#If his normal verbal deflections don’t do the job then all he needs is one slice of his katana and he’s on the other side of the globe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poptod · 4 years

Text

Miscreation

Description: You're a magician in Ancient Egypt, but you have to keep your magic secret, as it isn't quite 'normal' magic. The youngest prince takes a liking to you.

Notes: i can’t believe i never put this up on this account??? its been written for ages i jus forgot about it. this is the story where piye is from! Word Count: 20k

As the world came to be, magic was instilled within it. It was up to humans to decide where that magic was though - and it was a line you simply couldn’t establish. It’s in the skies, they said, and in our souls. Others would say that it simply did not exist. It’s in the structures we build and the art we make, they said. But it intertwines in your fingers, and the future shines through blind eyes, and though you may not look it, magic runs through your essence. So, in all of Kemet, you were most likely one of the very few people who really knew what magic was.

The high priests and priestesses read from old books that gave shoddy and false potions, with spells and mixtures that did naught but smell awful. You knew, even as a child, that you would never turn down that path. Not only because the reading would be simply awful and very few would believe you, but because of your standing; a half blind, abandoned child in the desert, a cloth over their eyes and wrapped in silk, would never climb very far in life. However, under the protection of the man by the name of Adom who had picked you up, the unwanted child, you stayed in his shop, working for him, and generally living a pleasant life. He never had very much, but he was somewhat of a father, and had his own gift in magic.

“You were born with a gift,” he would tell you as a child. “Not many at all will understand it.”

The year you turned nine, Adom was put under the employ of the palace, as a private consort. His main job was to tell the future, to heal and protect, and in respect to your privacy, not once did he ever mention your own talents.

“In your own time,” he told you when you asked.

You stood behind your father, practically cowering, as the pharaoh spoke of his new duties. He prattled on for quite a while, but your grip on Adom’s skirt did not lessen. As he bowed, and made to leave to new chambers, the pharaoh halted him.

“What is that behind you?” He asked in a soft, and mildly intrigued voice. He leaned forward in his throne, resting his chin on his intertwined hands. You gulped, shrinking further behind Adom.

“This is my child, Piye,” he said, taking your hand and pulling you into the pharaoh’s vision. Despite your fear, you stood tall, keeping your eyes forward.

“Is it going to be staying with you…?”

Adom nodded a yes.

He turned to his wife, sitting next to him, and spared a quick glance at his two sons to his right. The couple whispered to each other for only a minute, before the two of you were once more dismissed. Clutching Adom’s hand so tight your knuckles began to ache, you followed him out of the room.

From that day on, your already hectic life changed drastically into an even more frenetic life. In all sessions you stayed with your father, watching silently from beside him as he worked his own magic in special ways you desperately wished to learn. On the days he had little to do, he sent you off on chores, purchasing different ingredients for both food and spells. With access to all knowledge needed, purchasing books no longer became a problem. Your only main problem was your socialization issue.

He was so lonely, the kings’ youngest son. His brother, as you could tell from their limited interactions, did not get along well with him. Until you came along, it was just the two of them. Yet your anxiety was in such a state that for two whole years you didn’t even know their names. By the time you were eleven, the younger prince was twelve, and the eldest fourteen, and the siblings fighting was at an all time high.

From the corner of the mostly-empty room you watched them bicker, which mostly consisted of the elder throwing verbal abuse at the younger while the younger deflected it with pure intellect and cruelty. Something must’ve struck a nerve, as the eldest stormed off, and the younger sat on the floor and began to cry.

Feeling your heart pound, you made slow footsteps till you made it to the center of the room, and kneeled down beside the boy.

“Is everything okay?” You asked in a meek voice, your mind reminding yourself over and over again that one wrong move could get you killed. Were you supposed to even be speaking with him? Your palms began to sweat at the thought.

“Yes, I’m…” he sniffed, wiping his cheeks dry, “I’m alright. Kahmuh is - he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

You waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t you asked, “what did he say?” in just as quiet a voice as before.

“Jus’ something about my parents,” he mumbled.

You sat fully down, wrapping your arm over his shoulders. Somehow finding comfort in your touch, he leaned in, and soon his crying stopped.

For the next two years you remained friends with the boy, protecting him in instances with his brother, and defending him in the various arguments he’d get into. Overall, you found very little difference in the siblings. Both were entitled, and neither had a very well developed sense of sympathy or empathy. Rather, both boys were so entranced with their own selves that the only real reason you could find them talking to you is if they were fighting over you again.

You, over time, had become part of their feud, like a prize to be won, and from the moment you realized this it sickened you. By your third year in the palace, Adom took you aside.

“When I was your age, 14, I went on a sort of mission,” he said, kneeling to your height as he was monstrously tall. His hand stayed on your shoulder as he spoke to you, keeping your eye from straying in the torchlit hallway. “I looked for myself in the desert, and I sat atop a hill for many days till I… changed. It was just as mental as it was physical. But…” he paused, looking down with a shaky breath, “I’m giving you a choice. You don’t have to do this.”

For a moment you processed his words, contemplating the consequences of either action. To be perfectly frank you had no idea what 'finding yourself' meant, and what physical changes would happen to you. Was it different for every person? So you asked, and each answer felt satisfying.

“What kind of changes happened?”

“My hair grew long, and turned stark white. I also grew very, very tall. I was about your height before. And I could see the future much clearer than ever before. It seemed so simple, and it still is.”

“And… looking for yourself? What does that mean?”

“If you’ve ever felt like you don’t know yourself, or as though you are watching your own life pass as you can do naught but watch, this will get rid of it.”

“Are there any downsides to this whole thing?”

He sucked in a breath, and proceeded to explain what this journey would fully be. You would wander into the desert with only the clothes you wore daily, and you would walk along the Aur* for as long as it was deemed possible for two days. Then, looking out around the land, you would find climb to the highest peak, and sit, until the change happened.

“Will I not starve?” You asked quietly.

“There is food along the nile, and during your meditation, the gods will keep you alive.”

You had your doubts. But you trusted him more than you trusted yourself, and he was encouraging you. And, thinking back to the awful past years you’d been having, you thought a year alone might do some good.

