recusxnt

[recusxnt]

"Then I am mad." Horus agrees; his smile does not falter. Seth broods over the finer details of pride, and Horus refuses to see the big picture. This atonement that Seth is expected to undergo is a petty deity endeavor. But even petty things are taken seriously. Horus does not care for those rules. He thinks Seth has done nothing to deserve this humiliation and belittlement by the gods, which would have crumbled under identical pressure. He sympathizes but does not pity his uncle; that is the last thing Seth would have appreciated, and the feathered nuisance knows it. Let him be mad then, and crazy, and utterly insane, but as long as Seth accepts his help.

He notices the stuttering eyelashes, the way Seth stills and looks away. His scarlet tresses are a miraculous sight; it is a reminder that as long as Seth lives, the bloodied sunsets of the Sahara desert continue to bless their sacred lands. Horus swallows thickly, minutely flustered by their closeness. He can see every curve of Seth's face, those marble perfections that he memorized from afar. The god of war has a straight nose that offers a symmetry Horus is utterly taken by. He cannot stop staring at a painting that lives on without a gallery. Seth's presence resembles a trip to a museum, and Horus lost the way out. These poetic metaphors Horus learned from the hopeless romantics that assembled in a small crowd on the upper half of the lecture hall, always thirty minutes early for Horus' class. Overhearing their philosophy, Horus picked up on analogies that he often assigned to Seth. Eyes are like a sunset. Hair like a river of blood from a valiant battle. Lips like the clouds after a thunderstorm. He could continue on.

Horus erupts in a gasp and grins. "Quit? Really!?" Horus beams as his heart races. It means Seth will spend mornings with him, working side by side, then going to lunch together, or maybe Horus will find a minute to spare to cook. And then he would come home on rare occasions to see Seth sleeping at a reasonable time. "This is great news, I will tell my employer immediately. You can start whenever you'd like. But you should rest first because if-" their hands lace together amid Horus' passionate barrage of unending promises. His celebration halts as he catches the lingering hand in his own. The demi-god's fingers trace his counterpart's. His hand is larger, and it easily cradles Seth's within a warm palm. He stares at the averted face, blinking away the haze of contact.

"Like...what?" He asks suddenly, voice quiet. Horus' breath travels from his parted lips to Seth's clothed shoulder. He remembers that his uncle is wearing his shirt, sinking deeply under the fabric twice as large as him. Horus is mute for a moment as his eyes dance about the side of Seth's face. "I like looking at you." He mutters as his unoccupied hand reaches before he registers his actions. The demi-god cups the deity's cheek to guide his face back. Horus seeks Seth's eyes, now parallel to him as his breath hitches, afraid to ruin this sudden moment.

"Do you think you are free this evening?" Horus suddenly asks, at once forgetting the shifts he signed up for. The deliveries, the bouncer guardianship, and the potential bartendering all take a seat on the back burner. Horus' face lingers close as he hovers, undecided. His eyes are pinned atop Seth's mouth, ogling his full bottom lip like a hawk locking in on its prey. Horus bites the inside of his cheek, brushing his thumb along Seth's cheekbone.

"I'd like to," Horus starts, his face washing over with uncertainty. "I'd like to celebrate you."

          Hadn’t he endured enough? The question echoed in Seth’s mind, sharp as broken glass, and he wanted to say yes but he kept his mouth shut. Doubt, oily and relentless, slid up his spine and wrapped around him, impossible to peel off once it sank in. It clung to his skin and thoughts, a parasite whispering that nothing he’d done would ever be enough.

          Most of it—everything, really—had always been about survival. He’d clawed and bled just to keep himself safe. Osiris had ruined him, torn him down so brutally that Seth could barely remember the shape of who he’d been before. He’d killed young boys and women just to forge a weapon strong enough to fend off that monster. But even with that power in his hands, all Seth really had was fear. The mere mention of Osiris made his skin crawl, like ants under his flesh. When that man came near, Seth’s chest seized up, his heartbeat thrumming dangerously against his ribs, his legs rooted to the ground even when every instinct screamed at him to run.

        Osiris knew every weak spot and pressed them without mercy. That’s why Seth recoiled from Horus’s help—he couldn’t bear the thought of being vulnerable again, couldn’t risk someone else prying apart his scars. It took so long, too long, to realize Horus wasn’t Osiris. But the old wounds ran deep, fear winding around his bones and refusing to let go. Osiris had twisted everything, made Seth believe his strength wasn’t his own. Now, Horus wanted to swoop in and handle things for him, as if Seth was incapable, as if he was still that broken, trembling thing. Was he really so helpless? Is that what everyone saw when they looked at him?

         Seth’s breath caught, tight and shaky, as Horus leaned in, their warmth a dangerous promise. Seth wanted to collapse into it, to let himself be held—but it terrified him. What if he liked it? What if he needed it? What if he let himself hope, only to lose again?

          Horus spoke, words like sunlight through cracks in stone, and that ridiculous, dazzling smile made Seth’s heart stutter. He couldn’t help but pout, just a little. ❛ No one in their right mind does this for nothing, so you must be out of yours, ❜ he managed, his voice soft, not biting. Then, Horus’s fingers threaded through his hair, bruhsing back the strands that covered his face and Seth’s mind went blank. The fight and the arguments dissolved on his tongue. His eyes fluttered closed. It was gentle, and it was kind, and he’d been alone for so long it almost hurt. He’d been the one to leave, to build his own walls so high no one would dare climb, to keep everyone from knowing the truth— and safe from Osiris. He never expected anyone would come looking, let alone try to save him. Letting someone else step in, even for a moment, was terrifying. But maybe… just maybe he could let go...

