled from Ul’dah to Eastern Thanalan for some peace and quiet. You’ve stolen my time through this affair.”

He looks down, unsure whether to apologize or not.

She could have ignored him.

“All I ask in return is a little cooperation. Do that and there’s no loss. Can you manage?

Cenric finds her face once more. The tense jaw betrays what would otherwise read to him as indifference. He exhales.

“I don’t care. Use me how you will.”

She studies him for several moments. “Fine,” she says at length, “I am Memesu Mesu. Do try to be honest with me. It can only serve us both.” Her fingers press together delicately. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

The question deflates him like a blow. Cenric rests his head in one hand, searches for language he can answer with.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs eventually.

“Do you want to die?”

“I…” He stops, catches himself mouthing the question back mutely.

The Traders refused him. Their trap remains. Cenric shuts his eyes.

“Everything, everyone I touch I… it’s like an infection. If dying ends that then so be it.”

Memesu leans back in her chair. It creaks. “So says the Son of Thal, eh?”

He starts, finds her again. Memesu’s expression is almost scornful, a bitter smile twisting across her lips.

“You’re a fool,” she declares, “and a blasphemer. Probably a little mad. But you do have an obscene amount of aether at your disposal. I’d be remiss if I didn’t touch on that snatch of fever-speech.”

He stares at her. Memesu folds her arms and narrows her gaze.

“You’re remarkably hyur-shaped for someone who thinks he’s born from the Twins,” she comments. "Nald'Thal is nothing if not meticulous. You’d need an exceptional share of authority to perform judgment in his stead. Kind of egotistical, don't you think?”

Cenric shrugs. Focuses on knees, buried under a blanket.

“Anyway,” says Memesu, “what you are doesn’t matter. If you’ve got natural talent for killing, maybe you should learn how to direct that properly.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” he whispers.

The lalafell sighs. Takes another moment to respond. “Is that so? It sounded to me like you’ve done your share already. Here I thought you might like saving people for a change.”

This time, he listens.

***

For lives unjustly taken, life is owed. For the unjust taking lives, death is owed.

For those he can yet save, a thaumaturge brings salvation.

For those he can yet stop, a thaumaturge brings pain.

Restitution and retribution. Thus is the will of Nald’Thal known through his disciples.

***

Cenric bathes in the Yugr’am River at U’thac’s suggestion. “It’ll be good for you,” he’d said. Moreover, the smell was unbearable. An unspoken plea in the miqo’te’s eyes was enough to make that point perfectly clear.

He can’t remember the last time he’d bothered cleaning himself. Weeks, months. There had been no reason. He would die in disgrace. It was the only future left he could see.

And yet.

If the Twelve intended him to survive through their service, at a certain point he would need to do better. For efficiency if nothing else. Filth made it easy to get sick and difficult to recover. The results would benefit no one.

In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.

His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

***

For a time, his sleep is dreamless.

He eats what he is given. He cleans the shrine. He recites his prayers without expectation.

Memesu waits.

***

Why is it, the student asks, that only Ul’dah worships Nald and Thal separately? Ul’dah who holds them in such esteem?

You see, the Traders share a secret title. One which most would call sacrilege.

In scripture our god of wealth and death exists as Oschon’s creation. Nald’Thal comes forged from Hydaelyn herself, a force of order over his kin. The statues and murals are not ambiguous. His solitary form rises from flame and rock and is whole.

In good manners, the thaumaturge explains, people will claim both brothers exist in a single body. That they share freely with each other what would cost the world dear. That there are not twelve patron gods of Eorzea but thirteen.

Time and again, they shy from the possibility that Nald’Thal is simply insane.

***

Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

Click.

“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”

Click.

“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

***

Black magic (like its patron, like the desert itself) has two faces.

Heat and light, movement and sound. Ever hungry. Ever expansive. Astral fire rains from the stars, heaven stretched pitiless across the land. This he will someday channel, will someday master.

First though, the other. Cold and darkness, unmoving and silent. What constricts and what preserves. Umbral ice that creeps with every heartbeat to harden blood and bone.

Threaded between are words for sleep and lightning. The language of angels, the promise of their rebuke.

Cenric’s spell bends him backwards, stiffening the pit of him. It winds up his spine and curls off his tongue. Hands shape aether into figures it was always meant for.

He is left wanting in the aftermath.

***

“Wishes are cheap,” Memesu tells him. “We have a responsibility to live in a way that honors our dead. Their chance is spent. This is the best we can do.”

***

All creation has its opposite. Hydaelyn knows this, as she must. It is her nature and her mistake.

The brightest fire still leaves ash in its wake. Rain-black clouds will thread themselves with lightning. There is meaning in contradictions, meaning in change.

What she perceives comes through a kaleidoscopic awareness. Fractal visions of men, women, beasts varied as the stars above. Breathing and undead stand locked together against a current which threatens to drown them. Such is the Lifestream.

For now all exist as creatures delicate and fleeting. They call out for protection, for their Mother who will surely save them. Who will surely answer.

Hydaelyn gives her blessing, if not her favor. How can she favor any with such a multitude? It is a careful, pragmatic choice. Instinctive. Neither more nor less than what is destined.

Her champion will be complete in every way she has sundered herself.

***

Before long, it is time for U’thac to return.

Nald’s attendant is closest to his own age, perhaps four or five cycles older. The intersection of worship between Qarn and Mhach has been reviewed, notes taken, passages dissected. There is no further need for his presence as Southern Thanalan beckons him home.

The morning of his departure is a leisurely one. Bright and warm, holding the promise of manageable heat in later hours. Yuyudana wakes before the rest of them and prepares a meal of bread, tea, tuco tuco sausages, and vulture eggs. Memesu inquires after the route he has planned. It is a familiar path.

They all seem surprised when Cenric offers to escort the Seeker to Highbridge. In the ensuing silence he wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake. But U’thac claps a hand to his shoulder and replies, “I’d be glad for yourrr company. Walk with me.” Cenric hears a grin in his voice before he sees it, and some of the tension winding down his spine dissipates.

They say nothing at first. U’thac has no chocobo, carries his belongings with him in a pack of middling weight. Only when the hut is out of sight does Cenric tell him, quietly, “I want to thank you.”

Dark eyebrows rise. He finds himself the subject of an amused, if puzzled, scrutiny. “It was no trouble. I played a small rrrole.”

He shakes his head. “I’d be dead if you hadn’t been here.” Pressing his mouth into a line, Cenric focuses on the sound of grass crunching underfoot. Better that than the attention he’s brought upon himself. “I invited the easiest ending I could find. The others wouldn’t have been able to stop me alone.”

A rumble from U’thac’s chest, deeper than his voice. “Don’t be so sure. Even a lalafell might have managed the fight you put up.”

“You brought me back.”

The miqo’te shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “Aye. But rrrespectfully, you weigh almost nothing.”

Despite himself, Cenric finds a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Just the same.”

This earns a snort. U’thac Tia folds his arms behind his head and returns the expression. “Very well. If you insist, I suppose I’ll accept your gratitude.” Lidded eyes flit up to the hyur’s face. “But if you must hold me to account, there is a matterrr we should discuss.”

Cenric nods his assent, says nothing.

U’thac twitches an ear lazily. Doesn’t slow. “I was raised to love the Warden Azeyma. This has not lessened overrr the years, even in my service to Nald’Thal. Scripture tells they rrrule the Heaven and Hell of Fire together. Why is that?”

Cenric shakes his head. “You refer past my studies.”

U’thac flashes his teeth, which are very white. “It is not a matterrr of study.” Then he pauses. Appears to consider his next words carefully. “…Azeyma the Unblinking pays witness to all we do. Every kindness, every sin. It’s why she presides over confession. I find Nald’Thal also places great worrrth on such things. The Traders use our deeds to decide the weight of a soul upon death.”

The priest sighs. Lowers his arms to his sides. “Ul’dahns often believe that they can buy passage to Thal’s Halls. They forrrget that the gods have no use for something so fleeting as coin. It’s the principle of currency, of value, that Nald’Thal stands for.”

Cenric looks down. It feels as though someone has filled his chest with lead.

The Traders use our deeds to decide the weight of a soul upon death.

“…why are you telling me this?”

A hand comes to rest, not unkindly, on his shoulder. “Don’t despair,” says U’thac, “you’rrre alive yet. All I mean is that the time you have left matterrrs. You can still help people. You can still save lives. That counts, too. You are more than your mistakes alone.”

Sightless. Corneas filmed over. Lips gone blue, tongue swollen.

A child who knew her mother couldn’t save her.

It took hours for Lone Dove to die.

“Don’t make the mistake,” says Cenric, numbly, “of telling me I can balance against what’s been done. I don’t know how many I’ve killed. I ran away. I told myself that if I didn’t see it, it didn’t happen. The only reason I stopped was because someone caught up.”

They are no longer walking.

He finds himself turned, firmly, to face the miqo’te. “Cenric.” Green eyes. Thin pupils. Smile gone. “Underrrstand. I would not tell everyone what I am telling you. There are those who would use charity as a means to securrre paradise. Any good they did would be for themselves. I am not worried about that now.“

A tufted tail lashes behind the priest in agitation.

“If you care about causing pain,” says U’thac, “use that. Save otherrrs from it. You have a resource the dead lack. That is invaluable. Do you follow?”

Cenric blinks. Blinks again.

Breathes.

“I follow.”

***

He gives his word before they bid farewell.

***

Yuyudana finds his charge eager for more tasks to perform. Initially he says no.

Cenric seems better than he was. Although naturally lean, the more alarming edges he’d acquired are filling in. Sometimes he participates in conversations. Quirks his lips. Suggests solutions to day-to-day inconveniences. The hollow look he’d held initially has faded. Strange as the man might be, he actually resembles a person now.

There remain moments when something appears to possess him. His skin drains to gray, his vision loses focus, any control he might have had over his body slips. These instances are always silent. It can take moments or a few minutes for him to regain his senses. Sometimes the aftermath sees him mute and trembling. Others he only exhales and apologizes before excusing himself.

It had been difficult to tell at first, but Yuyudana suspects now that Cenric can’t be more than twenty-five cycles in age. This revelation added to his condition has made the priest reluctant to allow undue burden. He can focus on his education and practice with the thaumaturge. More than that is unnecessary.

He ought to be in the prime of his life right now.

And yet, idleness seems not to suit him. Despite orders to the contrary Yuyudana still finds floors swept, supplies stocked, shelves ordered. This occurs at odd hours when it would be impossible to catch the culprit responsible. He has yet to find Cenric taking time to rest that is not dedicated to sleep, food, or other necessities.

“You have hobbies, yes?” the lalafell asks one afternoon, while Memesu hunts a wandering couerl. Cenric pauses over the text in his lap.

“…there hasn’t been much opportunity,” he replies. After some uncertainty he adds, “I prefer to keep busy. It’s something worthwhile.”

Yuyudana considers this for several days afterward. Much of the exchange remains unspoken, a barely-scabbed over wound they are both taking care to avoid.

It would be a mistake to press the subject.

***

Eventually, he relents. Preparing offerings is simple enough so far as tasks go. Company would be welcome.

His request is received with disbelief. The hyur stares, wide-eyed and frozen and apparently lost to words.

When Cenric collects himself, it’s the first time Yuyudana sees him truly smile.

“Thank you.”

***

He waits for her at the entrance to the Burning Wall, as the sky begins to darken. Spires of aether twist and pierce the land, cradling rock formations in ways that almost seem deliberate. The structure glows gently against the sunset.

Memesu approaches as a patch of night, eyes bright under a wide-brimmed hat. A collar conceals her expression. Cenric doesn’t wave but raises a hand tentatively in greeting. Memesu mirrors this.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asks, approaching the stone Cenric sits on. He scoots over before she can ask, and the lalafell hoists herself to sit beside him.

“A while,” he admits. “I needed to think.”

Memesu snorts quietly, but doesn’t criticize. It’s the very reason she came to this corner of Eorzea herself, after all.

“If I’m honest,” Cenric goes on, “there’s something I want to ask you about.”

Thin eyebrows lift as she studies him. “And you’re in an honest mood, I trust.” It is not a question, although he imagines it ought to be. Under her gaze he feels like an insect pinned to a board for dissection. “What ails you?”

It’s a subject that’s worried him for months. He’s imagined himself hesitating, phrasing things a thousand ways, talking around the issue instead of defining it in any intelligible manner.

“Why,” he asks simply, “are you trying to save me?”

She stares at him, her mouth forming a tight, thin line. After some moments Memesu only says, “Are you asking me not to?”

“No,” answers Cenric. It occurs to him this might even be true. “But you know what I’ve done. It’s just a strange amount of effort for a… for a liar.”

This is the most delicate way he can phrase it. Whether it’s for her or himself he couldn’t say.

“Not so strange,” she replies, “for a sick beggar who could be someone better.” Memesu plants her palms behind her, leans into them. “I detest waste.”

He contemplates this for several moments. The breath he’d been holding escapes.

“Tch,” she mutters eventually, tilting her face toward the sky. “Apologies. It’s not just that.” Cenric glances back. The lalafell’s expression is almost peaceful. She continues. “I detest suffering, too. Seen enough. Something in this Twelve-forsaken world will be better because of me.” A wry smile ghosts over her mouth. “Lucky you.”

Yellow eyes glint against the light. Cenric shivers, but asks nothing more.

***

Yuyudana, returned from a burial ceremony at the Church of Adama Landama, finds him holding a book he isn’t reading. Despite candles, the hut is darker than the new-evening sky. Cenric has his chair positioned so close to the wall that simply by leaning right he’ll find its support. He does this, eyes unfocused, trapping a page carefully between ink-black fingers.

“Are you well?” asks the priest. Rather than start, Cenric only blinks. Winces. Rubs the bridge of his nose with one knuckle.

“Aye,” he mumbles. Hesitates. Looks down at the text. “Only distracted.”

The funeral had been for an elderly goldsmith. Lalafell. He’d left behind a wife, four children, more grandchildren. They made a comfortable living without managing opulence, and had covered the expenses for all sprite cores necessary in the last rites.

Ice, to halt corruption. Lightning, to expel the sins of mortal life. Fire, to cleanse any remains for their return to the earth. Channeling each element with subtlety, in conjunction with appropriate embalming procedures, was essential to preserving the body’s integrity. A more delicate practice than most thaumaturges employed today, but linked nonetheless.

The goldsmith had been a gruff and distant man, but a good one. His family had seemed almost hesitant in their grief, unsure whether such open displays would meet his approval.

There is a seat across the table. Yuyudana takes it.

“If I may,” he says, “you might find it helpful to exorcise the matter.”

Cenric stares at him, irises startlingly white and inscrutable in the moment. He does not speak.

Yuyudana shakes his head, rueful. “Ah, pay me no mind. The day bleeds over. For all I know you may be busy contemplating our axebeak problem.”

A faint smile crosses the hyur’s lips. “They are rather loud,” he replies. The expression passes, replaced by something tense. Cenric’s eyes flit down. “But no, there… maybe you’re right. I’ve avoided this.”

Gently, he slides a leather marker into the book. Closes it. Folds both hands on the table in front of him, resting between perched elbows. The way he leans forward makes him seem smaller than he is.

“I was raised by a man named Immin Asher,” says Cenric. He still doesn’t look up. “Maybe I was abandoned. Maybe it was something else. Either way, he took me in. In every sense but blood, he was my father.”

A beat. Lips pressed firm then slowly, deliberately relaxing.

“Immin taught me what he could. The last time I really studied it was with him. Letters, arithmetic, histories… things of that nature. Strict man, but he made sure I understood.” Hesitation. Fingers knitting together tightly. When he continues it is quiet, cautious. “…long dead, now.”

Yuyudana takes in the shoulders, the false scrutiny directed more to avoid sight than take anything in.

He decides, privately, that this is shame.

“You miss him.” There is no need to ask. Cenric nods anyway, the gesture stilted.

“I do.” The breath snags almost imperceptively, and now the pale eyes skirt toward the door. Back again. His head dips. “Immin owed me nothing, and still he… whatever else I doubted, it was never him. He could have settled with keeping me safe, but he wanted me to be happy too and I—look what I’ve done.”

At this, the edge of his words begin to strain.

“He would’ve been alive if not for me,” says Cenric, “and he would be so disappointed if he knew what came after. I should have thanked him, honored him somehow. There’s no apologizing for something like this.”

“Be at peace,” says Yuyudana softly. The younger man closes his mouth. Waits. “You said yourself that your father wanted you to be happy.

Silence. Cenric’s jaw rigid against the workings of his throat.

“I don’t want,” he says eventually, hoarsely, “to be someone he would regret.”

***

When the time comes for Memesu to return to Ul’dah, neither of them is truly prepared.

She has enlisted a chocobo porter, having gathered her belongings in a pack that nearly matches her size. The overly decorated cauldron she prefers. A small collection of incense. Spare hats and meals and gathered materia. It seemed like so much more, spread out as it was. The space will feel emptier without her.

They avoid the subject before her departure, reviewing skywatcher predictions and how she’s raided the Golden Bazaar without actually addressing their separation. Cenric can feel Yuyudana’s eyes on him through the evening.