Taking nothing, you left in the dead of night, and by morn the pharaoh was glad to see you gone. Though you weren’t sure if the pharaoh actually hated you, it was rather obvious he had a thing against people who couldn’t see very well. Even with his prejudice, he didn’t all together ban you from the palace - you knew Adom was far too important to simply cast out.

For two days you walked beside the Aur, coming across people that would thin once the city grew far off in the distance. By the first night, you made it to Lisht, passing by without stop. Walk for as long as you can, until you hit the two day mark.

In the morning, your speed has decreased horribly, and by evening, you made it halfway to El Lahun before collapsing in the heat below a shading tree. Panting, you looked around for any source of food. The water was behind you, you could hear the slow churning of water, but it was hardly very clean. Ahket** had already come to claim the land. As your head turned to the side, a spark of red caught your eye. Standing slowly, you walked over to it, finding red berries.

“Hopefully not poisonous,” you breathed out, shoving several in your mouth.

For the next week you spent your hours looking for the tallest peak, using your magic to seek it out and climbing said peak when it was finally discovered. There you sat, wind blowing through your hair, as you waited for answers to come. In that time, you grew, and your skin began to change. The color began to fade, being replaced with the darkest shade of night, as the hair atop your head grew into bright white.

The path returning home was easier. In the water, you could see your reflection, noticing you really looked just the same - only in seeming contrast. Your vision was much better than it ever had been, though not perfect. In a rather confused state, stumbling over rocks and knocking into tree branches, you realized being tall would take some getting used to.

The same as you left home, you arrived in the night. Being careful of lower ceilings and signs, you wandered through the backdoor of the palace, and crept back into your fathers’ room.

The two of you embraced after the long year apart, and the next morning, you were put to work. Walking through the halls you came across the royal siblings, once more bickering, but left in a confused, stammering mess as you passed by them on your way to Adom’s study. There, in the dim, no windowed library of a room, Adom taught you control of your abilities.

A few weeks after your arrival, the youngest pulled you aside to speak with you.

“Who are you?” He asked, and he would’ve looked mystified if he didn’t look so angry and confused.

“I am Piye. You knew me a year ago,” you told him, recognition sparking in his eyes.

“You’ve… changed,” he noticed, letting go of the wrist he’d held so tight. You nodded slowly, wary of any sudden movements he would make. “I have, too. I wondered where you went, but now that you’re back, I simply wanted to apologize for my behavior as a child. I was - well, I was rather rude.”

“A little,” you agreed hesitantly. “But I accept your apology.”

He smiled softly, and from there, invited you to join him for dinner that evening.

It wasn’t quite what you expected. Actually, it wasn’t what you expected at all. He had taken you down, into a little hideaway beneath trees that had grown tall beside the nile. The chill of night air cooled your skin, quelling any anxieties you might’ve had as the two of you sat on the ground.

“I would’ve taken you to my fathers feast,” he began to say, unpacking several items of food from the basket he carried, “but I wanted to talk to you more easily.”

“Really?” You asked, pouring wine from the bottle into two glasses. “Why is that?”

“You’ve been gone for a year! A whole year - what happened?” He leaned forward with wide eyes, his hands folded politely in his lap as he practically begged you for an account of the details. You chuckled in mild amusement of his antics. It all felt so… distant, now that you’d seen the world for what it is.

“I went on a soul searching mission, as Adom called it. It’s how he came to look, well, like he does.”

The topic interested him, clearly, as he proceeded to ask an avalanche of questions, one coming right after the other without a moments’ pause. In his flurry of speech he made several observations that almost had you blushing; how beautiful your skin was, how heavenly you seemed to glow, and how you resembled a god. Of course, at that point, you chided him, saying that it was rude to the gods. In honest reply, he said, “I don’t care.”

Most of the foods he brought were not finished, lying half eaten on the blanket he’d set out. Both of you spent too much time talking, and as the evening moulded into midnight, all thought of returning to the palace left you. Truly he had grown, and changed, in his manner, and the way he held himself. The tone he spoke in morphed as well - more bold, more meaningful, spoken in such a light and almost sweet way that you’d so easily forget who you addressed.

In this sudden trance of conversation, your thoughts began to slow, and as you stared ahead at him, trying to describe to you a conversation with his mother, you realized you could find a friend in him. That, and perhaps, a companion.

As the sun began to strike dawn above the river, you nearly jumped at your own shadow contrasting so suddenly with the darkness that had consumed you all night.

“Have we really stayed out that long?” Ahkmen gasped, already packing away the half-eaten container of dates.

“Oh dear,” you mumbled under your breath, helping him put everything away, and racing him to the palace. By the time you got there, the sun was just barely peaking over the mountains, the both of you laughing between pants. He bent down, hands on his knees as he took deep breaths, only to lose it again in a laughing fit when you giggled. There was something inherently joyful about his presence, that it could make such an occasion feel exhilarating when it was indeed dangerous.

“Come find me in the throne room in a few hours,” he said, his breathing slowing down as he grasped your upper arm.

“Why?”

“I want to show you something. Will you come?”

You nodded, letting out a breathy yes, smiling toothily as the two of you jogged down the corridors. His fingers trilled against the back of your hand as he dragged you, in full knowledge, to your rooms’ front door.

“Sleep for a little. I’ll see you soon,” he said quickly, his eyes darting around to see if anyone was watching, but always returning to you.

“I should say the same t-“

“Oh, go in!” He whisper shouted, pushing you into your room as a shadow drew near. You pressed your ear to the door, hearing nothing but footsteps. Assuming all went well, you snuck past sleeping Adom, who was passed out at his desk, and into your own bed.

For several hours you slept, dreaming of very little but the experience you just had. Thrilling in a childish way - you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to stay out so long, but Gods was it exciting, and somehow you longed for more. Not that you felt as though breaking rules was a good idea, quite the opposite. Still, there was something nagging at you to get to know the boy better.

Adom pulled the covers off your body three hours after you’d gotten them on, shoving you off the bed, all making you awaken in a crude state. On the floor, your hair a mess upon your head, and entirely disoriented.

“I’ve been called to court. Something important. Want to come?” He asked.

“Wasn’t there a nicer way to do that?” You grumbled, holding your aching head.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said with a shrug, turning to leave.