          ❛ Alright, fine, ❜ he whispered. ❛ I’ll quit. But—stop looking at me like that ?! ❜ He fussed, desperate to hide the blush blooming on his cheeks. He reached up to pull Horus’s hand from his hair, but… his fingers lingered, holding on, just a moment longer.

[recusxnt]

i wanna see them beat the shit out of each other

[recusxnt]

The smell of wickedness spreads about the air, contaminating the clouds where a falcon takes flight. The magick is unfamiliar, although welcoming. It seeps through the roof of a residence, which Horus does not recognize. He is not supposed to; this isn't a realm that he is used to. The travels of loose feathers bring him here. Birds still listen, tell him secrets he is hardly interested in. A feathered divinity is free to travel throughout a chosen epoch however he likes. The smoke blackened by the presence of someone who is attuned to the otherworldly catches his eye. It has been a while since he left Egypt and saw another gifted with insight. And so he descends from the cradle of the fog and clouds.

His wings cut through the cotton fantasies, leaving them damp and heavy as he collapses. He lands with a whirlwind rising on the rooftop, where the smoke abruptly fades, chased away by Horus' imposing command. He tilts his head, cutting the shadow of his beak mask with a curious azurite glance. Then, he recalls that it is more polite to knock on the door than to intrude from a window. Swiftly, he circles the residence, seeking the desired introduction. His wings fold behind him as he towers over the entrance. Should he appear more human or less?

He ponders long in front of the door, at last deciding that a wingless appearance would be less imposing or intimidating. Now left in borrowed layers from his travels, since no one likes to see a mostly nude man skulking around historic properties, Horus raises his fist and gently knocks on the door:

"I saw the smoke," he says thereafter, a bit awkward. "Do you require aid?"

@recusxnt sent: "Is that smoke?" For Siobhan.

Siobhan had stepped away from her cauldron; her grimoire lied opened beside -- which was nothing more but a journal that contained spells she had remembered from her previous life, and ones that she found on the internet. She had just finished creating a potion -- the sleeping potion. From time to time, Siobhan had troubles sleeping, and thought this potion that she found on the internet, could help her with her undiagnosed insomnia.

The redhead rushed over to the bathroom, washing her hands after some of the potion splashed on her hands. Gross! Siobhan blamed herself for stirring roughly, and has to deal with the consequences with liquid splashing on herself and the kitchen table. She will clean up in a moment. She won't let her brother see this mess.

Siobhan had just dried off her hands and then -- wait, what's that smell? Her head tilted up, and softly she sniffed the air. It smelled like something was burning! She popped her head out from the doorway and her eyes were wide. There was smoke wafting above the kitchen table. The potion -- SOMEHOW -- was causing the table to burn.

"AH!" She howled in shocked, sprinting over to the table, going as fast as she could as she grabbed the cauldron and her journal. But...it was too late; the liquid melted the cauldron - forming a massive hole, the liquid potion seeped through and landed on the table -- even bringing the table to burn! Oh god, Blaise is going to kill me! This was a very expensive table, and her brother always got after her to do her potion making in her bedroom. Why couldn't she listen to him for once?

Where is my wand?! Her eyes searched around the area, and then she remembered -- my wand is in my bedroom. She rushed over to her bedroom, seeing her wand was on her bed. She grabbed it and returned to the chaotic scene. Controllo zedo! With a swish and a flick -- the liquid vanished. With a sigh of relief, she would take a seat beside the table, the sight of it and her cauldron made her wince.

Shit, I'm dead. I'm really fucking dead. Blaise is going to kill me. Siobhan thought, and yeah she was right -- Blaise was going to tear a strip off of her.

[recusxnt]

Horus is silent when Seth's voice gains an edge that deters him from making another case for a double, triple shift. He does not mind the hassle, but Seth is bothered by the pride that dissolves before his nephew. The demi-god blinks; his eyes refuse to leave his counterpart despite his aversion to the conversation. Seth turns away, hides his face as the plate is offered to him. Horus searches for differences between Seth and a feline who is offended that tuna isn't served on a golden platter. Horus waits patiently with an outstretched hand, his muscles hardly registering the sore tug of the full meal. He forgets his own desire to eat, instead, he seeks to devour the sight of Seth's profile. He furrows his dark brows slightly, shaking his head at Seth's degrading monologue. He shakes his head, disagreeing before he even speaks.

"Do you have to suffer more?" The demi-god speaks, perhaps out of turn. What does he know about the challenges of the gods? Seth has been here for much longer, but since birth, Horus believed that Seth was the mightiest of them all. The sand-bending legend now sits in Horus' bed, denying himself further pleasure of food. It is almost endearing, if not depressing. To Horus, it is a joy that a celebrity, depicted in mortal iconography, now bestows him with such close presence. He can touch him, or rather, he tries to. His eyes hold the marble sculpted wrist, his lips part as if he can almost taste that milky skin. Horus swallows, darting his eyes over to Seth's face.