He approaches when they turn in for the night, but it catches in his throat. “Sleep well,” he bids her, before turning to his own bedroll.

She says nothing.

***

Standing before the bridge together, so early stars have yet to truly fade, she has a gift for him.

“I want to be sure,” she mutters, “that you don’t embarrass me at the ossuary. These clothes will ensure you blend in well-enough. As for the rest…”

A weathered staff, faint discoloration to mark the grip of its previous owner.

“…it was my sister’s, once. Would’ve been good for naught but scrap if not for you. Do try and take care of it.”

He can’t answer, choked with questions and protests and gratitude that threatens to bring him to his knees. So he simply nods and holds the bundle close.

Memesu has her gaze trained on the horizon, deep blue crawling into lavender. “Friend of mine, Brendt, should be fine to give you a ride. You’ll have until the third umbral moon to summon a blizzard properly and enlist yourself with the guild. Cocobuki will be the one to talk to, though their secretary can be an obstacle in her own right…”

“Memesu.”

Cenric hears himself speak as if divorced from the act. Memesu starts. Meets his face. Averts her eyes again. He kneels.

The lalafell has her arms folded in front of her, clutching both elbows, brow furrowed. A mask of impatience. He hesitates, then smiles.

“I can never repay what you’ve given me,” Cenric murmurs. “I promise it won’t be in vain.”

Now, she looks at him. There is something terrible in her expression then, eyes shining, mouth parted in an unspoken reply

She blinks, rapidly, and it is gone. In it’s place sits a grin, the likes of which he’s never seen before.

“I'm going to hold you to that, Asher.”

***

He kneels before the altar and bows his head. Nymeia lilies rest over stone, crisp and bright and dying. They lie bound together between gold bands. Candles flicker against the damp.

“Duality lies at the essence of all things,” Cenric recites. “The sun rises in the east, only to fall in the west. Just as life rises in birth, only to fall in death.”

There is no echo here. Instead, the cavern seems to absorb all sound. His prayer comes muted, private.

He doesn’t need to look upon his god to know him. Thal’s likeness has a narrow jaw. High cheekbones. Thin lips. His eyes shut in the impression of patience.

“It’s been some time,” says Cenric, “since I asked anything of you.”

This sees no answer, as expected. He exhales slowly.

“I have little to offer,” the hyur continues, “but these are my most precious possessions. It’s past time the rings were returned to your care.”

Maybe nothing changes. Maybe the air grows heavy with expectation.

It is very dark.

“I know death lies before me,” Cenric says. “Hopefully life does also. But before I take myself from this place, I…”

He closes his eyes in turn. A twin to the idol.

Eventually, he whispers, “You’ve seen too much of me for this.”

No disagreement. No encouragement.

Then, “I beg you. Watch over those I’ve delivered into your hands. Give comfort to their loved ones, their families. Help them find some measure of peace.”

A drop of water glides down its stalactite, plummets to a shallow pool below.

The collision resonates.

“Guide my hands,” Cenric says. “Keep me from my old mistakes. Help me preserve more than I destroy.”

By such frail firelight, one can almost imagine that Thal is alive.

***

Hear.

A beating heart. The turn of a wheel. The voice of a goddess, neither commanding nor beseeching.

Her invitation.

Feel.

Warmth and sunlight. Dust like stars or stars like dust. Uncertain footing. Certain steps.

Think.

A beginning.

A promise.

A purpose.

An answer.

***

May the Traders nurture our fortunes as They kindle the flames which burn within us all.

***

It is in the wake of Ultima, as the Seventh Astral Era dawns, that a visitor approaches Mirage.

The settlement is smaller, wearier than it was some twelve years past. It marks itself in worn buildings, sparse vegetation, sparser people. What few remain band together against the elements and forgotten tragedies. As much as anyone can be, they are comfortably abandoned.

The sky blazes blue overhead. From the north, through heat that makes sand ripple like water, comes a behemoth. The stranger reclines almost lazily atop its back, his seat swaying with every step. Metal ornaments clatter from the harness in the way that bells clatter.

Perhaps this Warrior of Light makes a joke of his title. Beyond a strange complexion, he presents himself with every morbid luxury black magic has to offer. Gem-studded robes, a broad-brimmed hat, fitted boots... matching in darkness, they serve only amplify it. A mado brush, his exception, rests across both knees.

Reactions vary according to age. Younger residents gawk at the mount and the visitor, attaching neither name nor history nor title. Only power and perhaps some small wealth.

Most who know better go inside and quietly shut their doors. Others freeze. Few have courage to whisper to one another as Cenric Asher dismounts, impassive as he ties his beast to a pole once used by chocobo porters.

It could break away if it wanted to. It doesn’t.

Irises without color scan what residents remain.

Stop.

Teeth emerge from under lips curling involuntarily. His eyes widen.

“You,” he says, and at twenty-six cycles his voice is deep and steady as he gestures with the staff. “Come here. There’s a small favor I would ask.”

Two figures. One, a boy of perhaps ten. Dusty brown hair, a large-boned frame typical of his people that only promises to become more pronounced with age. Dark eyes. A nervous smile in return.

And there, positioned just in front of him, is his highlander mother.

She’s likely approaching forty, now. The same stubborn set to her jaw, same narrow eyes, same auburn hair. Something tired lining her cheeks, perhaps, but with those features frozen in horror as they are such details take a back seat.

The boy tugs her elbow uncertainly, glancing between the outsider and the dread he evokes. Cenric’s smile grows as if it has a life of its own. Devoid of warmth. He tilts the end of his brush in a small, leisurely circle. Beckoning.

He does not, even for an instant, look away.

The woman forces a smile in turn. Delicately removes her son’s hand. Begins to advance.

“Ah,” says Cenric, “both of you, if you please. It won’t be long.”

For several seconds, they remain caught in each others’ scrutiny. There is an animal tension in the way they grin at one another.

“Come with me,” murmurs the highlander woman, “it’s alright.”

She, with the boy in tow, closes the gap.

“Forgive me,” says Cenric, tilting the staff to rest against his shoulder. Unblinking. “For all the fond memories I have of this place your name escapes.”

“Eona,” she says, almost a whisper.

“And yours?” says Cenric, attention shifting to the child.

Nothing.

“His name,” says Eona, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder, “is Varin.”

She squeezes gently. Reassuringly.

Cenric’s expression remains unmoved.

“I don’t mean to stay,” he says lightly. “There’s a visit I should have made long ago. Circumstances.” Finally, he looks away—gaze darting to the inn, fallen from use. He licks his lips nervously. The smile doesn’t drop.

“I’d like to see my father’s grave,” he says, with the air of someone requesting the price of bread or discussing weather.

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” breathes Eona, “there isn’t one. We… we burned the body afterward.”

Cenric’s expression remains frozen. The only change comes from the way his face gradually drains to gray.

“Can you show me,” he replies evenly, “where the remains were destroyed?”

Eona opens her mouth. Closes it again. Looks at her feet and nods.

“Follow me.”

***

They walk in an uncomfortable silence. The mage’s eyes flit between buildings, between faces. He grips his staff tightly, close to his chest. Varin, holding his mother’s hand, sometimes glances back at him. If Cenric notices he gives no indication.

The location they arrive at isn’t marked. Perhaps one hundred yalms from the entrance to a nearby cavern. It takes some moments for the Highlanders to realize their charge has fallen behind.

“…Mr. Asher,” says Eona.

The Warrior of Light has gone still, gaze fixed to the cave. Features blank. He does not respond.

“Ma,” whispers Varin, “we should go.”

Eona exhales through her nose. Her lips thin.

“Mr. Asher,” she repeats, louder this time.

Cenric flinches. Turns.

The space is distinguished by a small, rocky outcropping. No trees grow, no markers stand.

“This is the place,” says Eona, gesturing. “Immin… your father didn’t deserve what happened.”

A slight inclination of the head in acknowledgment. Nothing more.

Very slowly, cautiously, she begins drawing Varin away toward the town. Keeping distance.

“Tell me,” says Cenric abruptly, without inflection, “do you love your son?”

Eona watches him for several moments. Searching.

When she answers, it is the most natural thing in the world.

“I would die for him.”

The Warrior of Light recoils as if struck. “You…” she thinks he means to say, his mouth working around an idea he won’t voice. Cenric is very still after that, and then he only brings one hand to his eyes. Keeps it there.

“Go,” he says quietly. “Leave me.”

Eona remains motionless. She watches with the silent revelation that what stands before her is only a man, neither more nor less.

“Ma,” Varin whispers louder. Insistently. His mother nods, and the smile she offers him is apologetic.

“Sorry, love,” she tells him. “Come on.”

When they depart, Eona doesn’t look back.

***

Alone, Cenric kneels before an unremarkable space. His shoulders tremble and shudder occasionally. No sound escapes.

After what might be minutes or hours or an eternity, he uses his staff to leverage himself upright once more.

“Thank you,” he says to the empty air.

Black magic is a destructive discipline. It cannot be used to give or create anything new.

It can, however, change what exists irrevocably.

A familiar power arcs chest to limbs. It drives through earth and fingertips both, reconnects in a blaze of electricity. Again and again and again. Lightning branches through sand like nerves or veins, like paths between stars or frost on glass.

There is still no gravestone left behind. Immin’s body has long since scattered to the wind and it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise. This place where he left the earth, however, will bear a scar.

#final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #black mage #ffxiv #ff14 #I said I'd get to posting some writing here so doing that!#I might have posted this previously but can't find it so here goes

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jeongincore · 6 years

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Shit i really liked and kinda didn’t like about Ragnarok

I recently saw ragnarok and became so rejuvenated that i brought my marvel blog back but i wanted to seriously talk about like things that i liked and really didn’t just to get shit out there.

Things i really liked (like so much that i am obsessed)

-Thor’s new hair cut/outfit, i think its actually super suitable. Gives that sort of cool ass warrior refugee look. Plus, Chris Hemsworth is beautiful.

-The humor, oh god it was hilarious, i’ve never laughed so genuinely and so much in my life and it made the movie so charming and relatable. It was also such a departure from The Dark World and the first Thor, which dealt with so much emotional baggage for not only just Thor, but for Loki, who basically suffered throughout both movies.

-Hulk being an actual toddler/Bruce Banner being so fucked up and anxious because WHEN DID HE GET ON AN ALIEN PLANET.

-”You’ve been on other planets before i assume” “Yeah, one!” “well now it’s two”

-Valkyrie. Her entire everything gave me so much to love and adore. Tessa Thompson has stole my heart yet again.

-TAIKA WAITITI AS KORG WAS ACTUALLY SO FUNNY

-The little tiny glimpses of Loki and Thor’s childhood, aka the snake story, get help. It really showed how much time Loki and Thor had spent together, which i assume is a lot because age in Asgardian years work differently probably? Like imagine that, Loki and Thor spending time together and being inseparable for 100 years. It showed that they were always close despite loki feeling different or alienated, which explains why its so hard for Loki to just leave thor for dead.

-”You’ll always be the god of mischief, but you can be so much more” See that shit destroyed me. Thor acknowledges that Loki is not like him. He’s a trickster, manipulative, and selfish. But he also acknowledges that Loki is so much more than his tricks and lies, which shows so much character growth in Thor, who sees loki as more than just an asgardian prince that was raised the exact same way opposite of Thor, but as his own fucking person.

-Thor actually not being stupid and falling for Loki’s tricks, aka his magic projections of himself/his petty, stupid betrayals. Tom mentioned that Thor was evolving and that Loki was finally starting to realize that he’s the only one not growing. Scenes like the betrayal scene and the snake scene, although meant to be hilarious, point out that Thor isn’t that idiot that just was too trusting of his brother, he sees through Loki’s tricks, he’s seen them for years, and it really shows that Loki’s getting predictable with his fake deaths and betrayals, which might hint at him changing?

-IT FIXED THE INCONSISTENCIES. The main reason i didn’t like Dark world, though i did see it as amazing for its ability to mix the emotional darkness between Loki and Thor along with the humor throughout the movie, was because it pointed Loki out to be the type of cold blooded monster that would murder his own father. I mean I’m no Loki apologist, i love the kid but he’s killed, he’s manipulated, he’s hurt everyone around him, but i doubt he could ever kill Odin, no matter how much of a shitty father he is. Also low-key hated the whole “Loki if you betray me, ill kill you” Thor bullshit. We all know thor wouldn’t be able to do that, he still hopes Loki is his brother.

-AGAIN, THE SNAKE SCENE WAS SO FUNNY.

-”I thought the world of you Loki.” Ouch.

-Hulk and Val’s bromance.

-The entire Valkyrie v. Hela scene. It was so beautiful and ethereal i actually nutted.

-LOKI DIDN’T NEED TO COME BACK. HE DIDN’T NEED TO GO BACK TO THE SHIP WITH THOR. HE DIDN’T NEED TO GO BACK TO ASGARD. HE COULD HAVE NOT. BUT HE DID. BECAUSE SOMEWHERE IN THERE UNDER THE SELFISHNESS MAYBE HE CARES.

-Loki’s face when odin called him his son.

-Loki’s face when Hela told him to kneel.

-Loki refusing to let Thor go back to Asgard. “Are you serious? you can’t be thinking of going back there, that’s madness!” is that? Loki cARING?

-Loki’s character development.

-thor in a jean jacket and hoodie in new york.

-Thor spilling beer everywhere.

-Loki letting Thor take the orgy ship.

-Jeff Goldblum. Thats it.

-LOKIS FACE WITH THOR AND ODIN ON THE ROOF OF THE CASTLE I SCREmed AFTER ALL LOKI DID HE WAS STILL PUT THERE AS A PRINCE OF ASGARD BYE.

-”Hello father” “OH SHIT”

-The entire play. Loki’s rule as a benevolent god/king in which, before everyone feared him for a dictatorship militaristic form of ruling he could have, but in reality he just like ate grapes and watched plays.

-Thor wanting to be a Valkyrie. The crowned prince of asgard, wanting to be an elite team of woman warriors.

-VAL IS GAY AND IN TESSA THOMPSONS WORDS, HAD A GIRLFRIEND THAT SACRIFICED HERSELF TO SAVE HER.

-Val kicking Loki’s ass.

-THE RETURN OF THE DOUBLE BLADES OUT OF NOWHERE.

-Loki in a suit.

-HEIMDALL I LOVEJWIFHTGE.

-”I thought you didn’t want to talk about it” “heres the thing”

-”Hello!” “Hi” *blasts everyone in room with giant laser guns*

-”What are you? Thor, god of hammers?”

-IMMIGRANT SONG.

-”i swear i left him right here” “where? on the street? Or in that nursing home thats being torn down?”

“I’m not a witch” “Why do you dress like one then?”

-Loki rolling his eyes when thor is approached by fans.

-Loki calling stephen strange a shitty sorcerer and going at him with stabby hands.

-Confirmation of loki’s love of stabbing.

-Confirmation that Loki is a snake, and also Thor’s favorite snake.

-Loki reciting Thor’s prayer to odin with him mY SON.

-The avengers parallel. “He’s my brother!” “adopted.”

-”mbLERG ITS ME”

-”AGH LOKI!”

-’DIRECT ME TO WHO’S ASS I HAVE TO KICK”

-”Where? the devil’s anus?”

-Bruce fighting evil with fireworks. Good job sweetie.

-Bruce flopping like a fish on the bifrost.

-Thor and his sparkles.

-Lightning eyes.

-Odin finALLY DYING. THANK GOD.

-*Loki on a death trip* ‘this is a terrible idea”

-Loki somehow reciting a spell to bring surtur back. what a weirdo. how did he know that.

-LOKI COMING BACK.

-im here.

-Loki

-Brodinson.

-Thor and Bruce’s bromance.

-Jane not being there. I mean it makes sense she dumped him, he left her for two years chasing down infinity stones and constantly almost dying while she had no way of contacting him because Thor’s ass didn’t know how to use fucking email. Also i just really honestly never liked her character to begin with, i mean sure i love that Jane is a strong, smart woman but tbh i just wanted to Fast forward every time she was on screen.

-The cute death wolf.

-”THATS HOW IT FEELS!” “sorry i just really like the sport”

-THOR ACTUALLY BEING PORTRAYED AS LESS OF A JERK WITH CACTUSES SHOVED UP HIS RECTUM AND MORE LIKE THE SWEET, CHARMING, CHARISMATIC AND SLIGHTLY ARROGANT BUT MEANS WELL MAN HE IS.

-Val being there as a cool as member of the team rather than just the love interest of Thor. Protect her at all cost even though she probs doesn’t even need it.

-”I’VE BEEN FALLING FOR THIRTY MINUTES”

-Stan Lee’s cameo as the dude who cut Thor’s hair. Thank you for doing all of us a giant favor. Please do the same to Loki.

-loki beating someone up with his horn hat.

-Loki twirling his horn hat.

-Loki being such a self serving, extra asshole that he came from the fucking fog screaming “YOUR SAVIOR HAS ARRIVED”

-Bruce asking where tony was and then complaining about his tight crotch pants.

-LOKI’S COSTUME CHANGE GOD I HATED THE OLD ONES BLESS UP.