“Wait, I’ll come! Just a moment to get dressed,” you requested quickly, pushing him out of your bedroom and shutting the door to dress yourself in proper attire. As you finished, you smiled at your father, prompting him to nod quickly, and set off towards the throne room.

There you found a royal proceeding in order, one you’d seen before. The ordering of another temple, whether or not to do it, and if so, where, how many builders, and what the cost would be. A rather dull proceeding, and you began to regret waking so soon, till you caught the eye of Ahkmen. He smiled brightly, rolling his weight from his toes to his heel as he tried to keep a semblance of formality. You gave a small wave, but otherwise payed attention to the pharaoh.

“And which God is this again?” He asked, having clearly trailed off in thought.

“Uh,” Adom opened a scroll, “Amun, my king.”

For a moment, the pharaoh contemplated, leaning forward and scratching at the long beard on his chin. His eyes flickered upwards, to the architect in front of him, before nodding curtly.

“I want you to preside over cost, workers, and efficiency. See whatever budget you find fit.”

The architect nodded, thanking him profusely, before turning and walking spritely out the main entrance. Beside you, Ahkmen crept closer, before leaning down the few steps that separated you and whispering.

“Glad you came?”

“Is that what you wanted me to see?” You chuckled, knowing full well that it couldn’t be.

“Not at all. It’s in a few more appointments.” His father side eyed him, glaring and silently degrading his posture. “Be patient,” he said as he straightened to a position where you could no longer speak with him.

You watched several more meetings, feeling your senses dull as Adom stepped up to be beside the pharaoh. The longing to leave came many times, especially as you saw birds fly past the arches, and a sweet breeze blew into the room. By the fourth meeting, concerning some failed crop, you submitted yourself to your fate, knowing you couldn’t do much without appearing rude.

A man appeared, several boys you recognized to be carriers, who delivered letters and information behind him. Looking rather bedraggled, he bowed deep before the pharaoh, the boys doing the same, before he spoke.

“The plans for the Festival of Opet are all going well. Seems everything is alright, nothing too hectic this year. Your barge to Thebes will arrive within the week,” he said, keeping his head high and his gaze low. The pharaoh noticeably untensed, smiling at the news and nodded for the man to continue. “All that’s left is the feast, here in the city. You’ve ordered,” he cleared his throat, and a boy came forward, handing him a scroll. “for your son to look over the details. Now, you’ve, uh… is this your eldest or younger son?”

“My eldest,” the pharaoh clarified, glancing to his right, where the eldest stood. “And if there are issues with this arrangement, look to Adom.”

The man nodded, bowing and leaving the room. Only then did Ahkmen look at you again, pure anticipation written all over it with a bright smile to accompany. Politely, you smiled in return, unsure if that was what he wanted you to specifically see. As the Pharaoh stood to depart, his sons went their separate ways. Ahkmen to you, and Kahmuh to start with preparations.

“Was that it then?” You asked, following his lead down a different hallway than you came. Adom, too caught up in the Pharaoh’s needs for the impending trip, did not notice your departure.

“Yes! It’s one of the rare times my father leaves, and this time he’s finally putting Kahmuh in charge instead of me! He’s always making me do things, and it gets to be a bit much sometimes,” he admitted to his stress casually, his face still alight with eagerness.

“He puts his youngest in charge rather than his eldest? Doesn’t seem very wise, does it?”

“You haven’t fully met my brother,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“That bad, is he?” You asked, ducking your head as the open-arch hallway turned into a closed one.

“And worse. He’s done some really odd things, but hopefully this’ll mature him up a bit,” he said, turning into the kitchen. You followed, seeing a few servants about doing very little. At the prince’s presence they didn’t jump, so you safely assumed he was here often. Digging his hand into a bowl of figs and pulling out two, he handed one to you, and bit into his own. “But that might be wishful thinking.”

“He can’t screw up a feast that badly, can he? It’s just a dinner. It’s not like he’s controlling the Kings’ march from Thebes to Luxor, or steering his barge,” you tried, an odd attempt at comfort.

“Again, you’d be surprised. You could be right, but still! He’s done some… stuff,” he explained vaguely.

“Could you elaborate on that?” You examined the fig closely, looking up at him as you spoke.

“No,” he said through a mouthful of fig, the two of you breaking into giggles once he swallowed.

After earning odd stares from the servants, you patted him on the shoulder, gingerly leading him out the door.

“He and I don’t speak much anymore. I find it keeps the peace.”

“I saw you arguing with him not a few weeks ago,” you said, recalling the day after you returned.

“Yes, well, uh, that was important. He sabotaged a statue of our mother,” he said in a low voice, pulling you aside from your walk. You paused, noting that it was apparently a big deal.

“Really? What did he do?”

“… cut the nose off and destroyed it. It’ll take them a while to make another one and fit it on right,” he mumbled.

“Hm. No respect for elders or family. What a kind man,” you said sarcastically, continuing on your way down the hall. He agreed easily, following beside you, his steps faster to keep up with your long strides.

“I was taking us to the kitchen,” he said after you made your way out the front of the palace. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, are you still there?” You teased, looking down at him with a sly smile. He punched you lightly, frowning.

“I’m not so small that you’d forget me,” he fluffed. “Now answer my question.”

“Well, you like food, right?” You asked, turning down the street on a path you memorized long ago.

“Yes. But don’t phrase it like that.”

“Of course, your highness,” you said, a toying lilt in your voice. “There’s a place down here that does wonderful things with beer and bread.”

“Really?” He asked, expecting no answer as he followed you through the market, through half abandoned alleyways to this place you spoke of.

“Now it’s not very high class,” you told him, stopping in front of a rather rundown building, one that had no door and very few people inside.

“Should - should I take my things off?” He asked quietly, pointing to his golden necklace and bracelets. You looked around a moment, before pulling him into the alley beside the restaurant, handing him the shawl off your back.

“They’ll get stolen if you put them somewhere, and you’ll get noticed if you keep wearing them in plain sight,” you explained as he stammered, almost refusing but unwilling to present any other solution.

“Alright, uh, let’s get going then,” he faltered, pushing you ahead before going himself, raising your shawl to below his eyes.

Sitting in the corner, you were soon served, and as always, the food was excellent. Ahkmen noted that it was well worth the trip, and requested you take him there in the future as well.