"Haven't you had enough?" He speaks with determination, the kind of firmness that refuses to let Seth get back into his misery. Seth shifts, surrendering to the meal, and Horus reels. Finally, they understand each other. "Did I ever say caring for you is a job?" Horus tilts his head, offering Seth a cheeky smile as he shifts on the bed, leaning in closer. "If I could take care of you for the rest of your sentence, I'd be happy. Just let me handle it." He promises quietly as if someone beyond the bedroom's door would overhear their conspiracy. Horus pauses when Seth demands another reason for Horus' actions. The demi-god doesn't see a reason for Seth to be asking questions he may not be prepared to hear the answers to. Or maybe, Horus isn't ready to provide those answers himself. He is silent for a moment, searching Seth's intense eyes with a stormy sea beating against his azurite irises, demanding to be closer.

"Your prior actions do not define who you are now. You've always been..." Horus pauses, searching for his words. He feels a bit distant from this conversation. It is easier for Horus to show through the endless shifts, the cash he offers Seth for shopping, the roar of his motorcycle's engine that announces he is home just in time to cook dinner, and the breakfast still warm under a thin layer of tinfoil in the morning. He wishes he could put those actions into words. He exhales inaudibly.

"...good." Horus' eyes befall the plate in Seth's hands. He wonders if Seth would like seconds. "I want to help. Let me. I just don't see why you should be alone in this." He understands there are layers of grudges between his mother and Seth, and so many secrets that Horus knows and often ignores. Isis tells him to abandon his uncle for good; he is as good as dead. Horus does not beg to differ; he simply leaves the conversation unopened, unread, on voicemail until Isis gives up.

Horus reaches out to gently brush Seth's hair away from his face, gently tucking a few loose strands behind his ear. "So," he drags out the vowel inquisitively. "Does that mean you will quit and become a researcher with me?" He smiles, his fingers linger in the crimson tresses, enjoying their silken weightlessness.

                                 "Does it have to be a punishment?"

            Horus’s voice ricocheted around the room, sharp and insistent, like an annoying ringtone you just can’t find the phone for. Did it have to be a punishment? Wasn’t that the whole point? Seth could feel the cursed bracelet digging into his wrist—a tacky accessory courtesy of exile, with all the charm of a hospital band. Something heavy squeezed his chest, and for once, he didn’t immediately shove Horus away. He just lay there, feeling like someone had swapped his bones for lead pipes. Only when Horus finally released him did Seth shift, finding a comfortable position next to Horus. 

           Silence crept in. Seth avoided Horus’s gaze; those ridiculous blue eyes always made him feel like he was about to drown in the ocean. Suffering, apparently, was the whole point. Redemption through misery and all that. Seth had a track record: too much blood, too many mistakes, a personal highlight reel of bad decisions. He wasn’t supposed to get off easy, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to have Horus sharing in on that misery. He didn’t deserve any of it. Not the care. Not the comfort. Not that infuriating, inexplicably gentle smile.

        ❛ I’m supposed to suffer, Horus. ❜ Seth stared at the ceiling like it might offer a loophole. He lifted his hand, letting his oversized sleeve fall back to show off the lovely, ironclad statement piece on his wrist. ❛ Everyone I hurt, everyone I killed, everything I let happen—I’m the one who’s supposed to answer for it. Not you. ❜

           He shivered when Horus’s hand brushed his leg, a little spark of warmth right where he least wanted it. He tried to pretend he didn’t notice, but honestly, subtlety was not his strong suit these days. He’d gone soft. He knew it. He used to slam the door in Horus’s face; now he let him in, let him talk, let him fuss over him like he was a particularly moody houseplant. Surely Horus had noticed. Why else would he keep poking at him, teasing him, feeding him like a toddler who refused to eat his peas?

           ❛ Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t care about that! I—I just don’t think it’s your job to take care of me this much, okay?! ❜ Seth sat up too fast, arms crossed, turning away like a sulky teenager. He could feel Horus grinning with the dinner plate in hand behind him—the kind of smile that was half victory, half pure mischief. Seth held out as long as he could, then caved, grabbing the plate and attacking the food like it had personally offended him. He didn’t look up.

           Eventually, he slowed down, the clink of his fork against the plate the only sound. His voice dropped, red hair spilling in front of his face as he finally, grudgingly, turned a bit toward Horus. ❛ Hey…❜ He’d asked before, but it still felt weird, still felt vulnerable. Trusting didn’t come naturally. Letting someone close, letting someone help—none of that was in his skill set. Horus’s plan didn’t sound half bad, though. No more crap job, less guilt for making Horus work overtime, more Horus in general. Which was… nice, maybe. ❛ Why are you doing all this for me? After everything I did to you, to your mom... why are you so set on helping me? What, are you collecting lost causes now, or is this just a weird hobby? ❜

[recusxnt]

Horus doesn't understand the big deal behind getting another workplace to gain money from. Humans do it, they pay their bills, they take care of their loves ones. In the divine dichotomy, there are little things that determine value when power does not speak for itself. There are whispers, rumors, history, relations, and everything in between. Humans know their history only decades after the mistakes are finally admitted and recorded. Horus also knows that he has been airing out dirty laundry in his classes when speaking on behalf of deities. He tries his best to do them justice, to give them a spotlight of honor, but he sees the way his students write afterward. Their essays criticize the gods so boldly. Horus knows if Osiris read some of these papers, he would have brought the Duat trials to the classroom. It is somewhat comical, yet serious. Horus also knows his bias because Seth has gained incredible importance in his lectures. Some students tease him, saying that it appears Horus likes the god of war and death a lot more than the rest. Horus corrects them on titles and does not deny his favoritism. He offers them a smile.