-Loki’s costume being mainly blue, black, and gold :-)))))))

-Loki being 100% done with everything that happens.

-Val knocking Loki out when he makes her relive her trauma why do people ship this you go honey that was a dick move

-Thor throwing various things at Loki to make sure he’s not a mirage.

-he’s a friend from work, something a kid from make a wish that met chris suggested, being in the film and all of the trailers. I hope that made that kid smile.

-”In return, i wish to be granted safe passage through the anus”

-LOKI FINALLY ACCEPTING THAT HE DIDN’T WANT THE THRONE WITHOUT A FAMILY. THAT HE’D RATHER WATCH HIS BROTHER TAKE IT AND STILL HAVE A BROTHER THAN HAVE A THRONE WITH NO ONE TO SHARE IT WITH.

-LOKI SHOWING UP ON SCREEN DURING THOR’S CORONATION.

-Loki being genuinely worried about and double checking if Thor really wants to bring him back to earth after what he did kill me honestly that would probably hurt less.

-Loki’s face when thor said that going their separate ways was what Loki always wanted bc in reality that is the opposite go back.

-Hela not being Loki’s daughter because 1) it proves that ya’ll should stop hoping that a comic soap opera about rich petty alien boys with daddy issues would be anything like classic norse mythology, and 2) when the fuck and how the fuck and why the fuck

-Loki suggesting that he and Thor both rule over Sakaar together lmao ouch.

-Loki just being really cute and quirky.

-Thor being so fucking amazed by Val all the time.

-”You’re late.”

-”I saw you coming” “course you did.”

-THE GUNS NAMED DES AND TROY I WANTED TO FUCKING DIE.

What i didn’t like much;

-Hela. I loved her character, but honestly here is where i think there might’ve been some failure despite how much i loved that movie. She seemed so out of place as a villain, and i feel like the whole related shit tried to mimic Guardians vol. 2, but honestly the fact that Thor didn’t care much about her made her feel so out of place. But i did like some parts, like how she was so disappointed about not being remembered or what her existence and disappointment did to how loki was raised.

-Dr. Strange? Ok that was weird. It makes sense and it was funny to see him but to be honest i wasn’t into it.

-tHE SCENE WITH VAL AND A GIRL BEING CUT. WHYWHYWHY

-tbh was not fond of frost master, don’t hate me.

-Loki possibly taking the tesseract????? And hinting that he might turn evil again??? don’t do this to me marvel.

-loki possibly being turned into the quirky sidekick of his brother. Loki is Thor’s equal, not his annoying little brother/wacky sidekick. I didn’t get that vibe often, but sometimes i did honestly.

-RIP thor’s hammer.

-ODIN BEING A PIECE OF SHIT YET AGAIN.

-Hela’s entrance. it was so quick and like out of place i was like what wait, Loki and thor didn’t even have time to prepare or even mourn.

-the comedy. It was its best and worst part of the movie. Sometimes it was tasteful. Other times it was too much. Thor and Loki didn’t even get to mourn for their dad who tbh was an asshole but still their dad before there was a annoying joke about kneeling. It took away from the story sometimes.

-the lack of hugging between thor and loki.

-The way they glossed over the warriors three’s death like they weren’t Thor’s closest friends and the only ones there for him when Odin tried to banish Thor to earth :-))))) I mean after all that shit he went through I’m pretty fucking sure it probably hasn’t caught up to him but ya bitch still pissed.

-The way, Thor, who basically admitted that Loki actually meant the world to him and was the only family he had left, didn’t ask where he was after asgard exploded? Like tbh i get it, he trusts Loki, his brothers capable and strong and most of all really fucking smart, but i’d still be like :-) the fuck is Loki. I think this is a directing error though rather than like the characters fucking up but i was freaking out, i mean asgard was literally pebbles and everyone was out BUT my son.

-No sif, i mean i get it Jaime Alexander was busy but like y'all could’ve explained smh.

-Loki not getting a hair cut. When will his emo phase end.

-Not getting that one flashback to 80′s asgard with mullets and emo loki.

Overall it was pretty fucking cool, one of the best movies of the trilogy. I fell in love with the marvel cinematic universe all over again. But it wasn’t perfect.

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garnetshell · 6 years

Note

I missed you •3•! I don't really have any requests, but some LDL would be cute, you make such a beautiful ship out of them

You don’t want me to-

Well, okay!!

HERE YOU GO!!

Just a little writing dealing with the Monsters AU!

Warning sex ahead;

Oh mama, did I need to write this.

How longhad he been here in this realm? This odd place that seemed like amirror to the world he had been born. When he first came he wassurprised that the sun came up, that it wasn’t in perpetual darkness.That was when he had met Michelangelo, or Mikey. He was a playfulsort given his nature. Mostly harmless unless he must fight then hewas a formidable foe. Mikey took him to Raphael whom was strong andsilent, his sense of scent so strong he knew something was off aboutLeonardo right away. He wasn’t “normal”. He wasn’t a monster likethe rest of them. When he tried to communicate then it solidified inthe half werewolf’s mind that Leo was indeed, foreign. The two tookhim to see the Necromancer. Imagine his surprise that the person hewas sent to kill by his betrothed, Karai, was a Midwife byprofession. A necromancer was simply and linguist that knew how tospeak “through the realms” or “with the dead”. It was theonly reason why Donatello knew what Leonardo really was, a human sentto the Monster world.

Stillfocused on his mission, Leonardo lied in wait. He was taken in bythat Incubus midwife, living in his oddly shaped home. It had beenmonths and he was still trying to remember which room held what.Donatello had rooms reserved specifically for several types of herbs,a room for processing them, more storage rooms than he could countthat were filled with odd glowing bottles, jars, and pots that talkedwhen opened. There were cabinets and closets filled with tools tohelp the “women” during birth. He had a building in the back thathad many different baby items for new borns, and there was a wholeother building dedicated to what would be needed for any new born.

At first hehad thought that Donatello was deceptive. Tried to turn him againsthuman kind but when Donatello never mentioned even the word “human”Leonardo started to question. He questioned more when he saw how thehalf turtle creature soothed and aided his patients. He witnessed thesoftest expressions on his face as he would gently clean a baby,cooing as it cried for its mother. No one that could look at suchinnocence like that could be as dark as Karai tried to make himbelieve… right?

Not tomention, Donatello… he… Leonardo looked down at the blade in hishands, the very one he was supposed to plunge into the Necromancer’sheart to free his master from his curse.

He felt hisheart sink.

He had tosteel himself. Keep on target. He was sent here for a reason. OrokuSaki, his master, his future father-in-law was under that terriblecurse, slowly withering away while being plagued by visions ofterrible creatures eating him. He had an obligation.

“Leo!Mikey and Raph sent word that they are going to be at the taverntonight!!” Donatello’s voice rose up from the stairs that were nearhis room. His room… one that Donatello had cleaned out, gone andbought him a bed and a dresser… took him to the market to get whathe wanted so he would be comfortable… What kind of “monster”would do that?

He closedhis eyes and tried to focus. He wasn’t Leonardo. Leonardo was hiscode name, his real name was Yuuta. He was Hamato Yuuta. He had toremember that, cling onto that. He knew he would be deceived here,tricked into thinking this was an innocent world.

“Leo?”There was a soft knock on his door.

Donatelloquietly opened the door slowly, peeking in just enough to seeLeonardo sitting at the foot of his bed cradling a dagger in hispalms.

“Leo?”

“Hm?”He didn’t look up, only stared at the blade, its shining surfacereflecting back the green color of his turtle skin.

“You notfeeling up for the tavern? I could send word to Mikey and Raph thatwe’ll have dinner here.”

“Oh…Oh! No, no it’s okay. We can go, if you want.”

Donatellostepped in, the wings on his back, folded up to look like a shellpulsed as he shifted them.

“Do youneed relief?” His hand came down onto Leonardo’s shoulder.

Leoswallowed as he looked up at those soft lilac purple eyes. He knewwhat the incubus was offering, he had done so several times. Any timethat he thought Leo, no Yuuta, needed comfort.

He shookhis head as he had grown accustomed to doing.

“Are yousure?” Donnie’s clawed hand slipped up to his neck leaving aburning trail of desire.

Yuuta tookin a deep breath, he felt a tremble race through his body. He triedto rationalize that his reaction to Donatello was purely because hewas a beast of seduction. It was a natural reaction. But if that wastrue, then how could he refuse him so many times. Why was it that hehad a growing need to be around him? His touch felt so good, at timesit was calming, others it made his face flush and heart race.

“Donnie,I-”

The incubusstepped closer, a knee coming up beside Yuuta’s thigh. Heinstinctively moved the dagger he held away, he let it tumbleharmlessly to the floor as his hands opted to hold something else,something warm and lean. He cupped Donnie’s hips, fingers under thepouches that strapped to his belt and around his thighs like gunholsters. He looked up at the monster that gazed down at him. An oddsound crawled up his chest, vibrating in his throat. He didn’t knowwhat it was but Donnie gave one in return his sounding almostmusical. An enchanting melody that made the blood rush to his groin.

“I can’tdo this.” He whispered as Donatello’s hands caressed his head. “Itwouldn’t be for relief.”

“Whatwould it be for?” Donnie wiggled his long tail slipping it down toslip over Yuuta’s knee.

He lookedup at the creature touching him. He pleaded with his eyes for him tounderstand how wrong this was, how he was a human in the guise of amonster. Donatello didn’t deserve him, a wretched creature that wasgoing to marry a woman he hated out of obligation. There was no roomin him for what this was. He had tradition to worry about, a masterto obey…

Donatelloleaned down, his lips barely touching Yuuta’s as he whispered. “Ilove you too, Yuuta.”

He ask howDonnie knew, all he was aware of was the incubus and his taste. Histongue had been the one to betray him, he had kissed the monstertrying to desperately drink him. He moved his hands, pushing againstthe strapped on packs to grab fistfuls of flesh. A moan that he ateonly fueled him. He pulled the incubus fully onto his lap, hisalready hard cock slipping free from its confines.

“Mm-”Donnie pulled their mouths apart, panting. He leaned back, unbucklinghis utility belt. “G-girl or boy?”

“What?”

“Do youwant me as a woman or man?”

“Whatdifference does that make with a creature like you?” He asked as hekissed along shoulder.

“I- ohgods, that feels good.” Donnie tilted his head, offering his neckas the semi-human kissed. He bit his lip as he felt a hard wet cockrub against his belly. He allowed his body to take over, do what itwanted. His body adjusted, doing what it was born to do. He liftedhimself up onto his knees, feeling shakey being on the edge of thebed. He reached between them, grabbing the thick green cock and linedhimself up. He rested down, sheathing it deep inside. His head fellback, wings relaxing down as Yuuta held onto him, sucking on his neckwhile bucking up into the now succubus.

“Y-yuuta.”

He stilled.The name felt dirty. Wrong. He pulled Donnie up, slipping out of hiswonderful body. He slipped his arms under legs and rolled them so themonster was underneath. He ran his hands down to the clasps of theleg straps and undid them. He pulled Donnie’s packs and utility beltfree, dumping it off to the side.

“Leo.”

“Leo?”Donnie repeated as the semi-human spread his pretty green legs. Blueeyes looking down at his vaginal lips.

“Call meLeonardo.” He lowered himself down, slipping his tongue between thelabia.

Donnie bithis bottom lip as he was french kissed. Heat running through his bodyas he felt every lick. That clever tongue poking into his vagina asLeo brushed the pink little bud of a clitoris. He arched his backagainst the mattress, his long tail wiggling as his toes curled.

“L-leo,p-please.”

Leonardogave one last long lick before he drew himself up, paralell toDonatello. He grasped his cock and took the head to brush against hislover’s clitoris.

“I wantyou, Donnie. Every sexual form. I want to take you as a man, as awoman, and anything in between. Will you let me?”

Donniequickly nodded, trying to rock his hips up to get more of thatdelicious torture that Leonardo was giving to him.

“I wantto claim you so thoroughly that you won’t desire anyone else.” Hesuddenly thrusted his cock into Donatello’s body. The monster let outa howl of approval as he kicked out a leg.

Leo tookhold of Donnie’s legs, bending them up and over his shoulders. Hecrawled up closer and up onto the balls of his feet. He placed hishands on their side of Donnie’s head forcing the incubus, into aball, ass up with Leonardo fully mounted on top. He moved his hips ina pistoning motion digging in as deeply as he could. His cock rubbingagainst the velvety walls that hugged so tightly around him. Hejerked to a stop when he felt the tip of Donatello’s tail up againsthis anus.

The purpleeyed monster whimpered, his claws gently raking down his arms.

“Don’tstop, please don’t stop.”

Leo lickedhis lips as he felt the tip of that tail press against him once more.

“Push itin, just a little.”

Donnie didas he was told, pushing the tip of his tail into his lover’s ass. Heslowly pumped it, not going in deeper as Leo got used to the smallintrusion.

“Leo-please.I need to feel your seed in me,” Donnie begged.

“Fuck,”Leo groaned under his breath. He rolled his hips finding he enjoyedthe feeling of the tail in him while he fucked down into this lovelycreature.

Donniehowled as Leo started to feverishly pound into him. He was helplessin his position. He could feel Leonardo’s dick driving into him,rubbing him almost raw as he found that spot inside that made Donniedig his claws in and scream from ecstasy. The coiling heat of matingtwisted tighter and tighter inside of him. He clamped down aroundLeo’s cock, cumming harder than he had with any previous sexualencounters. His lover stilled, pressing down onto him. He let out ahelpless shout as he couldn’t push Leo’s cock out of his body, hisjuices welling up and pushing out around the penis that piraticallyplugged him up. He could feel the wetness slip down around his ass aswell as down his stomach as Leo continued to dive into him. The lewdslapping sounds only made him purr with pleasure as his overlysensitive body swam in a sea of desire. He could feel himselfstarting to coil once more. Oh gods, blessed gods, he was going tocum again. That’s never happened before.

Leonardoson stilled, pushing his hips in as tightly as he could as his facescrunched up. He held his breath as he shot his load deep withinDonatello’s velvety purse. He pumped his hips a few times afterward,milking every drop out. He cursed as he felt Donatello cum for asecond time, squeezing around him, this time forcing his cock out.

He pantedheavily as he started to lean back. He wrapped his arms aroundDonnie’s legs so that the monster wouldn’t just flop to the side. Hesat back on his feet, Donnie’s legs still resting over his shoulders.He looked at the messy cream that colored Donatello’s gender.

“Th-thatwas- AH!” Donnie gasped trying to twist away as Leonardo’s mouthfound its way between his legs, licking at his sensitive sex.

“Sorry.”Leo gave it a soft kiss before releasing his hold on strong legs. “Iwanted another taste.”

Donnie tookin a deep breath as Leonardo finally laid down beside him. “Fuckme.” He purred while he stretched out his legs.

“I planto, as much as I can.”

“You sureyou’re not part Incubus yourself?”

“I justknow what I want.” Leo leaned over Donnie.

Lilac eyespeered back up to him. “What do you want?”

“To bewith you.” A leaf green hand caressed an olive cheek.

Donatelloleaned over, sealing his lips over Leo’s. If that was what Leo wantedthen Donnie was going to help him achieve it. If what he wanted wouldmake them both happen, then all the better.

#my writing #monsters au #leotello #tcest #turtlecest #leo/donnie #leo/don #leonardo #leo #donatello #donnie

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your-highnessmarvel · 6 years

Text

Benign

Requested by Anon: How about an imagine about you finding Loki on Saqaar? I️ was pretty interested in how Loki managed to catch the Grandmaster’s attention. Also in the prison with Thor, Loki seemed so keen and comfortable with staying on Saqaar when this whole time world domination had been consuming him. What if it’s because of you- a girl that’s close to the grandmaster that’s caught Loki’s full attention?

A/N: wow this is a wonderful request. I was so excited to write this and I hope it is all you ever wanted! Please enjoy

Warnings: language, fluff, mentions of smut, kissing, Grandmaster is enough of a warning

*gif not mine

(tags at the end)

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

Request Guidelines

Living on Saqaar as the Grandmaster’s personal closet assistant had its perks and its disasters. You could participate with Val to the gladiator rounds and watch Hulk beat every single one of his enemies to a pulp. You could have your own room, with as much luxury as you could ever imagine. The only thing you had to do was advise the Grandmaster on his style and propose some ideas.

However, you could never leave the perimeter of the tower. Since the day you can remember, you’d never been outside of the tower gates. You could hear the parades and the parties, yet you could never actually venture out there and participate. You’d always been jealous of Val, who could just climb into her ship and go wherever she wanted. You’d begged her to take you with her once, but even she knew the consequences of disobeying the Grandmaster.

The one day, a bomb landed in Saqaar.

“Grandmaster!” A girl dressed in armor came running into the Grandmaster’s styling room. “Grandmaster! A demi-God has just landed from the Devil’s Anus!” God you always hated that name.

The Grandmaster smiled, waving you aside. You rolled your eyes, stepping down from the throne.

“Sweety, please, have you brought him with you?” the Grandmaster asked. The girl nodded, out of breath, smiling like she just won the lottery.