“Do you think I could get the recipe for our kitchens?” He asked at the end of the meal, leaning forwards to get a better view into the kitchen.

“It’s a family secret. I’ve asked,” you chuckled, waving at the man who looked back at Ahkmen, startling him out of his trance.

“What a shame,” he murmured, only looking away from the kitchens when you interrupted his gaze, pulling him out of his seat and out the door.

Upon leaving he handed your shawl back to you, which you took graciously, pulling it over your shoulders as the two of you weaved through the growing crowd. The market was always crowded, and the streets preceding it grew steadily in the people present. You towered over most in your form, so if ever Ahkmen got lost in the chaos, he would look up to find you. Almost always you were right beside him.

“Do you ever worry for your city?” You asked quietly, walking up the steps of the palace. Furrowing his brow he turned to you, stopping you with a soft touch to your arm.

“What do you mean?” He stepped up a few steps to be equal with you.

“I mean, the line of succession. You hardly trust your brother with a feast, how will you think the city will fare with him as a king? Not only the city, but your world?”

“Somehow, you have the hardest questions to answer all the time. Can’t you loosen up? How old are you?”

“I’m 15,” you answered.

“You’re younger than I am, and so worried about the state of things. It’ll work itself out, and not yet. I doubt my father is ready to give up the throne,” he assured you, a small smile gracing his lips as he tapped your shoulder, signalling the walk up the steps had been resumed.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, the thought still bothered you. Perhaps your own father would have a say over it, but you doubted it still. There was really no option, and certainly no advice from you would be heeded, so for the time you tried to let it go.

“The sun is always hottest midday, so I make it a rule of mine never to be out midday,” he told you as shade enveloped you both, cooling hot skin from the beating sun.

“Sounds a fair rule,” you replied.

The two of you ventured through the halls and rooms, making your way past the throne room on tip toe.

“I don’t want any part in the planning,” he whispered, explaining his odd behavior, sticking to the walls and staying silent as possible. You nodded, glancing back to Kahmuh every now and then, hoping your rather monstrous form wouldn’t be noticed.

Right as his foot stepped through the archway to the next room, a boisterous voice called through the room, calling his attention.

“Brother! Come help with this!”

His shoulders slumped, and quickly resuming a prouder posture, he turned with a smile. Good at faking, you noted to yourself, for any future occurrence where it might prove crucial. You followed him, staying by his side as Kahmuh asked redundant questions only meant to irk his brother. He was doing it well, too - Ahkmen was clearly very annoyed. His eyes kept an intense glare, but a friendly smile stayed as he answered.

“And of the musicians? Whom should we hire?” Kahmuh asked, tapping his chin in deep thought.

“Uh,” he stammered, taken unawares by a more important question. “Shouldn’t we hire our usual?”

“Yes… that harpist is rather good.”

You tried to recall the band, but came up with little other than background imagery from the various parties your father had attended with you. With a nod to his inferiors, the eldest prince sent away the servants, leaving just you, your newfound friend, and his rather conniving brother.

“I see you two have rekindled your friendship,” he said, surprisingly calm about it. His face showed no change in demeanor, a small smile on his lips and unusually beady eyes.

“Something of the sort,” Ahkmen replied, smiling curtly. “I was just escorting Piye back to their room.”

“Ah. Well, don’t let me disturb you,” he said, side eyeing you as he turned to face the front of the room. There was something sly about him, and not entirely truthful, but your basis was empty. Thus, you dismissed your speculation as simple fear, following Ahkmen’s lead into and through the halls to your room.

Standing at the open door of your room, he took your hands, looking into your eyes. Behind you, you could feel Adom’s gaze burning into the base of your head. Ahkmen must not have noticed, though, as he spoke rather plainly.

“Tomorrow, I want to meet you at the hill overlooking the nile. Do you, uh, have any prior commitments?”

“None at all. What time?”

“After noon, I think. I have an idea I want to try out,” he said with a playful smile. In turn you narrowed your eyes, wondering what scheme he was cooking up, and whether or not it was something you wanted to be involved in. Either way, if you got caught, he’d take the blame.

“Alright, I’ll join you.”

“Good. Now get some sleep,” he said, patting your shoulder rather awkwardly, a hesitant tap and then a full pat.

With a quick turn, he vanished down the hallway, leaving you with your father. Slowly, you turned around, watching carefully for his reaction. Casually, he looked up from his stew, book in hand, his eyes dull with exhaustion.

“Fraternizing with the prince?”

“He invited me first,” you explained, appearing as fast as you said the words at his side.

“And… get some sleep? Would that have to do with your little outing last night?”

You froze, eyes widening. You weren’t at all aware that he knew - you thought yourself rather silent, actually.

“Um - I just…”

You trailed off, watching as a small smile grew into a grin, till Adom belted out a laugh, moving to his feet. Though his eyes still drew heavy with sleep, he patted you on the back, and the smile remained.

“I’m only joking. I’m glad you’ve got a friend. Even if he’s, well, royal.”

Nodding, you dismissed yourself, just barely reaching your room before your composure completely broke.

What a relief, you thought to yourself.

After a good while of studying law, per Adom’s request, you laid yourself to rest in the evening. The next day continued as usual - breakfast with Adom, reviewing subject material, before court with the King (or, in this case, the kings’ terrible son), till afternoon swung around and your free time began. At least, as long as your father didn’t have any errands he needed you to run in his place.

As the seemingly endless meetings finally came to an end, Ahkmen pulled at your sleeve, breaking you secretly away from your place at Adom’s side. It wasn’t until you reached a darkened hallway, lit by distant sunlight that you finally broke free, and he turned around suddenly.

“What in the world were you thinking?” You hissed, your head whipping back the way you came to see if anyone had followed you, before promptly refocusing your glare on Ahkmen.

“The meetings were especially long today, don’t you think?” He asked as an avoidance of your question, his hands settling on his hips.

“… Yes. There are several things about today that have certainly occurred. Like taking me prematurely from Adom before finding out if he needed me after court!”

“You seriously call it court?”