This same smile he wears as Seth gets up from the bed, leaving his nest of blankets and pillows to announce his demands to Horus. The demi-god barely listens. He selects only a few pointers, paying attention to his uncle's tone and inflection. He is irritated, sleep-deprived. Horus wonders if he needs a massage because even from where he stands, Seth looks tense. It worries the young nephew, yet he keeps his mouth shut as his wide, sapphire eyes take in the crimson-haired view. He forgets himself a moment as Seth shows off the layers of borrowed clothes. A shirt that is made for a broad-shouldered physique hangs like a sheet, not a garment. It hides Seth's slender figure, which Horus memorized the first time they were among the sands of time and bedtime stories. The sweatpants are too long, given the obvious height difference. Not only that, but Horus prefers his lounging clothes to be half a size bigger, so it undercuts Seth's mobility immediately upon a rogue movement.

Like a movie, the snippets of their conversation return to the demi-god as he launches off the bedside to catch his tripping uncle. The fall is not a collapse but a stumble, although Horus treats it like a cardinal sin. His arms capture Seth, encircling his waist and back, pulling him over to the matress while staring at the messy, scarlet tresses. They look like vines of silk, and Horus has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from running his fingers through Seth's hair. He settles for a light squeeze of the lithe body in his arms, carefully letting go.

"Does it have to be a punishment?" He murmurs. "It is enough for you to have your powers struck. You don't have to do anything else." Horus implores, shaking his head as his expression grows weary. He is genuinely frightened by Seth's threat of leaving. He promptly dismissed the idea of calling Seth's work, but he is not quite finished with attempting to convince his uncle to leave that cesspool.

"If I get another job, you can stay home all the time. Or go out and do whatever you want. Isn't that better?" He ignores the logical point of being overloaded by work. Horus hardly feels it. As long as Seth is not overworked and exhausted, he does not care what happens to him. Work is work.

"Uncle, we are immortal." Seth grins as he moves the blanket over to drape it across his lap. His hand grazes the side of Seth's leg, outlining it only briefly before moving away. He grabs the plate he abandoned on the bedside table, offering the rest of the meal to Seth. "I won't work myself into the grave. I've been doing fine this entire time." He speaks softly, taking his time lest Seth jump off the bed again. In his true nature, however, Horus allows his tone to rise into a playful tone. "You are worried about me." He teases, grinning. "Thank you, Uncle Seth." Horus dips closer, blooming with warmth as the corners of his eyes wrinkle in a joyful squint. Horus takes a pause, thinking.

"What if I get you a remote job? You can take over my morning shifts, and I can put in a good word for you? Then you don't have to work at night and," Horus lights up. "We can work together before I leave for my nights!"

                ❛ Yeah, yeah, ❜ Seth grumbles, ❛ just give me another bite. ❜ He stares at the fork in Horus's hand, expecting royal treatment. Horus obliges, shoveling another generous mouthful in his direction. Seth lets the flavor linger, purposely tuning out Horus’s confusion about the food. The food wasn’t the problem — no, Seth’s jaw clenched because this overgrown Boy Scout was once again telling him to quit, as if new jobs grew on trees. Seth already felt like a squatter in Horus’s life. The guy was working himself to the bone, all to help Seth pay off some cosmic debt.

             Horus’s relentless kindness was infuriating. Who did he think he was, being so damn nice? Seth knew his own track record; he’d put his mother through hell, and Horus’s childhood wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows either, thanks to him. So why was Horus bending over backward, practically sprinting toward burnout, just to help him? Any normal person would’ve kicked Seth out months ago. Hell, they’d have thrown his stuff into the street and changed the locks. But not Horus. No, Horus was determined to be the world’s most accommodating doormat. Would it kill him to push back, just once?

              By the time Seth managed to escape his mental spiral, he realized he’d been grinding his teeth loud enough to scare off a raccoon. His eyes, red from frustration ( and, let’s be honest, the lack of sleep—thanks, human realm ), finally locked onto Horus. He couldn’t keep quiet anymore. ❛ I’m not quitting, and you are definitely not getting another job, ❜ he snaps, the words landing like a commandment. Sure, his current job was pure torture — twelve straight hours on his feet, dodging angry customers, getting yelled at for crimes against sandwich artistry. People spat in his face, literally and metaphorically, and he just had to take it. He used to be a God, feared by all, and now he was a glorified punching bag in a greasy apron. If anyone needed proof of karma, here it was.

          But this was the deal. Suffer as he’d made others suffer. Endure. So every time Horus tried to soften the blow, Seth felt a fresh surge of guilt. ❛ This is my punishment, remember? ❜ he argued, shifting on the bed until he could pace a dramatic circle. The room was decently sized—but still not the place for a god like tantrum—but he made do. He glanced out the window, watching the sun slouch toward the horizon, and couldn’t help but miss the old days. Back then, time was just a suggestion. Here, time was a shackle, every minute accounted for, every hour sold off just to keep breathing. Mortality was a real pain in the ass.