They hauled him in by the arms, dragging him along while he wore a dazzling smile, green eyes shining with vigor in the crystal lighting of the room. He was breathtaking. He wore a long green coat with some sort of foreign armor under, gold and black. His hair was long, reaching his shoulders, and black as night, making his porcelain skin look whiter.

You could see, on the Grandmaster’s face, that he was very very interested.

The words that came out of your mouth next surprised everyone in the room, including you and the demi-God.

“I claim him!”

Even before anyone had spoken a word, you’d claimed the demi-God like you were very allowed to do. That’s how things worked on Saqaar. You wanted something, you claimed it. Same went for foreigners that fell through the Devil’s Anus. No matter how hard you hated that name, you still had to use it.

“What a great turn of events!” the Grandmaster chirped, clapping his hands like a little child. Shooting him a look between annoyance and apologetic, you walked down the stairs and grabbed the demi-god by the bicep, looking at him with a hard look.

“Have fun, my child!” the Grandmaster called after you as you dragged the dark-haired man out of the room.

“Hey before you strip me and tie me up to the bed, my name is Loki and I-”

“Listen, demi-God,” you growled, spinning him until you were looking up into his eyes. You hadn’t noticed how freakishly tall he was. “I only saved your ass because I know who you are.”

He frowned, delicate dark brows creasing. “You do?”

“Yes,” you answered. “I used to live in Asgard before I ended up here. You’re Odin’s son.”

“Adopted.”

You sighed, dragging him along further, down the many halls of the tower until you had reached your room. As you unlocked the door to your room, he was looking at you with a half smirk. “Ooh,” he cooed, “am I going to be tied to the closet and not the bed?”

“Shut up!” You grabbed him by the arm and hauled him in again, him giggling like an idiot and you growling for him to act right.

He fell real hard you, as awful as you were. You were always sleeping or hanging out with the Grandmaster, which in turn made Loki part of the Grandmaster’s pose. Wherever you went, Loki followed, as you’d claimed him and everyone knew he was yours.

It did not stop him from falling hard for you. Even when you were just laying around in your quarters, talking about the most random things in the universe, his heart beat a little faster. He was always admiring the little quirks about you too; the way you smirked, the way you tied your hair, or even how you ate so savagely and without care.

“Why did you leave Asgard?” he asked one morning, standing in the doorway of his room, eating a pear.

“Why did you fall from the Devil’s Anus?” you retorted, shooting him a glance that told him that he could put his snooping nose right back where it belonged.

You always stayed in the dark with him; your prince. He always had his eyes on you, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. He made you feel like your emotions had been thrown in the blender. He was a charmer; an elegant man. Even if you had claimed him purely to save him from the Grandmaster’s reticulations, you were beginning to wonder if you had also claimed him out of selfishness. He was, after all, a very good looking man with class and seduction.

You began to explore him, as you would a reptile under a hot lamp. You teased him; walking into the main living area of your quarters wearing nothing but a skimpy pajama. You touched him more lasciviously and spoke in a husky tone, to see the kind of reaction you could siphon from me.

“What are you doing?” He stared at you with round eyes, but you knew you were getting to him.

“Do you want to kiss me?” you asked, lifting your chin in curiosity.

“You claimed me,” he said, but he was smirking like a devil. “You can ask me to do anything and I would have to comply.”

You didn’t have to say anything. He ravished your mouth as if he’d done it before. His lips molded to yours so perfectly, two pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle. His hands found your waist and lured you in, your fingers tangling in the mess of his curls. He made sure to give you everything you’ve ever wanted from a man.

He fell so hard for you that he wondered if he loved you.

But Loki could never love anyone as much as he loved himself. Even though you’d grown to be inseparable, watching gladiator games with the Grandmaster, sitting on the long couch. Even though you were never one without the other, Loki could never pass up an opportunity to better himself. Hence, when Thor fell from the (wait for it) Devil’s Anus, escaped, and had a grand prize over his head, Loki vanished from your existence. Although he’d grown to be a good man, a good lover, he had to go help his brother.

As Loki stood there, in an illusion, he could see the abandonment on his brother’s face. Yet he couldn’t tear himself from the girl who’d claimed him. Loki was head over fucking heels for a runaway Asgardian girl, who’d used her status quo on Saqaar to claim him. He was fucking weak-kneed for a girl like you.

But this was his brother. Even if the world had crashed around him before, and Loki had wanted to desperately clench royalty between his jealous teeth, Loki always loved Thor. He would still play his mockeries and betray Thor, of course, but he’d always end up fighting by his side.

“I have to go,” Loki told you one evening, as you were huddled in the covers, sweaty foreheads stuck together.

“I claimed you,” you answered, sighing, knowing there was nothing in the world keeping him here.

“There’s this thing that I have to do.” He wrapped his arms around your bare waist, setting your skin on fire, closing his eyes to avoid the dread in your eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was just the need for affection on a planet hat reeked neglect.

“Will you come back?” you asked, feeling his mouth on your neck. He hummed against your skin, moving against your body.

“I will try, Y/N, but I cannot guarantee I will even come out of this alive,” Loki answered.

It was fun while it lasted. Even though he left with the taste of you on his lips, he never set foot on Saqaar again.

Tags: @papi-chulo-bucky @fluasch @Chubisgirl @spudsandbandit @beautiful-tiger-loves-it

#imagine loki #loki imagine #loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki x oc #loki x ofc #loki x you #loki x reader #lokixyou #lokixreader #lokixoc #lokixofc #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #imagine #loki kiss

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queennicoleinboots · 4 years

Text

Swamp Business

Joebear growled as I walked in the woods naked. I had finished eating my vegetable soup and had taken my shower. Now I was ready for Joebear's fat ass.

"Bae Whuhh!!!!" I shouted.

But Joebear's fat ass was not ready for me. He was taking a shit that made even swamps smell like fresh cut roses. It seems that the sewer was flying out of Joebear's sacred fat ass. It was sexy, BUT IT STANK!

Our young black and white cat named Oreo came storming into the swamp. Kissy, our female orange cat that grew to be twice the size she was a week ago, followed Miss Oreo. Garfield was sitting near a tree and farting. It was sexy, BUT IT STANK!

"Hoowoo Bae Whuhh you sexy!" I said. At that moment, I started my period. I had swamp vagina. I needed business more than ever. "BAE WHUHH!!! I NEED BUSINESS BAEWHUHH!!!"

"Kissy! Kissy!" Joebear said in a high-pitched voice of excitement. Kissy ran over there to lay with him. Oh shit the cats are getting involved. "Bae! Come lay with me!"

I laid with my bear. A barbeque chicken pizza fell out of the sky. My bear ate pizza. I ate pizza.

Colonel Mac rode over to us while he was eating pizza.

Peter also was eating pizza, but he was off the toilet and dancing in ballet style around in a purple T-shirt and a pink bekini. The bottom of his tummy would show when he would skip in the air.

Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing and Megara were also eating pizza. They had three female cubs, but the cubs were up in Tennessee visiting Megara's big mother bear. Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing sang opera while we enjoyed our dinner.

Paul the Goat rode Hollywood while they both ate pizza.

Kissy then ate my pizza crust and meowed as though she were a wind-up toy.

Her meow called upon a Giant Angel that descended from the Heavens. He was bald and tall. His eyes were a beautiful hazel mix of 40% blue, 50% greenish brown, and a few minor colors flaked in the large irises. He looked younger than all of the bears and Peter, but he looked older than Paul the Goat and Hollywood.

(Peter looks like he is 40 even if he is 55. He is a special kind of asshole. What Fountain of Youth does that fucker drink from?)

Colonel Mac blinked as he looked at the Giant Angel and took a bite of his pizza. "Apparently we have entered Heaven. This pizza tastes like Heaven. Excuse me. I have a bear call to make," he spoke before he growled a great bear growl.

Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing did some vocal exercises before he, too, joined in bear chorus.

Joebear growled in bear chorus before Miss Oreo stole a bite of pizza from him. "OREO, lay down!" he growled at her. Miss Oreo stared at him before she continued to chew.

Paul the Goat bleated before Hollywood neighed loudly.

Peter started to bleat before he looked up at the Giant Angel and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

The Giant Angel spoke, "I am Michael, a man with regrets, angel wings of redemption, and have traveled across many planes of existence. A cat called upon me. What shall she have me do?"

Kissy looked at Miss Oreo. Miss Oreo looked at Kissy. They were confused cats.

Michael spoke again, "I heard a cat that sounded like a wind-up toy."

Kissy looked at him and meowed. "Sorry about that. I was excited about pizza crust. When I eat pizza crust, I'm in heaven. Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome," said Michael. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Well, we are having a great swamp party," Kissy said as she meowed.

Pauno, a Greek God with green eyes and black curly-hair and Kendrick, Peter's ex-girlfriend and Pauno's current wife also wandered in the swamp. They also were eating pizza.

Peter sighed his trademark sigh before he spoke, "As if this party isn't awkward enough... my ex shows up with her husband. And here I am in a pink bekini." He looked down and sighed again. "What's the point?"

The swamp bubbled up before Peter's therapist started crawling from the large puddle in the middle of said swamp. She was covered in mud.

Peter smiled and gestured toward her. "Answers my question!"

Joebear then growled a great bear growl before announcing, "That's great, and now excuse me, I need to lick ass."

Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing growled loudly. "Yesssss!!! As do I!!! MEGARA!!!!"

"It would put your tongue to good use," Megara said as she put her bear booty in his face.

Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing then started licking her big bear booty.

"BAE WHUHH!!!!" I shouted and said as I shook my booty and did the backfat dance in front of him. I still was bleeding like a stuffed pig.

Joebear growled before he mauled me and started to lick my ass.

Michael the Great Arc Angel laughed before he spoke to Kissy. "I am not going to lick cat ass if that's what you are implying."

Kissy looked at him in confusion before she meowed again. "No. I definitely did not call you for that. I simply meowed out of enjoying pizza crust," she said.

"So you called me to eat pizza with you?" Michael the Great Arc Angel asked.

Kissy made a series of short mechanical malfunctioning meows before she said, "Yes."

Michael the Great Arc Angel then manifested a slice of pizza and ate it.

Now the only person not eating or being eaten was Peter's therapist. I did not like that woman. She achieved my dreams before I did (I wanted to be a counselor, but I can't be a counselor because it's too much part of the system, and we all know that I can't have that. Point is, Peter's bitch therapist is a sell-out). And she has bigger boobs than I do. Nice DD-rack. She has a shapely butt, too. Not to mention that she is truly a redhead. Oh, and she really really really really really really likes Peter. Bitch.

Peter was smiling at her. Apparently the asshole really really really really really really liked her, too. Asshole. "Thank you for emerging from the swamp. As you can see, from my pink bekini, I'm having some real problems," the curly-haired asshole said as he was failing miserably to suppress laughter.

She looked down at his pink bekini with her green eyes that happened to be the same shade as Peter's and grinned before looking back up at him. "Hmmm. Yes, it seems you are a bit gender-confused today," she said as she ran her hands along his sides to find the strings to his bekini. "Society says that maybe you should be more manly..." She then started untying the strings to his bekini. "Let's start by taking it off."

Those must be his therapy sessions all the time. No wonder he feels better after therapy. What an asshole. This is the same bitch that gave him his silver Toyota Highlander. Or it could be gray. Who cares? I hate that fucking car! Because SHE gave it to him.

"I'm starting to feel more manly already," Peter said as he was eating another piece of pizza.

"ASSHOLE!" Kendrick called out to Peter as she flicked him off.

"He is an asshole. That's why you are married to me, Pauno, the Greek God of parties, wine, and crack cocaine," Pauno said with authority as he ate another slice of pizza.

"That's my line!" I shouted as my butt was being devoured by my bear. "But yes, ASSHOLE!"

Joebear growled loudly as his tongue licked wonders to the inside of my anus. Thank you, Bae Whuhh.

"Ooh hoo Bae!!!!!" I shouted in excitement.

Peter looked at both of us and continued eating his pizza.

"You feel more like a man, huh?" His bitch therapist asked in a seductive tone as she began to stroke his hard cock. She used her other hand to cup his balls before she looked in his eyes. "I remember you like when I do this."

"Oh yeah I do," Peter said with a little moan. "Eating pizza and getting stroked is heaven."

"I'M GLAD I COULD BE HERE FOR THIS MOMENT!!!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted with a strong voice.

Colonel Mac let out a bit of suppressed laughter before speaking, "Well, I suppose that's what angels are for. I enjoy eating pizza, but if only I didn't have to get back to work as a nursing home administrator, that would be great! Could you help me find a better job?"

"I sure could. Would you like to work for the government?" Michael the Great Arc Angel asked.

"Anything would be better than working for and in a nursing home!" Colonel Mac said with conviction. He thrust his fist in the air for effect.

"Would you like to work for the DEFACS office?" Michael the Great Arc Angel asked.

"Actually, I want HER job!" Colonel Mac said as he noticed Peter's therapist rubbing his body and leaving kisses all over him.

Michael the Great Arc Angel looked at him in confusion and great disgust.

"Oh Christ! Not on him! On women! I'd like to be government-appointed sex therapist FOR WOMEN! I'm not gay, HOLY SHIT I'm not gay!!!" Colonel Mac said with vigor.

Michael the Great Arc Angel let out a big sigh of relief. "Oh thank God. Yes, I grant thee that job!" he exclaimed with authority.

Colonel Mac then turned into a government-appointed sex therapist. His blonde hair was gelled down, and his beard was more epic than Santa Claus's. He wore a white long-sleeved button-down shirt with khakis pants and suspenders. "Thank you," he said.

Peter looked down at his bitch therapist as he was rubbing her large right tit. The bitch was six feet tall, so she was only a foot and four inches shorter than he was. "Would you like some pizza?"

"Sure," she said as she looked up at him before she ran her mouth along his shaft.

Peter giggled. "I meant actual pizza, but this works, too."

"Asshole!" I shouted as I ate another slice of pizza.

Joebear removed his mouth from my ass and growled. "Now I want tacos!!!!" he shouted. He then thrust his fat bear cock in my vagina.

"Yes Bae Whuhhhh!!! Taco Tuesday!!!!" I shouted. "I'm hungry again."

"I love tacos, but you know what I like more?" Colonel Mac asked.

"What? Macaroni and cheese?" I asked.

"Yes, but you know what I like more than macaroni and cheese?" Colonel Mac asked.

"What?" I asked.

Hollywood weighed randomly before eating swamp ass grass. Paul the Goat bleated as he fed his remaining slice of pizza to a random swamp golem.

"Taco Mac!" Colonel Mac yelled.

"Oh yes! Taco Mac with Colonel Mac!" I shouted.

Joebear, Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing, and Colonel Mac all growled loudly in excitement. The trees in the forest shook from the energy the bears were exerting with their growls. The bears were bears.

Peter's bitch therapist took her mouth off of his cock before saying, "You all have problems. Would you all like to make appointments?"

Peter snorted as he folded his arms across his chest.

Peter's bitch therapist was stroking his cock. "Relax, baby. I need to work. You can't be my only client," she said.

"You can't be my only therapist then," Peter said with a wink.

"Asshole!" Kendrick yelled. "I like tacos. Do you like tacos, Pauno?"

"Love 'em," Pauno said. "I shall make tacos rain from the sky!" He threw lightning bolts in the air. Nothing was happening.

Michael the Great Arc Angel sniffed the air. His nose curled back in disgust. "The swamp sours the meat," he said somberly.

Joebear, Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing, and Colonel Mac growled angrily like cubs. Joebear added a "Goddammit!" to the end of his long series of growls.

Paul the Goat made a series of bleats in disgust. Hollywood charged away with Paul the Goat on his back. Both of them neighed in frustration. The swamp golem hobbled after them.

Pauno growled like angrily like a cub as well because he was looking forward to tacos.

Peter then put his pink bekini back on and said, "And this kind of shit is why I am in therapy!"

0 notes

jackofftao · 7 years

Text

Chenle High School AU!

Okay I know I haven't POSTED anyTHing In FOreveR and I meant to write a mx thing because ya know,,,,, concert

But idk Chenle is an actual CUTIE PIE AND HE IS MY BIAS HOW IS HE OLDER THAN ME BY LIKE A COUPLE OF MONTHS I’M YELLING PLEASE SEND HELP

*clears throat*

so uh yeah,,, stan china line

I will have a mx scenario out soon,,,,,,,,,maybe

LETS START:

So high school sucks but all of your friends are there so,, it’s cool for now,,,until midterms and finals

then everyone is sUFFeriNG

but like the weird stuff you see keeps you going ya know?

Like the one time that kid in 2nd period took out a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly then made a sandwich with it??

Or the Ap World teacher who once stopped you and your friends in the hallway to tell you how to take over a country in 5 easy steps

Your friends are also wild

Jisung is in your Lit class and your teacher assigns these writings

and everyone figured out that she only checks for completion and doesn't actually read them?