“That’s what it’s ‘seriously’ called. It’s the official name.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Well, it’s a bit colder today. Fluctuating weather or something - I wanted to get out before the wind got bad,” he said, grabbing your wrist and once more dragging you down the hall, aiming for that distant hill overlooking the Aur.

Against your better judgement you let him take you, through whatever path he saw fit, your feet dragging behind you as he ran. You could almost roll your eyes at his antics. So childish, you thought, especially for a prince. Even a younger one. Perhaps his immaturity was a result of the exact reason he shouldn’t have been. You could hardly let your mind dwell on it, racing down the short but numerous steps leading down to the ground.

From your position the river wasn’t in sight, but the cliff Ahkmen ran towards was. You pulled at his hand, grasping and intertwining his fingers in yours, finally bringing him to a steady but anxious halt. Panting, he knelt in the sand, looking up at you with a gleaming grin.

“Good exercise, yeah?”

“I suppose so,” you replied, largely unaffected by the exertion of energy. After letting him breathe for a moment, you held your hand out. He took it, and you lifted him to his feet.

“So here’s my idea. You know how the sand here isn’t exactly steady? It’s, sort of precarious?”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking. What if we sort of.. stood at the edge, and stomped our feet, and we could ride the falling sand into the water?”

For a whole of two minutes you stared at him, trying to decipher if he was kidding or not. In that time, he did not flinch, continuing to stare expectantly at you, his hands once more on his hips. Blinking, you decided he was not joking.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course!” He replied immediately.

“You’re an idiot.”

“We all know that,” he laughed. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Sighing, and tilting your head to the sky, you shut your eyes tight.

“You’re going to do this no matter if I join or not?”

“That’s about right, my friend.”

“Fine,” you practically spat, after another moment of contemplation. “I’ll do the - I’ll join you, but only because I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself. I will garner no joy from this.”

“I told you this yesterday, and I will tell you again,” he said, moving to hold your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing softly against the back of your hands. “Loosen up.”

“This could kill you.”

“And?”

That’s worrying, you thought to yourself, unable to express that thought before he stood at the very edge, stomping with his sandals at the loose sand. Rushing to his side, you held his upper arm, ready to catch him if any harm should befall.

“Come on, then! Join me! What with your size, should happen much faster,” he said, and gingerly you began stepping at the ground. Not full stomping, just the weight and strength you’d use while walking. None of that mattered though, as the ground beneath you began to move, and the two of you surged forward.

You would’ve shut your eyes were you not so worried of losing track of the prince. The grip you held on him tightened, making sure that you wouldn’t separate in the landslide running down to the nile. Wind surged past your face, the mild air stinging at your open eyes. Swallowing thick, you tried to breathe, and waited for the fall to end.

By the end, half the sand of the hill had flooded into the Aur, dirtying the water and blocking it from flowing as well. You glared over at Ahkmen, buried in sand up to his shoulders.

“It’s going to take forever to get you out of there,” you sighed.

“At least it only goes up to your chest,” he pointed out helpfully. Rolling your eyes, you cleared the sand with your hands, digging yourself out before helping him.

“This was a terrible idea,” you told him, helping him to his feet.

“Not my worst though,” he said, mumbling a thank you and dusting himself out. His skin tinted a red from the irritation of sand against it for so long.

“Really? What did you do, break your skull open?” You asked, leading the two of you back up to the palace.

“Actually,” he said, grunting and wincing as his skin rubbed against itself, “I tried to befriend an alligator.”

“One of the ones down at the temple? I thought they were rather nice.”

“Those ones are. Not wild ones though.”

You stopped, staring at him.

��Wild ones? Did your mother not love you or something?! How many times a year do you do these idiotic things?”

“About three or four times a week, according to my brother. I don’t think they’re stupid though! And let me explain myself -“ he chuckled, “- I’m just having fun. A lot of it, too, and I haven’t died yet.”

“Half your heart*** obviously has.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Oh, no offense intended, your majesty,” you laughed, bowing dramatically low as the two of you walked back into the shadowed hall of stone.

“You’re pardoned. For now,” he said, side eying you cheekily, a smile playing at his lips.

Giggling, you elbowed him, partially unbalancing him.

“Ah,” he said quietly, rubbing the place where you hit him. “A bit sensitive.”

“I’ll take you to the baths,” you sighed, rolling your eyes and directing him towards the bathroom. He halted, tugging at your sleeve to stop you. “What?”

“I don’t use the servants baths,” he said, chuckling, almost astounded. Frowning, you turned to him.

“If it gives you such offense, I will see you in a while then. I’d like to take my own bath considering how unclean your exploits make one.”

“No, you can join me if you’d like,” he returned quickly, pulling at your sleeve again as you began to head to your own quarters. For a moment, there was naught but silence as the two of you watched each other.

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as next time, you come see what I have to deal with daily.”

“Agreed,” he said with a smile, and the both of you shook hands.

The path to your new destination took you up several flights of stairs, winding through hallways you’d never before seen, all decorated intricately. Torches lined the hall in even stands, all unlit as night had not yet come. Sun still shined through the open arches.

“Just down this way,” he assured you, the pathway growing more and more confusing till you were sure you would never find your way back alone, till at last a door opened to a chamber, the arches open and warm water steaming the air from nearby stoves. The tubs were built into the raised floor, the two of you walking up the short steps to the base floor.

Servants came from seemingly nowhere, waiting on you, undressing you as you tried to brush them away.

“Uh - is this customary?” You asked anxiously, trying to signify to the servants that you didn’t want to be served.

“Hm?” He turned around, laughing when he saw your awkwardness. “Do you not usually have people helping you?”

“No,” you answered firmly. “It’s not usual.”

“It’s not unusual for us, no. Just let them do their job,” he tried to convince you, his voice quiet and smooth.

“I don’t think I will. Please, I can do this alone,” you said, turning to the servants. Glancing at each other, they nodded, leaving you be. You let out a breath, undressing yourself in peace and climbing into the too small bath, your knees coming up to your chest but enjoying the warm water nonetheless.

Behind you, you heard sniggering, causing you to turn. Ahkmen, situated in the tub behind you, was laughing at your condition. Swiveling yourself around in the water, you turned to him, wide eyed and glaring.

“Something humorous?”

“Sort of,” he snorted.

“I’d be ever so indebted if you shared it with me.”