           ❛ Don’t even think about calling them, ❜ Seth snaps, spinning around to glare at Horus. ❛ If you do, I’m out. I mean it. ❜ It was a cheap threat, but at this point, he didn’t care. ❛ You’re already doing too much. You’re barely home. If you get another job, what then? ❜ He stalked over, intending to make his point, but promptly tripped over the baggy sweatpants he had borrowed from Horus. Horus, being the human skyscraper he was, had clothes that swallowed Seth whole. Still, Seth kept wearing them. They were warm, and maybe, just maybe, he liked the way they smelled like him...but he’d sooner eat glass than admit that out loud.

          He landed back on the bed with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, only to find Horus halfway out of his place on the bed, ready to catch him. Seth let him, too tired to pretend he didn’t need the help, but he kept his scowl locked in place, his tone sharp as ever. ❛ You’re going to work yourself into an early grave if you keep this up, and I’m not letting you do that for me. ❜

[recusxnt]

If not for the masterfully crafted routine of insults, Horus would have been offended by Seth's tired outburst. Instead, the bird of prey shakes his head slowly, holding the same fork even closer until Seth gives in and accepts a mouthful out of necessity. He can hear the stomach churning underneath the layers of a blanket and a shirt that is way too big on Seth's silhouette. Horus' smile stretches wider. Seth borrowed one of his shirts again after being given free rein of everything in his nephew's room. The deity does not care. His mortal wardrobe consists of a bare minimum. Horus thinks he does a good job of blending in, but Isis, on multiple occasions, reminded Horus that maybe he should try a little more. His mother is an embodiment of luxury; she has been wrong before about looks, though.

Horus looks the same every morning, wearing an easy shirt, sometimes a hoodie, with a pair of jeans or joggers, depending on how heavy the shift is. When the night comes, he wears a black button-up with matching pants, rolls up his sleeves to look intimidating, although that is hardly necessary with a man of his build. He meanders around clubs, towering over the majority of the guests, and leaves, on most nights, untouched. He comes home to shed all of the layers of clubbing fog and changes into a pair of sweatpants. As a courtesy to Seth, Horus wears another shirt around the apartment, although he prefers to sleep without it, with a window open to feel the tug of the morning breeze. On the days when Horus cannot stretch his wings, he seeks elation by chasing stray plumes of dawn mist on his motorcycle, currently parked in the communal garage. It is an easy life he thinks and that is exactly why he decides to pick up another job.

Seth savors the meal while Horus' eyes grow distant. He thinks of ways he can move his schedule around. If he takes on more night shifts, they would have to bleed directly into morning shifts. That he can hardly do because who would make Seth breakfast? Although that would guarantee higher pay. He mauls over his choices, hearing little of Seth's protests while offering him one bite after another.

"Told you it's good." Horus echoes with a thoughtful hum, ensuring that his uncle is fed all the ingredients at once to enhance and spoil the palette. His smile fades as Seth curses at him. "Wait...you don't like it?" He brings the plate closer to his chest, looking at it. "There is nothing bad in it. I watched the chef make it right in front of him. All fresh. Is it the cinnamon?" Worried over the lamb not being cooked through, Horus stabs a cube and pops it into his mouth, chewing quickly. The meat satisfies his expectation, and Horus looks over Seth in blind confusion before it finally hits him.

"No. Quit. You just said you are wrecked." A tense knot coils in Horus' chest like a black viper that slithers from its nest in the desert. He does not like hearing that Seth's labor takes a physical toll on him. "Humans create these jobs out of necessity. Since it is not necessary for you, I will take over. Rest." He resumes the serving, now filling up the fork more so that every bite of buckwheat made it into Seth's mouth. Although the God of War is truly the strongest, the shackle on his wrist makes him the weakest. Horus worries, even if humans would still shudder before the ancient god.

"Clearly, I am not doing enough. You shouldn't be this tired." Horus furrowed his eyebrows, eyes glinting with determination. "I can do another job. If I work two remote jobs at the same time, I can still make it to the bakery and night shifts easily. And I can make you breakfast." He smiles as he announces his master plan, swelling with genius while surrendering another mouthful to his counterpart. "I can call your work right now. Tell them you got a better deal." His eyes dance about his uncle's face, filling with glittering hope that maybe, just maybe, Horus' persuasion skills reached another milestone of success.

           Seth was barely listening to the details about the grand reopening. His attention was glued to the plate of food in Horus’s lap, eyes tracking it like a starving dog at a backyard BBQ. Only now did he realize how famished he was, and honestly, if Horus didn’t hurry up and hand over the goods, there might be a fork-related incident. But Seth kept quiet, exhaustion smothering him like a weighted blanket fresh out of the dryer. His body begged him to just lie down and become one with the bed. Horus's bed was extremely comfortable... Not yet, he promised himself. First, food. Then, sweet oblivion.

          He couldn’t stop eyeballing the plate. His hopes shot up when Horus shifted, certain this was the big moment—finally, food ! But nope. Horus moved the plate, but not in Seth’s direction. Seth’s shoulders drooped, he sighed, glaring at Horus with the intensity of a man denied his last meal, as if daring him to make any sudden moves with that plate.