Jisung wrote the entire lyrics of fergalicious for his assignment once and still got a 100 on it

He’s a little shit sometimes but he’s funny so you keep him around

and today he is back at his shenanigans again

he decided to write your number on a piece of paper with “Text me” written at the top and he said he was going to drop it in the hallway if you didn't give him the answers for the Bio homework

and your like “I spent 2 hours on just the front of the bio homework last night there is no way I'm giving them to you”

he just sat there “:) be like that then”

so when the bell rang he dropped the paper in the hallway

it was the bell signaling Lunch too so there were people everywhere and the paper was nowhere to be seen

you tried looking for it after the hallways cleared but ? it wasn't there ?

Jisung was at his lunch table and you ran up to it and sat down

“Jisung I've known you for a while and you won't let me live but jesus I tried looking for the paper and I can't find it, what have you gotten me into”

he just sat there eating his salad

“So you gonna give me the Bio answers or what?”

7th period came around

math

the teacher was really chill tho

like she would talk about the notes for 15 minutes then that was it for the day and the rest of the class was basically free time

she never checked the homework either

so you were playing on your phone and then you got a text from a random number

and you just shut down

.jpg

error message

curiosity got the best of you so you looked at it

from: Unknown number

“Hey uh this is a bit weird but I was walking to lunch and I found this paper on the floor that had a number and “Text me” written on it so I decided to text whoever you are while I'm bored in Bio”

Que your heart stopping

Might as well text back? what’s the worst that could happen?

To: Unknown Number

“Yeah sorry, my friend dropped my number in the hall because I wouldn't give him the Bio answers. I’m bored too, math am I right?”

From: Unknown Number

“Idk math is kinda cool, I like the numbers. Bio however? Gross. A jellyfish’s mouth is also its anus? I could have lived with out that information”

You decided to save their number because they seem cool,,, makes life interesting ya know

Bad news, their text made you giggle and Jisung is asking what your laughing at

“nOthIng”

“you wouldn't be laughing at nothing SPILL thE bEaNs”

so you told him

more bad news, now he won't let you live x2

but you keep on talking to this mystery person

neither of you really say who you are and its been a month

“You should really ask who they are, they seem cute. Plus it seems like you have a crush on them awwww”

“Shut up jisung”

after removing his hands from squishing your cheeks your phone got a notification

ding!

“AWWWW CUTEEEEE<<33 YOU’RE BLUSHING!!!”

“shUt uP JIsaNg :p”

“I told you not to call me jisang :(”

ding!

“..... ;) maybe you should come up with a cute nickname for this mystery person”

From: Mystery

“Helpppppp I didn't know we had bio homework last night and I didn't do it,, send answers please !!!! I’ll buy you a cookie!!”

From: Mystery

“HUrrY I have bio nExt PeRiOd PleasE”

Usually you don't give your answers to a n y o n e

but this mystery person seems nice and as silly as it seemed you started to possibly form a crush on the unknown person

putting off doing math homework to text them

texting them constantly

finding out a lot about them,,,,,and them finding out a lot about you

late nights talking with them

all this led to a tiny tiny huge crush and you had a soft spot for them

so you gave them the answers

“hEy!! You never give me the bio answers!”

thats cuz you're a little shit

“:) idk what you're talking about jisang :))))))”

ding!

From: Mystery

“Thank You so so so so so so so so much <3!!!! Where should we meet so I can give you that cookie?”

“Dude that cookie is mine I helped set you two up”

“thats not how this works jisung”

so you and mystery person decide to meet up that Friday after school at the sign

que being nervous for two days

and que being REALLY REALLY nervous Friday

they said they would be wearing a green jacket

so the last bell rung and you could care less about the cookie all you cared about was meeting this mystery person in a green jacket

Over the past two days you wondered who they were

did you know them?

what did they look like?

How old are they!!!

you just hoped they were around your age

,,,,,,,,and cute

so you made it to the sign and there wasn't anybody there let alone someone in a green jacket

you looked around the immediate area and still no person wearing a green jacket

great, maybe it was a prank

you picked up your book bag and started to leave, you didn't want to look like more of a fool than you already did

but then there was this,,,, scream?

it sounded like a dolphin ?

but there was no zoo nearby ?

and it was getting closer ???????????

it sounded like the scream he did with the kite

So you turned around and there is an extremely loud boy in a green jacket running at full speed while screaming

everyone is looking at him

wait a minute--- green jacket ??

he is getting closer but isn't slowing down and tbh you are starting to worry because he's about to run straight into the-

mphHH

that was the sound of air being knocked out of you

this boy didn't run into the sign he ran into you

in a hug

a really warm hug

he’s also cute

and maybe part dolphin

so he pulls away and he just a little bit taller than you so you don't have to look up that much

and he’s smiling

your heart just skipped a beat

this- this cute boy is the one I was texting ?????!??!?!!?!??

“Hey you are the mystery person who's friend left their number in the hall right?”

“And you are the mystery person who said they be at the sign in a green jacket?”

“Yeah,,, sorry about that. My bio teacher wanted to talk to me,, I fell asleep in class today BUT I got your cookie!!”

“Oh,, yeah it’s no problem! Thank you for the cookie, you really didn't have to”

“but I wanted to”

and he hands you the cooke

and you both kind of stand there??

“Go on try it! I made it myself!”

so you ate a piece and it was ,,, really good

so you ate the rest of it

“Dude that was a really good cookie oh my god you should be on a cooking show”

he just laughs

and it sounds like a dolphin

but he's cute and his dolphin laugh/scream is endearing

its also hurts peoples ears because its so loud

“I brought a whole batch of them,,, we could eat them as I walk you home”

what a gentleman

“Oh I’m Chenle by the way”

“I’m Y/n”

he was loud the whole time he walked you home but it was cute

you might need a hearing aid but oh well it'd be worth it

he was in the same grade as you even tho he was older

his birthday was a late one so

and when the both of you arrived at your door step his ears were red

“Here you can have the rest of the cookies, we can meet at the sign Monday so you can give the container back.”

“Thank you so much,,,,,,,, for everything” and you gave him a small smile despite the situation being awkward

“It’s really nothing.”

and then he walked a little closer and kissed your cheek

“HAveAgreatWEEKenD!”

and he was off

running away screaming his dolphin laugh

you hoped his face was as red as yours

Monday comes around and there he is, running up to you screaming

when is he not screaming

you swear he is the loudest boy you have ever met

he engulfs you in a hug again

“Here is your container”

“Oh thanks! here I’ll walk you home”

and when you reach your doorstep he kisses your cheek again and runs away screaming before you can do anything

so the next day the school bell rings and ding!

From: Dolphin boy <3

“We are meeting by the sign right?”

To: Dolphin boy <3

“Yeah”

Today you had a plan

when you reached your doorstep and you kissed his cheek first

Chenle.jpg

error message

Chenle is not responding at this moment sorry come back later

so you poke his other cheek and he just breaks out into a HUGE grin and hugs you

he laughs when he hugs you so now you can't hear anything lol

“so does this mean we are dating now?”

“If you don't mind?”

“I wouldn't mind at all”

You two do the same pattern everyday

you eat lunch together with Jisung and he walks you home

Jisung now wants a cookie from Chenle as payment for helping get you two together

but Chenle only ever gives cookies to you

awwww

He claims it’s a special couple thing

the end for now~

Gif not mine

I usually don't do end notes but

STAN MY BOY HERE

STAN CHINA LINE

SHOW THEM LOVE

#nct scenarios #nct dream #nct dream scenarios #chenle scenarios #chenle #chenle imagines #china line #chenle au #chenle Highschool au #nct au

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tinfoil-jones · 7 years

Text

Endearment and Enmity: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh. Title: Endearment and Enmity Rating: T-M depending on chapter, M overall Summary: When you’re literally married to the person you despise. Warnings: Homosexual relationships,vulgar words and adult situations. Author's Note: I don’t know why I wrote this. Chapter 5: The Devil Came Down to Kozue Jonouchi sat across from Kaiba at the table trying to not make his actual discomfort around the CEO any more blatantly obvious. It wasn’t enough he had to be seen exiting that ridiculous looking dragon themed jet, but to also be seen in public with Kaiba under the guise of matrimonial affection when there was absolutely none in reality. “Would you at least attempt to look like there isn’t a cactus up your orifice?” Kaiba scolded him quietly; earning a huff from the blond, although he was admittedly amused at the attempt at a joke. “The human body has several external orifices Kaiba, if you’re referring to the anus you’ll have to be a bit more specific.” Jonouchi cracked back; while Kaiba most likely had some rudimentary medical knowledge, there was no way it was as extensive as his own. That was one advantage the CRNA had over his… spouse. The CEO rolled his eyes “My statement still stands; I’m one of the most apathetic people I know, and even I can see you’re uncomfortable.” So maybe Jonouchi wasn’t the best at hiding his emotions. “I can’t help it you know, it's not like I expected a date.” Jonouchi said as he sipped his water - Kaiba was drinking sake, some fancy brand that the restaurant served. America didn’t offer much real sake and instead had a preference for wine and beers when it came to non-liquor alcohol at least, an observation Jonouchi made despite his abhorrence to drinking based solely on his interactions with his friends in the states. The brunet rose an eyebrow “Why? We are married, going to a restaurant is a standard type of date.” His monotone made it even more obvious he was talking down to him. “You do realize that right?” “Of course I know that!” He whispered harshly back “But let me remind you Seto Kaiba, the last few times we went to out to eat together - it was with your rich tycoon friends making business proposals, in which case I was a prop more than anything. And the first time we did, you ambushed me with the proposal that started this all. I was under the impression there was no underlying romantic connotations to this agreement.” “Nonetheless we do have appearances to keep up.” Kaiba explained nonchalantly, taking a mental note of the blond's fingers tapping on his own thigh. “Do you... ” Jonouchi kept tapping, a nervous habit he had picked up recently from being in the brunet's office hours on end, and being forced to listen to the constant typing. “Do you even like me, let’s not go as far as in a romantic sense, but do you even like me as a person?” “Do you, Kastsuya?” Kaiba countered back, seeming exasperated himself “I’m not even particularly discourteous towards you, but all I get is enmity in return. ” Jonouchi had to at least hand it to Kaiba, he had an extensive vocabulary for a guy who’s primary language wasn’t English. Nevertheless he… had a point, at least. It was true that besides a few half-hearted jabs at his intelligence, Kaiba hadn’t been cruel to him in the slightest, sure a bit distant but that was a given considering his profession. Jonouchi himself, however, made his dislike of his spouse no secret. “I’m at least trying, you are making this more unpleasant for yourself than I have.” Although he was well aware he was in the wrong and Kaiba had a point,, Jonouchi wasn’t one to give into the notion very quickly “We’ll excuse me for being married to an asexual sea sponge with the emotional capacity of a kitchen sponge- are you laughing?” He cut himself off from his rant when his… spouse, started to chuckle. “Asexual sea sponge?” Kaiba echoed, seeming amused “Not one I hear too often except from my brother. The media prior to you seemed convinced I was some sex crazed deviant. Rich equals playboy is a common assumption.” “Um… Okay?” Weren’t they arguing a minute ago? Kaiba was a confusing guy. Or perhaps his monotonous lack of emotion was just a front, perhaps he was more skilled at manipulating emotion than Jonouchi gave him credit for. He was definitely skilled at catching him off guard. The food was finally brought to them as Jonouchi was collecting his thoughts. Not up to continue their conversation, he ate quietly, but kept a displeased expression on his face out of spite. “I didn’t answer your question, you know.” Kaiba said as he ate neatly. “Are you going to?” Jonouchi inquired. “Only if you answer mine.” Jonouchi sighed deeply. “Look, I don’t - I don’t hate you okay? I mean, I’m not madly in love with you or anything because you’re an apathetic asshole who made it really fucking hard to save the world sometimes when we were younger because you didn’t seem to understand the concept of ‘one of us isn’t stronger than all of us’, but you have admirable qualities” The blond explained, but didn’t quite want to seem too fond of his counterpart “And… I guess you’re not ugly?” He offered. “Well, aren’t you amorous.” Kaiba replied sarcastically. “Well… Are you answer my question this time?” “Another time.” Jonouchi paused. “...Asshole.” “I never confirmed I’d answer if you did.” “You’re clever, even if you are an asshole, I’ll give you that.” “See, now is it so hard to be civil towards me?” “Yes, because you’re an asshole.” “Still going to compare me to an orifice?” That time Jonouchi actually laughed a little. Kaiba was a dispassionate individual, but he was kind of funny. That was something at least. Maybe… just maybe being hitched to him could be at least bearable. ...At least. ~~~ “How are you cold?” Kaiba asked, a few minutes after their flight back started. In the rearview mirror he had he could see the blond wrapping his arms around himself. “That place had the a/c cranked up as high as it would go.” Jonouchi answered, although also he hadn’t yet re-acclimated to Japan after being in Texas for so long. Anything under twenty-five celsius was cold to him. And he’d neglected to bring a jacket with him to the restaurant, a mistake he always seemed to make, but only when he went to places with the a/c up all the way. “I have my trench coat folded under my seat, you can grab it if you’re that cold.” Kaiba explained, Jonouchi looked at him dumbfounded “Well? Are you going to take it or not?” “It’s just… Was that a kind gesture? From you?” “I think we’ve established I’m not the Devil, Katsuya. ” Jonouchi shrugged and grabbed the aforementioned trench coat out from under the chair, he knew that Kaiba had multiple copies of his trademark white coat, but he was beginning to suspect he had one stashed in each mode of transport and/or place of dwelling. “My brother used it as a blanket frequently when he was younger.” “Thanks, Kaiba.” Jonouchi said as he draped the garment over himself. It smelled like a cross between new book and keyboard cleaning putty. The blond looked out and window and watched the quick, but brightly lit flashes of towns and cities, and the blur of clouds that they were passing along the coast “You know it ain’t a bad view from here.” He said almost softly, he was tired from the day and the full stomach wasn’t helping. “It isn’t.” Kaiba replied, still monotone. “You know, I just realized you’re operating a vehicle after drinking. Not very responsible of you.” The realization dawned on him; Kaiba had drunk a whole bottle of sake. “I can handle alcohol well.” Kaiba excused, not even glancing back. “You are a twig.” “And you’re an imbecile, if you want to continue this name-calling game. Relax, we’ll make it back to the mansion fine.” “I refuse to relax! You just drank whole bottle of forty-proof sake and now you’re driving a jet!” “Oh what are you going to do, breathalyze me?” “If I had one I would!” “It’s too late to protest now; we’ve already taken off and the next HLZ(1) I’m authorized to land on is fifty miles away a different direction.” “Well go in that direction then! I know you equipped this jet to take turns and god help me if I’m going to die in a plane crash it won’t be in this one!” Jonouchi practically growled - while he could tell that Kaiba could handle his alcohol extremely well considering his underwhelming build, he still wasn’t going to take that risk. Kaiba was silent at first, but then he sighed and shifted the control stick of the jet “We’ll land there and spend the night in a small house I have hidden in that area, okay? If you’re going to be touchy about drinking at least voice your concerns before we take off flying.” “Fine.” Jonouchi agreed with a sigh of relief, he turned his head again to stare out the window. He blinked once or twice before everything went dark. ~~~ “Hmmnpph...” Jonouchi hummed as the darkness transitioned to fuzzy light, and he blinked until it was clear. He was still lying down as he lazily looked around to study his surroundings. He was in a modest looking averaged sized room, not too different from his own bedroom at the Kaiba mansion. It had a desk, a dresser, a closet and a bedside dresser. He was lying in a queen sized bed with beige coloured sheets, under a fluffy dark blue comforter, and head resting in on a pillow that matched the beige color of the sheets, there was a second pillow being occupied by Kaiba-. Wait. Wait just one minute. Occupied by Kaiba? Kaiba was lying in the bed with him. “AHHHHHH!” He cried out and tried to shove Kaiba out of the bed, however Kaiba’s side was against the wall so Jonouchi just ended up pushing himself off. His shouting coupled with the shoving and thudding against the floor did succeed in at least waking the brunet up. Now on the floor, Jonouchi rolled onto his back and looked up to see Kaiba peering down at him from the bed. “What’s wrong with you?” “WHY ARE WE IN THE SAME BED?!” Jonouchi practically screeched, scooting up until he was sitting up to glare at the CEO. “You were asleep when we landed, I drove us here and you were still asleep.” “BUT WHY THE SAME BED?!” “This is one of my small safe houses, there’s only one bedroom.” The brunet explained as he got up and grabbed a shirt from the closet. So Kaiba slept shirtless, even worse. “Besides, we are married, it’s not exactly a new concept that we’d share a bed at some point.” Jonouchi scowled as he adjusted to sit criss-cross, then noticed he was in a plain white shirt and sweat bottoms. “Did… did you change my clothes?!” “You are a heavy sleeper.” Kaiba deadpanned. Jonouchi got up and was extremely tempted to just punch him but opted not too, punching his own spouse reminded him too much of certain bad memories, no matter how much he didn’t like Kaiba he wouldn’t do anything like that. He wasn’t that type of man. “Did you touch me?” He asked harshly, his fists balled. “If you mean inappropriately, of course not. I know your opinion of me is low, but I would never stoop to molesting you in your sleep like some greasy pervert.” Kaiba stared down at him hard, clearly offended by the accusation “If you’d believe that, that would be pleasant. Now, before you ask, all I did was change your shirt and trousers, I did not take your undergarments off. Now, leave me alone, I’m not in the best mood without my first cup of coffee.” With that, Kaiba turned and walked out of the room. Leaving a dumbfounded, albeit kind of guilted, Jonouchi. “...Asshole.” He muttered, and looked for something in the closet to change into. ~~~ Authors note: Originally I was going to call this chapter ‘A Date with the Devil’, to refer to Jonouchi’s disdain towards Kaiba, but somehow that turned into The Devil Came Down to Kozue, as a pun on the song ‘The Devil Came Down to Georgia’. Kaiba continues to leave his feelings towards Jonouchi vague. I’ll give you a hint; they’re not strong. Yet, at least. If you’re wondering where I’ve been, I’ve just been swamped at work and now once I go home all I want to do is sleep, eat and complain.