“I was just… thinking of you. Sharing a bath with someone else. I don’t think it’d end well.”

“Sounds too intimate for me,” you replied, ignoring the degrading insinuation.

“What’s that mean? Scared of intimacy?”

“Not at all. But I don’t exactly look the part,” you chuckled heartlessly, looking down at yourself. Sure, dark skin was absolutely beautiful, but… not black skin. Dark as night skin was… well, it made you insecure to say the least. In the very least, you hadn’t met anyone like you except Adom, and your height wasn’t exactly helping your insecurities. When you discovered what you looked like, the dawning realization that you were no longer attractive, not in this culture, came very slowly, but it came nonetheless.

“What in the world do you mean by that? Are you saying you aren’t attractive?”

“Yes? I don’t exactly meet societal standards -“

“That’s a load of shit, and a horrible way of thinking. I think you’re very attractive as you are. You’ve got a nice face, and your freckles are white, which I think is very cool.”

“I have freckles?” You asked softly, your hand coming up to stroke your cheek. How had he noticed something about you that you had not seen before?

“Um,” he said, choking up when he realized he’d definitely just confessed to staring at your face, “yeah. I mean, they’re nice n’ all, uh…” he trailed off, sinking into his bathwater.

“… thank you,” you mumbled, still absently stroking your cheek.

The rest of the bath was enjoyed, or tolerated, in both warmth, comfort, and extreme emotional discomfort.

As night approached, the sun disappeared over the mountains, leaving the land in a shadowy state. Torches were lit by servants, and both you and Ahkmen, fully dressed in cleaner and nicer clothing, wandered down the long hallways once more towards your own room for you, and the dining hall for him.

“Despite todays failings,” you said, looking pointedly at the red stomach shown by his lack of clothing there, “I had a good time.”

Quietly he chuckled, growing slowly louder till he finally spoke.

“You said you wouldn’t enjoy yourself! Ha! I win!”

“Win what?!”

“I told myself that I could make you have fun in a stupid way, and I just won!”

“It doesn’t count if I don’t know about it!”

“Ah, or perhaps not, my friend! You see, if you knew about it,” the two of you had now stopped walking in the hallway, facing each other, “you might not have told me that, even if you did enjoy your day.”

“I don’t lie,” you sniffed, feeling mildly insulted.

“Sure you don’t, but I don’t know that about you yet. In the future,” he straightened out his skirt, leading the way as you began walking again, “I will tell you about such competitions.”

“Right. Well I thank you then, my prince.” Once more you bowed, but his smile faltered for a second, before regaining its’ regular brightness.

“Have a good dinner,” he said as you stood outside your door.

“You as well. Don’t fight your brother.”

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“But I can advise you so I can tell you ‘I told you’ later.”

Glancing at you, a smirk upon him, he nodded.

“Fair game.”

For the next several days, you counted your lucky Gods that he hadn’t tried to make you do anything else dangerous. He was nursing a bad burn from the sand, so you thought that’d keep him sated in the very least. You were deeply, unequivocally wrong.

He sat in bed, the burn having gotten worse from the night before. All along his body, medication in the form of cream and lotion sat upon his skin, rendering him immobile. This fact, while annoying him, did not deter him from annoying you and pushing your emotional energy past its’ limit.

“Do you think it’s edible?” He asked as you sat beside him, reading from one of the various scrolls Adom had given you.

“What?” You asked blandly, not looking up.

“You know, the stuff they put on me. It smells good.”

“I’d assume not. If the smell is making you hungry, I can go fetch something.”

“I’m going to eat it.”

“No you aren’t.”

Though you kept your eyes trained on your reading, you could see him, from the corner of your eye, dipping his finger into the lotion and bringing it to his mouth, before gagging at its taste.

“Oh Gods.”

“I told you.”

“Oh my Gods that’s… that’s awful.”

“I definitely told you.”

“Yes you did,” he said, sucking in a breath.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I am not!”

“You just ate skin medicine.”

He turned away from you, pouting without another word said. Clearing your throat, you went back to reading, ignoring his little session of anger. Slowly, the humor got to you, till you began to audibly chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, turning to you.

“Nothing. You’re rather… odd,” you settled on, hoping the description wouldn’t offend him terribly. Instead, the opposite effect took place, where he broke down into his own giggles, spurring on your own laughter till the two of you were giggling meaninglessly.

The next occasion in which he pushed himself in a direction he shouldn’t have, he picked a fight with his brother. It had been a few days, and his burn was much better, to the point where he could move like a mostly normal person. He walked alongside his brother, who was trailed by several servants and nobles, all worried about the upcoming celebration. Whenever they would try to speak to him, Kahmuh would wave them off, and continue talking to his brother. It wasn’t a kind voice he spoke in, rather a ridiculing one, and a tone with words so carefully chosen that Ahkmen couldn’t logically argue.

You walked in quiet step behind your friend, trying to keep your distance from the others following Kahmuh. Instead of bothering with their mean-spirited conversation, you looked at the greenery, blooming even in the colder season. Innovation was certainly thriving in Memphis, especially so in its’ gardens. From where you were, you could hear bits of their conversation, not fully absorbing yourself in their words till Kahmuh must’ve said something conniving, for which Ahkmen retaliated by grabbing the back of his brothers’ neck, and forcing his face into his raised knee.

Jumping forward, you grabbed Ahkmen’s arms, restricting him, and pulling him out of the way of what was sure to be a painful retaliation. As you left, Kahmuh cursed the both of you, before speaking in hushed voice with his fathers’ advisors.

“What in the world was that?!” You hissed, still restraining his hands and forcing him through the doors and back into the palace.

“He just insulted my parents!” He bit back, his eyes wild and angered.

“You can’t go into a fit every time he says something about your parents,” you tried to convince him in a hushed whisper, thinking past to several years ago, when the two brothers had been simply awful to each other.

“Piye, I don’t think you understand what he just said. I’ll say it in simpler words so you can understand; he can’t wait for them to die.”

“Don’t insult me,” you spoke bitterly, releasing him and pushing him forward. “I don’t have your education, or your status. I don’t have your experience, but do not believe me to be lower than you. No man is lower than you, nor is any higher.”