        At last, Horus scooted closer, loading up a forkful and offering it to him like he was feeding a toddler. Seth’s whole body tensed. Was Horus psychic? How did he know? Seth scowled, ❛ Do I look like a child? I can feed myself! ❜ Of course, he turned his head away, but the smell was an ambush—rich, savory, impossible to resist. Horus didn’t budge. Two minutes of protesting and Seth caved, dramatically sighing as he leaned in for the bite. And wow. He didn’t know if it was sheer hunger or how good the food really was, but that lamb and buckwheat felt life-changing. He chewed slow, dragging out every spicy, juicy second before swallowing. Then, right as he was floating in culinary bliss, Horus dropped it: “You should quit.”

       Seth was just glad he’d swallowed, or he might’ve choked on pure disbelief. ❛ Are you high? Or did you slip something weird in the food? ❜ he shot back, giving Horus a look only seen on people who smell burned popcorn in the office break room.

      Horus had been doing so much already, and sure, Seth fantasized about never working again, but his pride was a stubborn beast. As much as he hated his job, he couldn’t just let Horus handle everything. Someone had to suffer through the night shifts, right? ❛ No, I’ll be fine. These night shifts wreck me completely, I just need to get used to it. How do humans even survive this schedule? ❜ He eyed Horus with a mix of hope and desperation, waiting for another bite—or, ideally, the whole plate. ❛ Really, you’re already doing more than enough. Let me at least do this much. ❜

[recusxnt]

Spectrum Internet cockblocking my writing fire is as bad of a war crime as Uncle Seth ignoring me.

[recusxnt]

A voice draws Horus near like a lullaby of a siren. The exhausted stretch of vocal cords does not elude him. Be it god or mortal, every entity in existence had its limits. What sets Horus' suspicion off is a myriad of behaviors that match the ones he had seen his students exhibit during exam weeks. A professor overseeing his classrooms pulls Horus aside, asks why his students are so particularly stressed. Horus shrugs, says that his exams are papers that match the minimal requirement of complexity. He adds sheepishly that it is their passion for the subject. Naturally, a professor of higher sciences holds an atheistic view when it comes to his colleague in the literature department. Rolls his eyes and walks away, mumbling something about tenure. Horus does not understand what it means until the end-of-year review passes him with flying colors, and the overseer is fired for a sexual harassment charge. Go figure.

Besides the point, Seth looks rough as he sits up in Horus' surrendered bed. The nephew creeps closer, ignoring the pleasant heat at the bottom of the plate. The mattress bends under his weight as he carefully takes a seat nearby without touching the dweller. He observes Seth for a moment longer. A smile tugs at the corners of the demi-deity's lips as Seth's unkempt, crimson tresses resemble rogue forests during a burning, winter sunset. The azure-eyed son of life and prophecy can logically guess why Seth's undereyes might look sunken. The ogling is cut short by the question. There isn't much energy in Seth's inquiry, and Horus furrows his eyebrows as he eyes the plate in his lap.

"A restaurant by my work re-opened. They have a new menu and substituted rice for buckwheat. The owner says it's healthier, packed with vitamins. Fiber. Something like that." The young god smiles. He asked for the best plate with the freshest ingredients. The buckwheat bed is spiced with mahlab, cinnamon, pepper, and nutmeg, bringing out the heavy draw of earthy delights. Atop sits diced lamb that was prepared right in front of Horus. The block where he lives knows him by his nicknames and silhouette. He is often invited to the kitchens as families share their story, offer their recipes with a promise to not tattle to the competition. Horus promises to take them to his grave and quietly makes the dishes at home for his uncle when he can.

"Here," he offers Seth the plate. He does not care if it is in bed. The etiquette matters little when his uncle's comfort is top priority. Horus waits to surrender cutlery, his eyes glancing back and forth between Seth and the plate. Just before he lets go, he suddenly retreats the plate and fists the knife and fork as he stands up. "Hold on-" he pauses, moving closer to sit down directly by Seth's pillow. He angles the plate to himself and carefully mixes the lamb with the spiced sauce and buckwheat. The silver stabs through the buttery meat, shovels a bit of buckwheat, and as the plate moves to catch any stray grain, Horus moves the fork toward Seth's mouth, offering him the first taste. The bite hangs in the air as Horus waits for his counterpart. He can sit like this for an eternity, although his worry speaks first:

"Eat before it gets cold." He instructs tenderly, voice low as if an unknown guest ever drops around the corner. After a moment, Horus' anxiety gives in and he blurts out:

"You should quit." His sapphires dance in the crimson oceans. "You needn't work, Uncle. I will pick up another job." It is not an offer but rather a plan. Horus thinks it will be easy to pick up extra shifts or find another hustle. Maybe his remote work can be done at home in the guest bedroom and out of sight. That means he can stop renting the office and use that money to add to Seth's bank account. And because he is remote, he can pick up another remote job and do those simultaneously before leaving for deliveries. And those can be done through his lunch break, up until the bakery closes and Horus has to change into a menacing suit and run toward whichever night club has a shift. Or maybe he can ask them to be in-house, so he can get steadier pay. He can help them clean too if they will pay for his stay, prepare the club for the next opening shift, and then run back to do research.

It all fits like a perfect plan in Horus' mind, and he suddenly beams at the genius solution. "Quit," he asks again, waving the fork a little as if to entice the cobra with an offering. "I will take care of everything."