#warning: overuse of the word asshole #yugioh #yu-gi-oh #duel monsters #jonouchi #kaiba #seto kaiba #katsuya jonouchi #jonouchi katsuya #puppyshipping #violetshipping

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1989dreamer · 7 years

Text

Chapter 3 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Disclaimer: I do not have any medical training whatsoever (for humans or animals). If I got something wrong, please let me know so that I can fix it. Thank you.

~ * ~

Derek comes back to awareness all at once and it is not pleasant at all. First, his head aches, fuzzy with too much sleep. Second, he’s still in a cage. Albeit a bigger cage but a cage all the same. And Stiles is nowhere to be found.

Derek pushes himself upright onto his paws so he can stumble listlessly from one corner to the next. He trips over a small purple bowl as he explores and then knocks it into a corner when he discovers that it’s empty. The vet—Scott—is watching him from his seat at the examination table. Derek chuffs softly, dropping back onto his belly and resting his head on his front paws.

“I feel so stupid,” Scott mutters, and Derek knows he’s not supposed to hear it, or rather, understand it. He’s a wolf. “Oh my God.” Scott inhales deeply before standing up and stalking to the cage to loom over Derek. “Okay, so Stiles said he’d be back after his shift. He’ll be done at 5:00 p.m. That’s about two hours from now.” He sighs in relief. “Dude, I don’t know if you understand me at all, but, yeah, Stiles will be back.” He sighs again and goes back to his table.

Derek digests this information. So, Stiles intends to come back after all. That’s…good. Unexpected.

“Also,” Scott adds without looking up from where he is scribbling on a piece of paper, “you need to poop so I can take a sample. I think you have worms.”

Worms? Derek frowns, thinking. It’s possible. He has been eating a lot of road kill. The route from New York State has been difficult to say the least. He does wonder how the worms were able to stick around—wouldn’t his body have treated them as it would any other ailment?

He recalls being ill in the days before he managed to escape. He’d recently had his shots as she was pretending he was a purebred husky. Had the vet given him an inhibitor as well? Is that why he’s having trouble shifting and why he has worms? He whines in distress, and Scott looks at him sharply.

“You’re okay,” he says, tone soft. “You’ll be fine once you’re on all the meds you need.”

Somehow his promises sound more hollow than Stiles’, like Stiles means his while Scott hopes his will come true. He almost sounds like a hunter bending the truth so that his heartbeat remains steady while he lies.

And he wants Derek to poop so that he can look for worms. Could be worse, Derek thinks. He sniffs the cage pointedly until Scott rolls his eyes.

“Just that your dump on the training pad,” he says. Then he freezes, staring at Derek as he squats on the blue plastic tarp in the corner farthest from the cage’s door. “Do you understand me?” he asks, wide-eyed. Derek ignores him and continues to try to shit. It feels like it’s stuck and never-ending all at once. And it hurts, his stomach muscles convulsing as he pushes.

“Oh shit,” Scott says, his terrified scent wafting over Derek. It makes him panicky and he starts growling. “If you can understand me, stop pooping,” Scott commands. Derek whines high-pitched, unsure if he can obey.

“Seriously, stop. You’re bleeding. Come on now.” Scott steps up to the bars, staring down at him. He lowers his voice and straightens so that he towers over Derek. “Stop shitting,” he commands, alpha-strong timbre in his tone.

Derek stops. He lowers his head briefly before offering his throat to Scott. Stiles had seemed slightly horrified by it earlier, and Scott appears affected as well, his eyes softening as he reaches through the bars to pet Derek’s bowed head.

“Good boy. That’s a good boy.” Scott sighs heavily, stroking gently. “I’m going to have to do a more extensive search, to see if it’s something worse than worms. Maybe something sharp perforated your bowels.”

Derek huffs softly. He knows what an exam like that entails. It could be as simple as Scott opening him with a speculum and searching or as invasive as the vet cutting him open and testing his intestines. Neither option is particularly appealing but Derek has suffered them both before. He just has to remain conscious during the procedure, either one, to keep from healing. If he could shift and speak to Scott in his human form, he’d tell him to do the speculum one. But, Scott will probably do the one with the evisceration, and he’d definitely put Derek to sleep for it.

He doesn’t want either and resolves to heal before Scott can do anything to him. He still has an hour and a half before Stiles comes back that he has to distract Scott. A lot can happen in ninety minutes.

Simplest way to distract a vet? Derek growls too low for Scott to hear, issuing a challenge to any other animals on the premises. Almost immediately, a cacophony of barks and hisses takes up. Derek smirks as best he can with his elongated jaw when Scott stops petting him to go investigate.

Derek is in the middle of working through his shift, flexing fingers, curling toes, snapping human teeth while remaining in a wolf’s body, when the front door opens. He freezes, slipping back into his full shift.

Stiles steps through the doorway to the backroom, heading for Derek’s cage. The deputy smells like he spent the rest of his shift in an un-air-conditioned room. Derek nuzzles the hand he sticks through the bars.

“Hey there, little buddy,” Stiles coos, scratching behind Derek’s ears and plucking out a tangled burr. His tail starts thumping and Stiles grins victoriously.

Suddenly, his happy scent sours, and he says, “What’s this, eh?” Derek glares down at his paws, flexing his toes. “Scott?” Stiles calls, worried. “Hey, Scott. Why is there blood in his poop?”

“Oh hey, Stiles,” he says over the still-barking dogs. At least the cats have quieted down. “You’re back early. Sheriff let you off?”

“Scott,” Stiles says lowly. “Blood. Poop. Why?”

Scott rubs at the back of his head and refuses to make eye contact. “He might have worms, which I already told you,” he mumbles.

“Worms like what? Tape worms? Meal worms? Heart worms? What worms, Scott?” Stiles yells.

“I don’t know!” Scott shouts back. Derek slinks down, hiding his head under his paws. He’s making them mad and if they get too mad Stiles might not want him anymore. And if Stiles doesn’t want him anymore he won’t take him home and Scott will put Derek’s picture out. And if it’s out, then she will find it and track him and then it won’t matter that he escaped or that he made it back home because she will kill him.

Derek isn’t aware of the argument stopping before it’s really begun. Nor is he aware of the fact that he’s whining and whimpering as he presses his paws harder over his head.

Stiles and Scott both say something that Derek doesn’t understand because his ears are full of the sound of his blood rushing through his veins and his heartbeat stuttering wildly in his chest.

Stiles’ hand drops onto his head while Scott rattles open his medicine cabinet.

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles says, drawing Derek’s attention to him, He stares at him, puzzled by the affected quality of his voice—almost as if he’s talking to a simple child. Or a skittish animal. “Scotty’s going to get your meds ready and then we’re going to fill out the paperwork so I can take you home tonight. How does that sound?”

Derek wags his tail, letting his tongue loll so he can lick Stiles’ hand. Yuck—it tastes like soap and plastic.

“Anyone who looks at him is going to think wolf,” Scott comments. He holds out three pills in his palm. “I need you to swallow these,” he says to Derek.

Derek backs up so that he can toss them into the bowl. Cautiously, he laps them up, swallowing despite the bitter taste they leave on his tongue.

“What are they?” Stiles’ scent of curiosity spikes and Derek sneezes on the sudden spiciness. He whines, nudging Stiles’ hand until he starts petting him again.

“Anti-worm, uh, anti-tape worm—that’s the kind he has. Anti-stress and anti-nausea,” Scott answers. “He may be a little tired or lethargic while he’s on the anti-stress pills, which he has to take twice a day, morning and night with feedings.” Scott pauses. “Stiles, he really should have around the clock care. I still need to run his bowels to see where exactly the blood in his stool is coming from.”

“When you say run…” Stiles trails off, sounding and smelling horrified. His heartbeat picks up and it males Derek anxious too.

“Yes,” Scott responds. “I’ll have to open him up and literally run his bowels through my fingers until I find the perforation.” Stiles’ hand tightens on Derek’s scruff. “I expect it to be from an obstruction, likely bone,” Scott continues.

“So why don’t you do that now?”

Scott sighs. “I don’t know the last time he ate. I’ll feed him in a moment and then he needs to fast for at least twelve hours before I can put him under anesthesia.”

“Is that safe?” Stiles asks. “You know, because of the blood and the wound?”

“I have no other choice. Besides, there were no worms close to the surface of his anus because neither the initial exam nor his recent defecation has produced any visible worms.”

“Larvae?”

“I’ll have to test the fecal matter.”

“Can I still take him home tonight?”

“Only if you’re willing to keep him in a carrier overnight to prevent any accidental consumption.”

Derek whines to let them know he will behave. He won’t eat anything even if he gets hungry. He does not want to go back into the small cage at all.

“Well,” Stiles hedges, shifting uncomfortably. Derek flattens his ears and huffs. Stiles scratches under his chin. “I need to pick up some supplies before I’ll be ready for a dog. Even one as well-behaved as Miguel.”

“Oh dear Lord, you named the dog Miguel? Why?”

Stiles shrugs. “It fit.”

Scott shakes his head. “Whatever. You’ll have to always call him Miguel from now on. No exceptions.”

“Really? I can’t change my own dog’s name whenever I want?”

“Not without confusing the poor boy.”

“Miguel’s too smart for that, aren’t you, Fido?” Derek glares balefully at him.

“Fine!” Scott throws his hands up. “Ugh, you’re impossible. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to feed Miguel. And then I’m going to write a comprehensive list of everything you need to properly care for a dog.”

“Sweet.”

Derek doesn’t relish the bowl of dry kibble Scott dishes out, but it certainly beats eating nothing—or rancid raccoon—and he wolfs it down without complaint. Then, he curls in the corner of the kennel while Scott and Stiles make a long list.

~ * ~

“You’ll be okay in here?” Stiles asks Miguel as they pull up to the chain pet store a few blocks from Stiles’ apartment. Miguel whines softly, nosing against the latched door of the dog carrier Scott let him borrow.

“Sorry, dude, you look too much like a wolf for me to take you inside. But, to make it up to you, I’ll buy you a nice toy—which you can have after your bowels surgery tomorrow. I know it doesn’t count as food, but what if you accidentally swallow it? It still counts as feeding you.”

Miguel whines again, presumably because of the reminder of his upcoming surgery (if he even understood the words. Possibly he just doesn’t like being stuck in the carrier). Stiles would feel sorry for him if he did not think it was necessary.

“You’ll feel much better after Scott fixes you.”

Miguel curls into a ball, pulling away from Stiles’ hand. He pointedly licks his intact junk, and Stiles chokes on a laugh.

“No, he’s not ‘fixing’ you that way.” Miguel stops grooming and fixes Stiles with a hopeful gaze. “You’re a smart boy,” Stiles remarks and Miguel lets him pet him again. “Once you’re settled, I’d like to take you to meet my dad.” Stiles combs his fingers through the matted fur. “Definitely buying you a brush set, buddy.”

Miguel perks a bit, almost like he’s afraid to let Stiles see how happy he is about that.

“Hey, you deserve to be brushed as much as the next dog. Plus, not that you smell or anything—” Miguel totally stinks “—but you probably want a bath.” Stiles gets that hope-filled gaze again. It makes him laugh. “You really are special, aren’t you?” he says fondly, scratching Miguel’s ruff. He doesn’t want to leave the poor dog out here, but he really does look like a wolf and Stiles would rather not incite panic in the general public.

“I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he promises. Miguel yawns, licks Stiles’ hand, and lies down with his head tucked between his front paws. Stiles whips out his phone to snap a picture and nearly drops it when Miguel begins growling.

“Okay, okay. I won’t take any pictures of you today. No matter how cute and adorable you look.” Miguel huffs and closes his eyes.

Inside the store, after washing his hands, Stiles walks with purpose and then freezes, staring at the wall of supplies dumbly.

Should he get the brush with wire bristles or the one with plastic? Scott’s list just says ‘brush.’ Should he get a bowl or would a water dispenser be better? What about for food? Does Miguel need a mat under his bowls? Does he need a bed?

Food, too, is on Scott’s list, but again, unhelpfully, it just says ‘food.’ Does that mean wet food or dry food? Indoor food or outdoor food?

And the toys are just as unhelpful, a wall of colorful, stuffing-less, be-squeakered imitation geese and ducks and fox butts. Not to mention the Frisbees, tennis balls, bones, and tug-ropes.

Luckily, an associate, one perky blonde gal with sparkling brown eyes and a sharp, red smile notices his indecision and stops to help him.

“Stilinski,” she greets him with genuine cheer.

“Reyes,” he says back. He and Erica Reyes were in the same grade at school until Erica’s epilepsy got so bad that she had to be homeschooled the last two years of high school.

He’s missed her, always wondering in the back of his mind if she’d turned out okay. Occasionally, they run across each other as he stops for lunch breaks at the various eateries around Beacon Hills and she’s either coming or going and they exchange pleasantries.

“Advances in medicine, eh?” he comments, and she nods.

“Thank God we’ve got Lydia effing Martin in this forsaken town or I wouldn’t have gotten into the study for this newest wonder-drug.” She sends a weary look toward the registers where Stiles can see her manager tapping at her wrist. “Anyway,” Erica continues smoothly, “you look a little overwhelmed. Something in particular you’re looking for?”

“I’ve just got a dog,” Stiles says, and Erica squeals. “Yeah, he’s not doing the hottest. I actually have to take him in tomorrow so that Scott-the vet—can run an obstruction test.”

“Ooh.” Erica winces. “The poor dear. Well, you’ll need a collar and leash, food and water bowls, food, a bed, grooming supplies, and some toys. Now, any old bowls will do as long as they can hold a decent amount of food or water, so you won’t have to buy those if you don’t want to. Toys—sticks and balls should do unless you want to give your new companion a fancy new toy.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I promised him something.” He grabs a rubber pig with a squeaker. “This?”

“Yeah, that’s good. Now, do you know how much your dog weighs, about how old he is, and how active?”

“He’s about fifty or so pounds. I don’t know his age, and I’d guess he’s usually pretty active. He hasn’t seemed interested in moving much since I got him.” Stiles fiddles with the chew toy, depressing it just enough to release a few short squeaks. “Look, he’s emaciated. He should weigh at least another fifty pounds. I thought he was a small female at first because he’s so starved.”

Erica grabs a bag of puppy chow off the shelf and shoves it into Stiles’ arms. “Start him on this—it’s high in protein and carbs so he’ll gain weight without having to overeat. Start with a half cup and work your way up to a full three to four cups a day depending on his activity level. Larger breeds require more feeding. Also, you may want to start with three feedings a day until he reaches a target weight and then switch him to two feedings. Consult with your veterinarian.”

“I think he’s going to be absolutely huge,” Stiles says, thinking of that documentary on wolf sanctuaries Scott made him watch a couple of years ago. “Right now, he’s still small—young.”

“A juvenile, perhaps?” Erica suggests. “Not fully grown?”

“Yeah, perhaps. Certainly his growth could have been impeded by the severe starvation.”

“That’s a likely factor,” Erica agrees. “Listen, I’ve kept you long enough. I’m sure you’re ready to get back to your companion.”

“Yes, I am. Thank you for all your help. It was good to see you again.”

“It was nice to see you too. We should totally get together to catch up. I’d love to meet your companion some time.”

“That would be nice,” Stiles says, at the same time thinking NO! He’s positive she would be freaked out if she saw Miguel. Especially if he puts on the weight (muscle) that he’s supposed to have. He just looks too wolf-like to pass as anything else. All the same, he digs out one of his cards and hands it to Erica. “My cell’s on the back. Give me a call and we can get something set up.”

“That’d be great.” Erica tucks the card into her back pocket. “I’ll definitely do that. See you later, Stiles.”

“You too, Erica.”

It takes another fifteen minutes (because Stiles realized too late that he really should have grabbed a cart and had to go chase one down) to pick out the perfect bed for Miguel—not that he’ll be using it until he’s worm-free—along with a blue leash set for large dogs, a matching collar, more of the brand puppy chow Erica showed him, the wire brush, and the squeaker pig and then check out.

By the time he gets back to the car, Miguel is sacked out, snoring lightly. The heat isn’t too bad for late October and there’s a gentle breeze. Stiles is glad he remembered to roll down the windows before going inside since it took him about forty-five minutes longer than he’d planned.

He unloads the cart quickly, stashing everything in the trunk and slamming the lid closed. He winces when he hears Miguel startle awake with that quiet yelp-thing he does. Stiles takes the cart and shoves it into the corral with a clatter before returning the his vehicle. In the back, Miguel is whining, sniffing the air pointedly. He settles as soon as Stiles sinks into the driver’s seat.