He rubbed the area of his arm that you had been holding tight, eyes downcast as he thought over his words. His stance remained tight, and his brow furrowed.

“I have an idea,” he finally said, looking up at you. You nodded, gesturing for him to continue. He cleared his throat and did so. “You should be my adviser.”

“That’s the first good idea you’ve had in months,” you commented with your arms crossed, mildly impressed.

“Well you can’t bully me if you’re going to agree to it,” he said with a comically exaggerated frown. You chuckled, breaking your stern exterior with a pleasant smile.

“None can deny you’re in desperate need of advice. Maybe some growing up to do, as well.”

“You’re insulting me again, you know,” he said as the both of you began walking down the long hallway in a slow meander.

“Is that not my job?”

As the days progressed into weeks he explained further what your job was to truly be. Into the details of how he didn’t really need an advisor, to which you quickly cut in, saying that he’d probably die if you weren’t his advisor. He agreed easily.

“That’s not the point, though,” he told you, sitting across from you at a wonderfully crafted table in his private room. “Only the Pharaoh needs advisors and all that. I’m not to become Pharaoh.”

“Now we’re getting into realistic fears.”

“I - I’m sorry?”

“A while back, I asked if you were concerned with your brother becoming King, considering his decisions aren’t exactly, um, sound, so to say.”

“Oh, right, right. Yes. Maybe we could run away,” he suggested, clearly joking, but for some reason, a feeling deep in your stomach told you that if you asked, he would comply.

“… Right,” you said slowly. “For now I’ll just label my job as ‘trying to keep an idiot alive.’”

“Again with the insults?”

“You literally, purposefully started a landslide. That’s on you.”

“You came along. And you had fun,” he pointed out with a goofy smile.

“I swear I’ll never tell you the truth again.”

“Then I will know you’re lying, and I’ll assume the opposite.”

“You’re infuriating, you know that, right?”

“A little. My parents love me.”

“That’s because you’re nicer and cuter than your brother.”

“You think I’m cute?” He leaned forward, a shit eating grin on his face as his eyes crinkled in teasing delight.

“Hardly,” you took a sip of your beer, “but I’m sure your parents think you are.”

“Aw,” he pouted, his bottom lip pushed out. You chuckled, shaking your head.

From there, conversation continued in small, quiet phrases as the two of you read your separate homework documents. Him, with his hieroglyphs and politics, and you with your magic and potions. Not that he fully knew what that was about - you had told him, during that first dinner, that you were training to become a healer. You told him nothing about the fact that you didn’t really need ingredients to produce fire, or water at the edge of your fingers. It wasn’t something Adom told you to easily share.

“When’s the festival again?”

You set your scroll flat on the table.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No, I wasn’t really paying attention. It was nice to not have to, you know?”

You sighed, understanding his logic. “It’s in two days.”

A cracking sound resounded in his chambers as he slammed his book down, eyes wide and alarmingly white.

“Two days? I haven’t even gotten measured for the - oh Gods, I need to talk to my brother!” He jumped out of his seat, rushing out the door and slamming it behind him. For a moment, you sat in the silence left in his absence, wondering what had just happened. Then, the door flew open once more, Ahkmen poking his head back into the room. “Come on! I haven’t got all day!”

“That’s not technically correct you’ve got two days,” you grunted out quickly as you stepped out of your own seat, running after him.

He had little reason to be stressed. Watching him from the corner of the room, relaxing on a comfortable pile of cushions, you felt more sorry for the people who had to put together an entire outfit for him in such a short amount of time. Still he fidgeted where he stood as they held gold and green fabric up to him.

“No green, please,” he requested, to which they quickly obliged.

“Why not? You only ever wear gold,” you commented, lazing your hours away.

“I’m not going to look like my brother and he loves green. It's his favourite.”

“If you began to look like your brother I think my eyes would start burning,” you said blandly, picking at your nails. He snorted, his posture slacking till one of the men measuring him pushed his back back into place.

“You can’t insult a prince in front of other people.”

“And you shouldn’t leave things like this until the last moment,” you retorted with a laugh.

He shut up after that. By the next day, his hurried costume was finished, decorated ornately with various streaks of gold and jewels. You tried to compliment the seamster on their work, but by the time you turned around, they were gone. Turning back to Ahkmen, you admired the way it fit him.

“It’s good, I think,” you said.

“You don’t think I made a mistake with the green?”

“Let’s just say you don’t look like your brother,” you joked, handing him the heavy golden crown. With a grateful smile and slight bow he took it, settling it gently upon his head. Looking into the floor length mirror in front of him, you tilted the crown slightly so it wouldn’t fall to one side. He murmured a thank you, fiddling with the thin cape he wore.

“You sure it looks okay?” He asked again.

“You look regal.”

“Don’t I always?” He teased, biting at his lower lip thoughtfully.

“Not covered in white grease and choking on it because you thought it might taste good.”

“That was one time,” he groaned. You still laughed at his discontentment, sitting back in one of his luxurious chairs he kept in his room.

Adom woke you early in the morning, hurriedly telling you of his duties, and warning that he would be gone for a while. As he rushed out of your room, you threw your covers off of yourself, running out after him.

“Adom! What do you mean, what’s happening?” You asked groggily, wondering what in the hell could have him so worried.

“What? Nothing, I need to prepare the image of Amun-Re for the celebration. You know, marching through the streets? You watched me a few years back,” he said, stuffing several herbs into his bag. In sudden recognition you nodded, a small ‘ah,’ escaping you as he flew out the door with a quick good bye. Blearily, you dressed yourself, and went to visit the prince.

Most mornings the halls were moderately filled - enough room to move about freely, with groups of people passing by every now and then. Though you expected this, from the years passed, the sheer number of people filling room left by stone walls was shocking. You towered above their heads, repeatedly excusing yourself and apologizing as you practically trampled over the horde. It didn’t help that everyone was going in different directions, either, rather hindering most everyones sense of direction except yours, the only one capable of seeing above the raucous crowd. When at last you met the wood doors sealing Ahkmen away from the noise, you slipped inside with a nod to the diligent guards placed outside his room, on either side of his door.