             Once, he’d been a god of WAR —terrifying, untouchable, the kind of being mortals whispered about in the dark. Now, he was cursed to be an immortal among mortals, unable to die, unable to escape the gnawing boredom and humiliation of everyday life. Seth had long since lost track of how much time he’d spent shuffling through this dreary existence. Sometimes, he marveled that humans managed to survive at all with their endless complications and disappointments. He understood now, painfully well, why so many of them just gave up. And worse? Everything reeked!! Grease, sweat, old food, something sour he didn’t want to name. He never imagined humans could be so filthy, especially when it came to the tables they left behind and the bathrooms he’d been forced to clean. The memory alone made him shudder. It was enough to make him wish for death, but that was the one thing forever out of reach. He glanced down at the wristband, black stone, smooth and cold against his skin. It looked innocent, but it was the cruelest of shackles.

         He remembered his first job: cleaning public restrooms, a task so foul he’d quit on the spot—well, right after he’d hurled the broom at the store manager’s head. Job after job slipped through his fingers like the sand he had once been able to control. Each job ending faster than the last. His temper didn’t help. Word got around, and soon nobody wanted to hire the angry man with the firey eyes. He’d been circling the drain until Horus appeared, offering the kind of help Seth would have spat at in another life. He’d resisted, pride prickling, but eventually he’d caved. Horus was—well, if Seth ever admitted it, he’d say Horus was a godsend. Not that he’d ever actually say it.

         He’d been crashing at Horus’s place for a few months now, always telling himself it was temporary. Just until he got his act together. Just until he figured things out. Still, he’d grown used to the rhythm of living with his nephew. He knew Isis called all the time, asking why Horus bothered with him. “He’s earned his punishment,” she’d say, and Seth couldn’t deny it. He’d had this coming for years. He’d let himself fall apart, and now he was reaping what he’d sown. There was no one left to blame but himself.

        His head sank into a pillow so soft it was almost a trap, lulling him back toward sleep. But then the front door creaked open, Horus’s voice echoing down the hall. Seth tried to ignore him, but Horus was persistent and, worse, he’d brought food. Seth’s stomach twisted with sudden hunger as he hadn’t eaten since last night's shift. The smell drifted in, rich and inviting, making his mouth water despite himself. Horus appeared in the doorway, a plate already served for him. Horus was so painfully sweet and accommodating it pissed him off at times. Seth forced himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

       ❛ Is it really that late? ❜ he muttered. Gods weren’t supposed to need sleep, and time had once been meaningless to him. Now, it seemed to stretch and drag, every hour something to outlast. He was tired all the time. The late shifts left him wrecked for days.

     ❛ I guess since you’re already here, I could…❜ Seth’s voice carried its usual edge, but it was duller than before. Truthfully, if Horus offered to spoon-feed him, he might just accept. He caught another whiff of the food, something savory and warm. His mood lightened, just a little. ❛ So, what’d you bring? ❜ He asked, trying not to sound too eager, but failing as his stomach growled in anticipation.

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"uwu" (in character)

@recusxnt does uncles hand make you go uwu

[recusxnt]

Between delivering customized cakes to people who do not linger their eyes upon pieces of insignificant, edible art and being a god, Horus has no time to catch up with his mother when inevitably the phone call comes. Cutting ties with familiar alleyways where thumping club music invites deviant youth, Horus shifts his priorities to the side of the wind of the family that isn't as welcomed at the dinner table. Mother says that her brother is as good as a homeless mortal now and laughs behind her mirror despite her inky mascara running down her cheeks. Horus stands behind her, wearing a thrifted jersey of a soccer team he has no idea about. Isis asks him why he is working human jobs. He misses the sight of his wings, and suspiciously, she narrows her eyes. Horus smiles and backs up to the door, slinging a messenger bag over his shoulder. He answers lovingly that the mother should get ready for the rising sun that grazes the horizon. And before Isis plucks Horus' feathers for being a disobedient child, the eye of the sun pierces the sky and crashes into the world of humans.

For a god, Monday morning is irrelevant. For a god playing human, it is a new and exciting routine. For a god forced to be human, this is the most dreadful day. Uncle Seth has been living under Horus' roof in a city apartment for just over a month now. The energetic nephew likes to be among humans. They are vibrant and modern, they develop things that gods have thought of thousands of years ago and yet they develop their projects like they are novel. Horus does not fit with the other gods in the Egyptian parliament. After the era developed and gods gained new faces, the vintage history gained an edge. Gods became agitated and the gilded hallways of the Field of Rieds did not interests many.

Horus finds this fascinating. He descends to be an architect of minds, a curious adventurer who earns a degree faster than an average genius. Within just two years, he can give literary lectures on mythology and philosophy. His class is full of people who, at first, do not major for interest but out of necessity. By the end of the first semester, Horus beams at the queue of applications and a list of concentrations. Around this time, Seth befalls Horus like a gift of a plague. The gilded and azurite-blessed dethroned Seth and punished him with the human touch. His mother calls him, says to cut Seth off completely. She does not explain why and wishes him dead. Horus furrows his eyebrows and asks the director of his program to let Horus go off-campus on a sabbatical. His students flood his emails with pleas to return but Horus logs out of his account and forgets of his profession altogether.