“Sorry about that, buddy,” Stiles apologizes, putting his hand into the carrier for Miguel to lick. “You ready to head home?”

Of course, Miguel doesn’t respond, but he does lie down and set his head between his paws again.

Stiles turns around and buckles his seatbelt before turning on the engine. He’s looking forward to enjoying his night in front of the television, Miguel in his carrier next to him while they watch the Mets lose.

The perfect end to this not-entirely-perfect day.

~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #My Story/My Writing #LfaPtCH

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illegiblewords · 5 years

Photo

FROM UMBRA

The Warrior of Light is an instrument of death and always has been.

There are not twelve patron gods of Eorzea but thirteen.

Because Nald’s brother is a merchant too, and his wares are lives, and theirs is a shared office.

***

At Thal’s Respite, beneath death’s curved scimitar, a shadow waited, and watched, and was silent.

It wasn’t a very large shadow. New, delicate fingers curled in upon themselves experimentally. Opened again.

Saewynn, his wife, would be dead by morning.

No.

Saewynn was already dead. The primal puppet that took her body would have its strings cut. Just the same, Immin prayed her passage would be swift.

It wasn’t something he wanted to see, Twelve help him.

They were supposed to build a life together. They were supposed to make a home, to have children, to tease each other old. He tried not to call it theft.

The shadow murmured, as if in conspiracy, eyes intent upon the visitor. Immin froze, and squinted, and stilled again.

There was no cry. Only the wide and patient gaze of an infant.

In his heart, Immin understood this was compensation.

***

Eight years, Cenric did not fit in with other children.

The strangeness of his features made it worse.

When a hyuran boy with pointed ears came searching for elixers, Cenric didn’t say a word.

Maybe more distant heritage was enough to look like him. Maybe it manifested differently between cases.

Maybe.

Voidsent was the most common. Thal’s spawn, next. The latter seemed to unnerve his father more than the former on occasions gossip became indiscreet.

Forgetting was easier when they were alone in a cheap room, watching Dalamud ascend. Listening to the hum of blowflies while under a thin, shared blanket.

It was enough.

***

The journey left them both thinner than they began.

It seemed fair. He had yet to learn the price of kindness.

***

“Don’t go near it, Immin cautioned the townsfolk. To their credit they did not.

But the flies went where they pleased.

***

The entire house stank of bile and shit. Cenric tried to keep his expression empty as he offered sympathy lest disgust show up instead. When it was time for questions, he kept his voice low.

Maybe they’d noticed something. Maybe others could be saved.

It spread to Malena’s grandson next, and her daughter after. Despite meeting with both, Cenric found himself mercifully spared.

The stares he faced turned hard after that. From then on, every new incident spread whispers like a disease.

***

This was the anger of Nald’Thal. Of that there could be no doubt.

Perhaps someone overheard when he asked Immin if this was his fault. If maybe they should leave. There was no fixing this.

(“That isn’t true,” his father told him. His hands were painfully tight on Cenric’s shoulders, eyes unblinking and wide and furious.

“Don’t you dare say something so stupid in front of me again. Do you understand? Never again.”)

Maybe then the town would be left in peace.

A knock, loud and frantic. His father already out administering aid. The room was, at the moment, his alone.

Something’s gone wrong, Cenric thought. So he let them in.

***

They dragged him, hands bound, to a cave just past the town limits.

Desert nights were freezing compared to daylight. The sky remained clear and two moons, mismatched, circled overhead to bear witness. Bumps rippled across his skin, setting his hair on end.

What are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Silence. They wouldn’t even look at him.

Someone must have heard. Someone must have.

Nobody came.

“Kneel.”

The mayor, a stout midlander with thin lips. His eyes creased when he laughed. In the moment, his body seemed animated by something that didn’t understand the skin it wore or its warmth.

Cenric found himself speechless, frozen. One of his escorts kicked him from behind, catching his knees. Of course he crumbled.

Before them, resting across several crates, was a pair of scales. A dagger. The blade rippled from hilt to tip.

“To the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives, we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…”

Cenric’s vision swam, burning, transforming his surroundings into a series of inarticulate shapes. The townspeople who held him did not relax their grip. His throat constricted.

Why?

He was shaking badly, pulse pounding in his skull. Drowning out the rest. Air whistled hard and frantic through his nose, arms trapped behind him, prayers echoing incomprehensible through the cavern.

I’m no one. I’ve never done anything important.

His cheeks were slick. The mayor wasn’t looking at him, but at the community he would be sacrificed for.

“…in this time of hardship, we all see the need for exchange…”

Voidsent. Child of Thal. Child left as a gift to the Twins, stolen in error. It made no difference.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Movement. The dagger before his eyes, held in broad hands.

It felt as if a worm, impossibly large, wound through him. Coiled in his stomach. Cenric retched hard against the gag, but nothing came of it. He found himself wrenched backwards by his hair.

The mayor met his gaze.

Not enough.

Flesh splitting at the bridge of his nose. White pain, searing. The knife jerked to either side in a diagonal motion as it was dragged away by another set of hands.

His father’s hands.

“CENRIC!”

***

Back under the Sagolii sun, waves of heat rippled through the air. All they touched was made immaterial. Cenric found himself wandering as if in a dream.

“Run! Get out of here, I’ll be right behind you!”

It was the first time he felt truly certain he was going to die.

One foot in front of the other. Again and again and again, until his lungs burned. Head down. Push forward.

He had no direction in mind. No map and no compass. Just away.

Wrists swollen, throbbing behind his back. Mouth paper-dry. Weaving as he went, dunes sloping up and down underfoot like waves.

It took some moments to notice when he stopped moving. The sand seemed to shift before him, flickering like light through water. His head was full with the sound of his own wheezing.

Maybe… maybe with rest things would be better.

***

He could not tell how long he remained there. Awareness faded in and out intermittently. Golden light on sand. Deep orange, bordering red. Silver against a darkened sky.

Then, nothing.

Nothing for a long time after that.

***

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

A hushed conversation, separated by cadence. If asked he would not have been able to tell whether one man spoke or two.

The subject of debt was raised. Properties and inheritance and routes to travel by.

His head rested on a sack of grain. His face was sticky with ointment but seemed clean otherwise.

Sometimes, wordlessly, he found himself prompted to drink. To eat, something tough and gamey he couldn’t place.

These moments were always fleeting. Sleep took him before there was opportunity to ask a single question.

Boy.

Sand clung to his lashes, to the corners of his eyes.

Cenric.

Heed me.

Light, filtering through canvas. A cold hand on his shoulder. The shrouded figure beside him. Grain and shells and the rocking cart.

You cannot stay here.

What comes next belongs to you. What lies behind has been claimed.

“M-My…” Immin. “My father,” he croaked, “…I have to…”

Naught remains. It is done.

Silence. A lone heartbeat.

The figure, with its mismatched eyes, refused to look at him.

All will be well. We come to a familiar place.

There will be time enough for the rest.

***

A settlement in Southern Thanalan. The Sagolii behind him. The sky shrouded in dust.

“Merchant brought you here,” said the village elder beside his cot, her gaze dark and intense under a tight bun. “Said you would’ve died, else.”

These people had been kind. They remembered and allowed him to stay regardless of memory.

“Did he have a name?” Cenric asked hoarsely, hands in his lap. From the corner of his eye, he sees her head shake.

“Don’t think he wanted you chasing after him, son. We did trade and that was it. Oh,” she paused. Blinked. Found a pocket and rummaged there.

“Said I was t’give you this. So you’d listen.”

He held out his hand, and as if offering payment she placed a pair of wedding bands in his palm.

Immin and Saewynn. Reunited at last.

***

At sixteen, Cenric dedicates his life to half-truths.

Right?

He spends his funds on vials and stoppers and tricks to look older. A bandana here, some kohl there. He repeats the slogans of an honest man as if he has any right to them. People respond.

Cenric does not form ties and he does not linger. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of them turn, after all.

***

Enjoy relief in the latest remedy from Thavnair! Impress your wife with a bottle of Menphina’s Favor! Cure even the most stubborn ills with Phoenix Down, yours for only 800 gil!

“You.”

It comes from the entrance. Snarled, almost animal. Cenric doesn’t turn to look. It’s not a voice he recognizes and he has no interest in engaging.

People have been passing behind him for hours. Some sloppy, some heavy, some quick.

When Cenric gets jerked off his stool, he doesn’t expect it. A hand, female, locks to his arm. Drags him across the floor toward the exit.

“Stop! What are you—“

Hellsguard woman. Late thirties. Hair tied back, red skin muted under the stars. His lips move, tracing the fragments of her name.

Say… Stay… Stray…

Ember. Stray Ember. A customer.

He doesn’t have time to gather the rest before her boot is in his gut, driving the breath from his body.

“LIAR! YOU LIAR, I COULD'VE SAVED FOR YIYIRUJI MOONS AGO!”

His head pierced, front to back. Pounding like a heartbeat, like a hammer bringing shadows forging form. The memories of others.

Not now.

A child, slick with sweat. Lungs catching against each inhale. Round, gray face. White lashes. She clutched her mother’s hand tight as she could manage.

“I COULD'VE GONE TO UL’DAH!”

He is in Mirage, twin moons mirrored in the stares of a mob. Maggots weave around bone. Air grows saturated with rot.

There is pain in his stomach, neither hot nor cold but sharp. Twisting. The cough forces Cenric inward and he tastes iron.

Stray Ember isn’t done. Tears stream down her chin even as she bares her teeth. He knows then she will hate him until she dies.

“BY THE TIME THEY TOLD ME WHAT YOU’D GAVE HER DOVE WAS IN THE LAST STAGE OF BHOOT’S BLESSING!”

She had a small, upturned nose. Broad smile. Freckles. Showed talent for weaving even at nine cycles.

Lone Dove was terrified when she passed and nothing could protect her. I don’t want to go… mama please, I…

Sightless. Corneas filmed over. Lips gone blue, tongue swollen.

Her toys have already been burned.

“Enough!” Cenric’s voice sounds distant to himself, “I-I can’t—“

They tore at his father’s clothes, his eyes, his skin for getting in the way. Hydaelyn traded away a kind man for a cheat.

I should count myself blessed.

It was a mistake to take him. It had always been a mistake.

Immin gave his life to protect his son. Cenric took a girl from her mother to protect himself.

There are nails dragging through his hair, locked in place. He struggles to anchor himself in that, his fingers twisting tighter.

“SHUT UP! MY GIRL’S GONE BECAUSE OF YOU! SHE COULD’VE GOT WHAT SHE NEEDED IF NOT FOR YOUR GODSDAMNED CHOCOBO FEED!”

“Hey! Enough of that!” A man’s voice. Maybe the one who’d prepared his ouzo.

Scuffling across the dirt.

“LET ME GO! THIS FILTH KILLED MY DAUGHTER!”

There is a wet hiss. It takes him a moment to recognize it as spit.

Not at him.

Silence from the figures.

Then, very quietly, the barkeep says “Go home.”

Stray Ember doesn’t say another word.

She doesn’t have to.

***

Cenric doesn’t know how long he stays there. Something has been severed inside him. There is an impossible distance between his mind, his body, and the world outside.

“You too. You’ve caused enough trouble here tonight.”  Shuffling. Blood in his mouth, pain like knives in his ribs. His arms and legs move of their own accord to obey.

She will not have been the first of his victims.

***

He fades in and out of awareness for some time. Days, months, years. It doesn’t matter.

Often he finds that he is hungry and the air rests thick with spices. His clothes are torn, his hair a tangled mess. Sometimes there are coins at his feet. Mostly, people avoid looking at him.

His world is heat and wingbeats, insects and vultures and airships and the murmur of strangers. Dust clings to him. Cenric stops talking.

Parasites take what others earn. That is their nature and he knows his.

***

Cenric wonders, as he sinks back into himself, if there will come a time when he does not resurface. If this empty beggar who moves without thought or foresight or even a name will simply waste away.

As in all things, this is for the gods to decide.

***

Whispers of Dalamud’s descent don’t frighten him at first. Everything here is ugly. So far as endings go it isn’t a bad one.

Then slowly, slowly, he begins to look up.

***

As the sky erupts into flame and a dragon’s scream rings across Hydaelyn, Cenric is fixed in place once more.

You will remember this moment for the rest of your life. However long that takes.

There are things no man can escape. Bahamut is one of them.

Standing, his gaze locked on the inferno swallowing Eorzea, Cenric can only laugh.

***

Cenric goes without when he can, a decision based only somewhat in practicality. The world is dizzying, parchment-dry, unfocused. He is destitute.

And he’s taken enough as it is.

Today Cenric sits under an awning at The Coffer and Coffin. Shade proves only marginally cooler, but marginally remains better than not at all.

He won’t stay here. He only needs somewhere to rest without beasts. When a miqo’te barmaid carefully presses a cup into his hands, at first he doesn’t follow.

“I can’t afford it,” says Cenric hoarsely. His hands tremble as he tries to return the gesture.

She’s younger than him, maybe seventeen. Sweat makes tawny strands of hair stick together. Her eyes are blue and her smile is sincere.

“That’s alright,” she says casually. Evenly. Pressing her hands over his so he won’t spill. “I can.”

Cenric is struck still and silent, unable even to blink. The miqo’te quirks her mouth and slowly lets go. Straightens. Walks away without looking back.

It’s a terrible waste. Nonetheless, he finds himself sobbing and unable to stop.

***

By twenty-four, his turn has come.

Initially he ignores it. A persistent cough. Pain that grates like swallowed needles. Unsteadiness across his limbs and skin gone ashen. Fire under his eyes.

When he can no longer keep food down it becomes real.

It’s disgusting.

The Church of Saint Adama Landama has been treating those they can and burying those they can’t. These are things he has no right to, no desire for.

Besides. Thal’s Respite isn’t far.

***

Hear.

Myotragus goats bleating low. Horns locked in tests of dominance. Crashing hooves. Grunts from passing tuco-tucos. The steady thrum of insects. Distant, muffled wings circling in endless repetition.

No wagon wheels. No muffled conversation.

Instead, a persistent throb through his temples. Hitching when he breathes.

Silence stretching on and on in missed opportunities.

Nobody would notice. Cenric wants, desperately, to scream.

He doesn’t.

His throat hurts.

Feel.

Azeyma the Warden takes confession. With her golden fan and unwavering gaze, maybe she still expects something more.

Keep moving forward. Don’t look up.

It’s too late.

Think.

No more.

***

No more.

***

Through stone and shadow the passage goes.

Through the womb of Hydaelyn herself, well-worn.

She stands beyond what the Twelve are, what they ever could be. Disciples call her Mother. They know her through the blind, unquestioning devotion of children.

There is truth in this… if an incomplete one.  She cannot keep them forever. Fragile, temporary things are made precious for being so. They live with the promise of death at her blessing.

And so Thal waits within the earth, watching over this seat of creation. He memorizes those who arrive, those who exit. Souls birthed in the Lifestream—unscarred by trials ahead.

Thal seeks out the shapeless. He whispers, gently, I await your return.

They will not be alone in the dark.

In this place a man delirious, convinced of his own divinity, comes to kneel.

***

No.

I gave these people as my expense.

They call you Nald’Thal the canny, Nald’Thal the fair. Judge and equalizer and Prince of Hagglers. You, too, are Twins and Traders and the God of Two-Tongues.

Please, I…  

…I…

There is nothing left. I have nothing to offer you. This is all I am. My debts are endless. I’ve cheated others out of their lives. Your seven hells are mine to walk.

It… it burns everywhere…

The people of Mirage thought my worth enough to bribe you, once. If this is true then take me.

Please take me.

I can’t be an instrument of your will.

All Hydaelyn moves out of reach. There is no one else. I’ve… I’ve turned into a creature so empty the only thing left is my beating heart.

Life means something to you, doesn’t it?

DOESN’T IT?

…

I don’t mean to offend. There’s… there’s nowhere to go. Anything spent on me could be used better on another.

Why am I here?

Immin was worth saving. Lone Dove was worth saving. My customers, the people of Eorzea... you could have left any of them. They deserved it.

We lie and steal and destroy each other over nothing. I can’t stand to look.

And still there are exceptions.

You take the virtuous then leave snakes behind.

Spare them. There are few enough as is.

***

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

I’m sorry.

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

Forgive me.

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

Punish as I’ve earned.

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

Let it end.

…to the Blessed Traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn…

Please let it end.

***

Rain falls over Eastern Thanalan like a broken fever. Kyokyozo, priest of Thal, works behind a partition to break bread with visitors. Hyur and Roegadyn pilgrims often find it difficult to read age onto Lalafellian features. With only the barest flush remaining in his cheeks, Yuyudana can declare himself firmly middle-aged. The hood of his robe conceals a head edged in gray and he does not begrudge himself the omission. It is a convenient vanity.

U’thac, still groggy, slumps across the table even as Kyokyozo sets it. Initially he’d tried to lend his assistance but found it graciously declined by his host. “I am not your mentor,” Yuyudana had said, “or your parent, or your superior. Be at peace.”

There is precious little of that in such times.

When Memesu returns, eyes wide, gasping between words due to haste, Yuyudana listens in silence. Begins to walk before U’thac has finished gathering himself.

Bahamut was a shock. With the advance of Garlemald and her sister evils, despair is not uncommon.

***

Cold hands on his sleeve, on his arms, in his hair.

First we divide the offering in equal shares. Being as the heart carries life from our leftmost side, we’re weighted all of us toward survival.

Cenric does not miss a beat in his recitations even as he struggles. Twisting, bending into himself, thrashing, stumbling as the world tilts sharply to one side.

Someone he doesn’t recognize speaks a language he barely understands.

Sleep.

When he opens his mouth again there is no sound.

***

A palm on his forehead, beyond temperature. Smoothing sweat-matted hair out of the way, thumb traveling back and forth.

You have time yet.

He cannot tell who speaks, only that the tone reminds him of Immin.

Rest.

I would see you well.

***

A bitter, chemical taste. Traces of glimshroom. Syrup gliding across his tongue. Cenric tries to cough, to spit it out.

This time a small hand covers his lips. “Swallow.” The order comes from a man, his voice high but steady.

Cenric’s back arches as he tries to break free, to twist his face out of reach.

More hands trapping his shoulders. His torso.

“You need this. Swallow.”

The sound building in him is animal, desperate. A gateway for the medicine. It goes down. When they let go he wails and it is mindless.

***

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

***

Every time, the same routine. They try to explain. They try to convince him. They want this to be easier.

His arguments come out of order and none are taken seriously.

Sometimes when he sleeps Cenric thinks someone sits with him.

It’s easier not to wake up.

***

“Hey.”

A female voice this time. Flat. Neither impatient nor pitying.

He doesn’t move.

“I know you’re awake. Your eyelids don’t move the same way.” A beat. “It’s just me. Come on.”

Reluctantly, Cenric looks.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“Good. We had doubts you were even Spoken.” Silence. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Cenric,” she says smoothly, “you owe me. I traveled from Ul’dah to Eastern Thanalan for some peace and quiet. You’ve stolen my time through this affair.”

He looks down, unsure whether to apologize or not.

She could have ignored him.

“All I ask in return is a little cooperation. Do that and there’s no loss. Can you manage?

Cenric finds her face once more. The tense jaw betrays what would otherwise read to him as indifference. He exhales.

“I don’t care. Use me how you will.”

The question deflates him like a blow. Cenric rests his head in one hand, searches for language he can answer with.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs eventually.

“Do you want to die?”

“I…” He stops, catches himself mouthing the question back mutely.

The Traders refused him. Their trap remains. Cenric shuts his eyes.

“Everything, everyone I touch I… it’s like an infection. If dying ends that then so be it.”

Memesu leans back in her chair. It creaks. “So says the Son of Thal, eh?”

He starts, finds her again. Memesu’s expression is almost scornful, a bitter smile twisting across her lips.

He stares at her. Memesu folds her arms and narrows her gaze.

Cenric shrugs. Focuses on knees, buried under a blanket.

“Anyway,” says Memesu, “what you are doesn’t matter. If you’ve got natural talent for killing, maybe you should learn how to direct that properly.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” he whispers.

The lalafell sighs, takes another moment to respond. “Is that so? It sounded to me like you’ve done your share already. Here I thought you might like saving people for a change.”

This time, he listens.

***

For lives unjustly taken, life is owed. For the unjust taking lives, death is owed.

For those he can yet save, a thaumaturge brings salvation.

For those he can yet stop, a thaumaturge brings pain.

Restitution and retribution. Thus is the will of Nald’Thal known through his disciples.

***

He can’t remember the last time he’d bothered cleaning himself. Weeks, months. There had been no reason. He would die in disgrace. It was the only future left he could see.

And yet.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

***

For a time, his sleep is dreamless.  He eats what he is given. He cleans the shrine. He recites his prayers without expectation.

Memesu waits.

***

Why is it, the student asks, that only Ul’dah worships Nald and Thal separately? Ul’dah who holds them in such esteem?

You see, the Traders share a secret title. One which most would call sacrilege.

Time and again, they shy from the possibility that Nald’Thal is simply insane.

***

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

Click.

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Click.

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

***

Black magic (like its patron, like the desert itself) has two faces.

Heat and light, movement and sound. Ever hungry. Ever expansive. Astral fire rains from the stars, heaven stretched pitiless across the land. This he will someday channel, will someday master.

First though, the other. Cold and darkness, unmoving and silent. What constricts and what preserves. Umbral ice that creeps with every heartbeat to harden blood and bone.

Threaded between are words for sleep and lightning. The language of angels, the promise of their rebuke.

Cenric’s spell bends him backwards, stiffening the pit of him. It winds up his spine and curls off his tongue. Hands shape aether into figures it was always meant for.

He is left wanting in the aftermath.

***

“Wishes are cheap,” Memesu tells him. “We have a responsibility to live in a way that honors our dead. Their chance is spent. This is the best we can do.”

***

All creation has its opposite. Hydaelyn knows this, as she must. It is her nature and her mistake.

The brightest fire still leaves ash in its wake. Rain-black clouds will thread themselves with lightning. There is meaning in contradictions, meaning in change.

For now all exist as creatures delicate and fleeting. They call out for protection, for their Mother who will surely save them. Who will surely answer.

Hydaelyn gives her blessing, if not her favor. How can she favor any with such a multitude? It is a careful, pragmatic choice. Instinctive. Neither more nor less than what is destined.

Her champion will be complete in every way she has sundered herself.

***

Before long, it is time for U’thac to return.

Dark eyebrows rise. He finds himself the subject of an amused, if puzzled, scrutiny. “It was no trouble. I played a small rrrole.”

A rumble from U’thac’s chest, deeper than his voice. “Don’t be so sure. Even a lalafell might have managed the fight you put up.”

“You brought me back.”

The miqo’te shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “Aye. But rrrespectfully, you weigh almost nothing.”

Despite himself, Cenric finds a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Just the same.”

Cenric nods his assent, says nothing.

Cenric shakes his head. “You refer past my studies.”

Cenric looks down. It feels as though someone has filled his chest with lead.

The Traders use our deeds to decide the weight of a soul upon death.

“…why are you telling me this?”

Sightless. Corneas filmed over. Lips gone blue, tongue swollen.

A child who knew her mother couldn’t save her.

It took hours for Lone Dove to die.

They are no longer walking.

A tufted tail lashes behind the priest in agitation.

“If you care about causing pain,” says U’thac, “use that. Save otherrrs from it. You have a resource the dead lack. That is invaluable. Do you follow?”

Cenric blinks. Blinks again.

Breathes.

“I follow.”

***

He gives his word before they bid farewell.

*** Yuyudana finds his charge eager for more tasks to perform. Initially he says no.

He ought to be in the prime of his life right now.

“You have hobbies, yes?” the lalafell asks one afternoon, while Memesu hunts a wandering couerl. Cenric pauses over the text in his lap.

“…there hasn’t been much opportunity,” he replies. After some uncertainty he adds, “I prefer to keep busy. It’s something worthwhile.”

Yuyudana considers this for several days afterward. Much of the exchange remains unspoken, a barely-scabbed over wound they are both taking care to avoid.

It would be a mistake to press the subject.

***

Eventually, he relents. Preparing offerings is simple enough so far as tasks go. Company would be welcome.

His request is received with disbelief. The hyur stares, wide-eyed and frozen and apparently lost to words.

When Cenric collects himself, it’s the first time Yuyudana sees him truly smile.

“Thank you.”

***

Memesu approaches as a patch of night, eyes bright under a wide-brimmed hat. A collar conceals her expression. Cenric doesn’t wave but raises a hand tentatively in greeting. Memesu mirrors this.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asks, approaching the stone Cenric sits on. He scoots over before she can ask, and the lalafell hoists herself to sit beside him.

“A while,” he admits. “I needed to think.”

Memesu snorts quietly, but doesn’t criticize. It’s the very reason she came to this corner of Eorzea herself, after all.

“If I’m honest,” Cenric goes on, “there’s something I want to ask you about.”

It’s a subject that’s worried him for months. He’s imagined himself hesitating, phrasing things a thousand ways, talking around the issue instead of defining it in any intelligible manner.

“Why,” he asks simply, “are you trying to save me?”

She stares at him, her mouth forming a tight, thin line. After some moments Memesu only says, “Are you asking me not to?”

“No,” answers Cenric. It occurs to him this might even be true. “But you know what I’ve done. It’s just a strange amount of effort for a… for a liar.”

This is the most delicate way he can phrase it. Whether it’s for her or himself he couldn’t say.

“Not so strange,” she replies, “for a sick beggar who could be someone better.” Memesu plants her palms behind her, leans into them. “I detest waste.”

He contemplates this for several moments. The breath he’d been holding escapes.

Yellow eyes glint against the light. Cenric shivers, but asks nothing more.

***

“Are you well?” asks the priest. Rather than start, Cenric only blinks. Winces. Rubs the bridge of his nose with one knuckle.

“Aye,” he mumbles. Hesitates. Looks down at the text. “Only distracted.”

The goldsmith had been a gruff and distant man, but a good one. His family had seemed almost hesitant in their grief, unsure whether such open displays would meet his approval.

There is a seat across the table. Yuyudana takes it.

“If I may,” he says, “you might find it helpful to exorcise the matter.” Cenric stares at him, irises startlingly white and inscrutable in the moment. He does not speak.

Yuyudana shakes his head, rueful. “Ah, pay me no mind. The day bleeds over. For all I know you may be busy contemplating our axebeak problem.”

Gently, he slides a leather marker into the book. Closes it. Folds both hands on the table in front of him, resting between perched elbows. The way he leans forward makes him seem smaller than he is.

A beat. Lips pressed firm then slowly, deliberately relaxing.

Yuyudana takes in the shoulders, the false scrutiny directed more to avoid sight than take anything in.

He decides, privately, that this is shame.

“You miss him.” There is no need to ask. Cenric nods anyway, the gesture stilted.

At this, the edge of his words begin to strain.

“Be at peace,” says Yuyudana softly. The younger man closes his mouth. Waits. “You said yourself that your father wanted you to be happy.

Silence. Cenric’s jaw rigid against the workings of his throat.

“I don’t want,” he says eventually, hoarsely, “to be someone he would regret.”

***

When the time comes for Memesu to return to Ul’dah, neither of them is truly prepared.

He approaches when they turn in for the night, but it catches in his throat. “Sleep well,” he bids her, before turning to his own bedroll.

She says nothing.

***

Standing before the bridge together, so early stars have yet to truly fade, she has a gift for him.

“I want to be sure,” she mutters, “that you don’t embarrass me at the ossuary. These clothes will ensure you blend in well-enough. As for the rest…”

A weathered staff, faint discoloration to mark the grip of its previous owner.

“…it was my sister’s, once. Would’ve been good for naught but scrap if not for you. Do try and take care of it.”

He can’t answer, choked with questions and protests and gratitude that threatens to bring him to his knees. So he simply nods and holds the bundle close.

“Memesu.”

Cenric hears himself speak as if divorced from the act. Memesu starts. Meets his face. Averts her eyes again. He kneels.

The lalafell has her arms folded in front of her, clutching both elbows, brow furrowed. A mask of impatience. He hesitates, then smiles.

“I can never repay what you’ve given me,” Cenric murmurs. “I promise it won’t be in vain.”

Now, she looks at him. There is something terrible in her expression then, eyes shining, mouth parted in an unspoken reply

She blinks, rapidly, and it is gone. In it’s place sits a grin, the likes of which he’s never seen before.

“I'm going to hold you to that, Asher.”

***

He kneels before the altar and bows his head. Nymeia lilies rest over stone, crisp and bright and dying. They lie bound together between gold bands. Candles flicker against the damp.

“Duality lies at the essence of all things,” Cenric recites. “The sun rises in the east, only to fall in the west. Just as life rises in birth, only to fall in death.”

There is no echo here. Instead, the cavern seems to absorb all sound. His prayer comes muted, private.

He doesn’t need to look upon his god to know him. Thal’s likeness has a narrow jaw. High cheekbones. Thin lips. His eyes shut in the impression of patience.

“It’s been some time,” says Cenric, “since I asked anything of you.”

This sees no answer, as expected. He exhales slowly.

“I have little to offer,” the hyur continues, “but these are my most precious possessions. It’s past time the rings were returned to your care.”

Maybe nothing changes. Maybe the air grows heavy with expectation.

It is very dark.

“I know death lies before me,” Cenric says. “Hopefully life does also. But before I take myself from this place, I…”

He closes his eyes in turn. A twin to the idol.

Eventually, he whispers, “You’ve seen too much of me for this.”

No disagreement. No encouragement.

Then, “I beg you. Watch over those I’ve delivered into your hands. Give comfort to their loved ones, their families. Help them find some measure of peace.”

A drop of water glides down its stalactite, plummets to a shallow pool below.

The collision resonates.

“Guide my hands,” Cenric says. “Keep me from my old mistakes. Help me preserve more than I destroy.”

By such frail firelight, one can almost imagine that Thal is alive.

***

Hear.

A beating heart. The turn of a wheel. The voice of a goddess, neither commanding nor beseeching. Her invitation.

Feel.

Warmth and sunlight. Dust like stars or stars like dust. Uncertain footing. Certain steps.

Think.

A beginning.

A promise.

A purpose.

An answer.

***

May the Traders nurture our fortunes as They kindle the flames which burn within us all.

***

It is in the wake of Ultima, as the Seventh Astral Era dawns, that a visitor approaches Mirage.

Reactions vary according to age. Younger residents gawk at the mount and the visitor, attaching neither name nor history nor title. Only power and perhaps some small wealth.

It could break away if it wanted to. It doesn’t.

Irises without color scan what residents remain.

Stop.

Teeth emerge from under lips curling involuntarily. His eyes widen.

“You,” he says, and at twenty-six cycles his voice is deep and steady as he gestures with the staff. “Come here. There’s a small favor I would ask.”

Two figures. One, a boy of perhaps ten. Dusty brown hair, a large-boned frame typical of his people that only promises to become more pronounced with age. Dark eyes. A nervous smile in return.

And there, positioned just in front of him, is his highlander mother.

He does not, even for an instant, look away.

The woman forces a smile in turn. Delicately removes her son’s hand. Begins to advance.

“Ah,” says Cenric, “both of you, if you please. It won’t be long.”

For several seconds, they remain caught in each others’ scrutiny. There is an animal tension in the way they grin at one another.

“Come with me,” murmurs the highlander woman, “it’s alright.”

She, with the boy in tow, closes the gap.

“Forgive me,” says Cenric, tilting the staff to rest against his shoulder. Unblinking. “For all the fond memories I have of this place your name escapes.”

“Eona,” she says, almost a whisper.

“And yours?” says Cenric, attention shifting to the child.

Nothing.

“His name,” says Eona, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder, “is Varin.”

She squeezes gently. Reassuringly.

Cenric’s expression remains unmoved.

“I’d like to see my father’s grave,” he says, with the air of someone requesting the price of bread or discussing weather.

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” breathes Eona, “there isn’t one. We… we burned the body afterward.” Cenric’s expression remains frozen. The only change comes from the way his face gradually drains to gray.

“Can you show me,” he replies evenly, “where the remains were destroyed?”

Eona opens her mouth. Closes it again. Looks at her feet and nods.

“Follow me.”

***

The location they arrive at isn’t marked. Perhaps one hundred yalms from the entrance to a nearby cavern. It takes some moments for the Highlanders to realize their charge has fallen behind.

“…Mr. Asher,” says Eona.

The Warrior of Light has gone still, gaze fixed to the cave. Features blank. He does not respond.

“Ma,” whispers Varin, “we should go.”

Eona exhales through her nose. Her lips thin.

“Mr. Asher,” she repeats, louder this time.

Cenric flinches. Turns.

The space is distinguished by a small, rocky outcropping. No trees grow, no markers stand.

“This is the place,” says Eona, gesturing. “Immin… your father didn’t deserve what happened.”

A slight inclination of the head in acknowledgment. Nothing more.

Very slowly, cautiously, she begins drawing Varin away toward the town. Keeping distance.

“Tell me,” says Cenric abruptly, without inflection, “do you love your son?”

Eona watches him for several moments. Searching.

When she answers, it is the most natural thing in the world.

“I would die for him.”

“Go,” he says quietly. “Leave me.”

Eona remains motionless. She watches with the silent revelation that what stands before her is only a man, neither more nor less.

“Ma,” Varin whispers louder. Insistently. His mother nods, and the smile she offers him is apologetic.

“Sorry, love,” she tells him. “Come on.”

When they depart, Eona doesn’t look back.

***

Alone, Cenric kneels before an unremarkable space. His shoulders tremble and shudder occasionally. No sound escapes.

After what might be minutes or hours or an eternity, he uses his staff to leverage himself upright once more.

“Thank you,” he says to the empty air.

Black magic is a destructive discipline. It cannot be used to give or create anything new. It can, however, change what exists irrevocably.

#final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ul'dah #ff14 #didn't want to put this here until finished and it is!

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