Wings fold after stretching on the roof of their shared apartment complex. Horus' flat isn't as grand as Isis would have wanted it to be. It has two bedrooms, a living room that overlooks the city's boulevard with tall, paneled windows, two baths, although the master bedroom has a standing, glass shower that also uses a window as a wall. Horus finds it a strange design, so he always takes baths in the guest bathroom. A kitchen has an island and polished countertops. It is easy to navigate and is designed with minimalism in mind. The only glinting trinkets that somewhat remind Horus of his mother's hoarding habit are gifts she brought herself. Memorabilia from her trips, baby pictures, necklaces that Horus will not wear, and letters from different gods questioning his decision to be just a man for a while. A new, peculiar addiction to his apartment is Seth himself. An isolated family that is now bound to be an immortal shell of a mortal life.

Despite the foul moods he always expects, Horus comes back home with a grin straining his lips. His heart races as his wings dissipate, giving way to his human appearance. He is a tall man with dark hair and his bright-blue eyes give out an uncanny resemblance to someone truly perfect. Horus does not notice it; he always ignores anyone who pushes the boundaries of their compliments. The man enters the apartment by pushing his rear into the door, shoving it open while carrying a stack of boxes. There is takeout of spicy cruising on top and deliveries on the bottom. He juggles it toward the kitchen and spreads it all on the island counter.

"Uncle Seth!" He calls, wearing a brilliant glint in his eyes as if he hadn't just worked three jobs back to back. In the morning, he is a research expert for an institution overseas. They let him work remotely but out of courtesy to his temporary guest, he rents a small office just down the block with enough internet to get him through the day. During the lunch break, he delivers cakes from a bakery across the road that marvels at the speed with which their creations are delivered. Their business grows and Horus is allowed a little tip increase. At night, he leaves to be a bouncer and bodyguard for hire at local nightclubs. He is a traveling bouncer, so to speak. Whichever club requires his services, he appears there within twenty minutes of the call. The pay isn't as great but it is pocket change that Horus spends on bills while the main income is given to ensure that Seth's transition from godhood to humanhood is smooth. Horus does not feel the strain of human burdens. He is only happy to help his Uncle.

Horus settles on the barstool at the kitchen island. He hasn't slept in two days, but he hardly notices the strain. Gods do not sleep, although faking a human life resulted in exhaustion before. Horus calls out to Seth again, offering warm food which he lays out on the plates. "I am sorry I could not cook today." He always apologizes for not having the time and ensures to leave Seth a covered plate of breakfast at each dawn.

Growing restless, Horus suspects that Seth is asleep or ignoring his nephew. Filling a plate with aromatic buckwheat with preanning spices and lamb, the man carries it toward his bedroom, which he gave up to the latter. Knocking on the door, Horus enters right after, looking around to catch a glimpse of the fire-headed man. "Uncle Seth, it's late in the afternoon already. Are you awake?" Horus proceeds, walking further. "I brought you lunch. Eat some with me?"

He stops by the tall mirror standing against the wall, seeking Seth in the reflection.

@desertchaos

[recusxnt]

‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟɪᴇ. ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀꜱᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ. ‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLESTAT DE LIONCOURT ‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcarrd || rules || verses

[recusxnt]

// hi everyone, I did some clean up and am back on my low activity blogs. Sorry for the long wait.

Like for a starter! I am entertaining all canon, au, and c-divergent threads. I will reach out to you in IMs

[recusxnt]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcarrd ଘ( *please note I only use carrd for theme/blog info

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤଘALL CONTENT WARNINGS APPLY

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Horus wonders where his Uncle's foul mood comes from. He does not seek it with his piercing, sapphire eyes. Like bellies of lazuli scarabs, they seek Seth's face beneath his crown. The winged man smiles wider before he pouts at the freed arrow. He dodges it with a sharp dip, crossing plumes of dragging clouds with his feathers.

"Have I done something to upset you?" Horus calls, flapping his wings to gain more air underneath them. His feathers bristle, and his scowl deepens. He worries for Seth's well-being even when the wrong immortal is in danger. "I will apologize then, is that what you would like?"Despite Horus' concern, there is a note of tease creeping into the back of his throat. Corners of his lips quirk up. His wings expand as if challenging the God of War to try again.

                  Seth stood rooted to the ground, his gaze fixed on the vast sky above. The immense wings of Horus unfurled majestically, casting a looming shadow across the sandy terrain beneath him. With determination etched across his face, Seth replied, his voice steady.

❛ No.❜ He deftly maneuvered the grains of sand, shaping them carefully to craft another arrow, which he knocked onto his bow. With careful precision, he aimed skyward at the imposing figure of Horus, a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. ❛ But it sure is therapeutic, ❜ he added, feeling the rhythmic pulse of the earth beneath him.

[recusxnt]

Suspended by the cradle of the sky, the sapphire-eyed grins. A voice comes, amused edge tamed. "Is there a need for that?"

A hunting mood. When he shoots you down, he's hanging that dumb bird beak on a mantle. @recusxnt

[recusxnt]

‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂀private || highly selective || adv. literate𓂀 ‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓅃HORUS from Ennead𓅃 ‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ☥with inspirations and influences of Egyptian Mythology☥

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂀 RULES || MUSE & VERSES || CARRD || ASK𓂀

[recusxnt]

//making icons, tags, and edits for a new blog is a full time job i stg.