In a tangle of blankets, lying on his stomach, legs sticking out in two different directions and his arm over the back of his head, was the royal Prince, a supposed half god on earth, and a direct line to the deities. He snored softly, partially muffled by the soft pillows beneath him. Groaning quietly, with a small roll of your eyes, you stepped forward, pulling the blankets off of him with a harsh tug. With a bit of effort he at last unraveled, letting out his own ungraceful moan at harsh sunlight hitting his eyes and cooler wind upon his half naked skin.

“Today’s the day of the feast, and you’re sleeping in?” You asked, more astounded than you were annoyed, though fully annoyed nonetheless.

“I am a vessel of Ra’s power, and he says I can sleep,” he mumbled, pulling a pillow over his face.

“I thought you liked Khonsu more,” you said, taking the pillow from his grasp and setting it a safe distance away from him.

“Does it matter?” He looked up at you, his eyes dry but wide.

“Yes, now get up.”

He moaned incoherent complaints the entire time, rolling off the bed and landing straight on his back. From then on, he spent the rest of the morning complaining about his back hurting, far into eating breakfast, past preparations for the ceremony, and through getting dressed for the upcoming feast.

“I think,” you said, grunting slightly as you adjusted the gold and lapis jeweled collar upon his shoulders, “you should be glad.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, continuing to observe the both of you in his mirror.

“Back before history began, the Opet festival stretched -“

“For twenty-seven days, I know. I read too,” he interrupted with a playful glare. “How does that make me lucky?”

“I don’t think you have the energy for something like that,” you said with a smile. He turned to you, his brow furrowed but a smirk still prominent on his face.

“On the contrary. I think you aren’t suited for something like that.”

“I sat on a mountaintop for a whole year without food or water. I think I’m perfectly suited.”

“That’s just sitting. Can you hold the stamina for dancing?”

“I suppose we’ll find out by tonight,” you chuckled, correcting the crown on his head, as it had once more tilted to the right.

The two of you entered the brightly lit hall, torches lining the sides in bright orange and blue. Marveling, you took your seat, a few seats away from Ahkmen but still at the same table. Adom would not be there, you realized, as Kahmuh, head of the table, stood with glass in hand.

“To the many prosperous years ahead of us, and thanks to the Gods,” he said, and from his glass he drank red wine. In unison, the room at large raised their own cups, and drank. Servants that stood nearby bowed their heads in respect, their trays level from years of experience, eyes cast down out of a learned fear. You took a sip from your own cup, the warm liquid burning down your throat in a pleasant sensation. A quick smile to your friend, one that was easily returned, and the feast began.

Stretching out before you must’ve been enough to elegantly feed the entire city for at least a week - plates of fish, salted and spiced, fruit stacked head high in ornate designs, plates of various vegetables fried with legs of beef, and massive pitchers of wine and beer separating the neat piles of food from each other. Relatively, you sat near the head, the long wooden table stretching for forever down the immense room, the ceiling towering high above you, so far that the light did not reach the ceiling before it spanned into darkness.

To the sides of the room, and at the entrance musicians played, their instruments in perfect sync with the singing voices, harmonizing with the peaceful chatter of the many people there. Women danced in skirts and dresses, gold sewn into the sheer fabric that shimmered in the dying light of the sunset, hips moving with the music.

You filled your own plate gratuitously, but thankfully not enough to turn any heads. That fell mostly to one man, sitting across from you and slightly to the right. With as much gusto as he ate, he ended up missing half the food he’d gotten, as it flew from his mouth and landed on the dissatisfied and rather disgusted people sitting beside him. As Ahkmen glanced your way, you gestured with your head towards the man, and the two of you giggled under your breath.

Once the sun had finally set, it felt as though the energy had gone through the roof. People stood on the benches and seats, drinking and singing boastfully, their arms wrapped around each other. Kahmuh looked on in his usual, quiet demeanor, his brother whispering to him every now and again. You stayed seated where you were, amused by the antics of drunk nobles.

It must’ve been only you, noticing the clanging outside. Every so often you’d turn to the door, expecting someone to come bursting through, but for the first five times nothing happened. Anxiously you rubbed your hand together, wondering what could be causing such a racket to be heard over the laughter of over a dozen people. Swallowing thick, you tried not to linger on it. Tonight was about celebration, not worry.

He flashed you a smile, bright and excited, one that might’ve calmed you if it had not fallen so quickly to a frown. Drifting, his gaze landed to the right of your head, and you turned, finding a bloodied soldier, spear in hand, panting on his knees. Ahkmen let out a sort of yell, one that caught the attention of Kahmuh, who quickly stopped his conversation with a woman beside him as the soldier caught his eye.

“There’s - “ he couldn’t stop panting, “there’s, a… there’s an army, you need,” he took another deep breath, “you need to evacuate!”

For a split second the hall was mute, with not the sound of fire of torches crackling out of a sudden and deserved fear. Then, a sound like the screams of hell, as each and every dining person stood with shaking hands, their voices seeming to come unwillingly from themselves. The soldier fell to the ground, landing face first. From your seat you leapt, surging through the crowd and falling by his side.

Placing your hand on his chest, you felt no movement. You pressed your hand against his neck quickly, finding no pulse. With a groan you stood, knowing this was no time to worry for a body. A hand wrapped around yours, pulling you away, and the light of the dining hall disappeared as the crowd of nobles was lead far away from the palace.

Turning to run, Ahkmen stood beside you, holding your hand. You intertwined your fingers together, holding him as tight as he held you. Behind you and in front, guards protected you from every angle, ready for any sudden attack.

“Who the hell could be attacking on Opet?!” Ahkmen exclaimed, not even turning to face you. Through the noise of running footsteps and nervous shouts, you barely heard him - just enough to make it out.

“Now isn’t the time for questions,” you said, your voice an anxious murmur. At first, you were afraid he couldn’t hear you, but he nodded, running faster and pulling you along.

The crowd led you through twisting halls, through the quickest route to the back door. You’d taken it several times before - when your friend had started a landslide, or when the same friend had taken you on that midnight picnic.

“Pray they aren’t waiting for us,” a rather fat man beside you said, mostly to himself, but overhead by others. It did very little to calm the fear pounding into the group.

To the instant relief of the people, no one was there. But it was a small door - two at a time ran through it, rushing down the small steps and running for the Aur that was only a short walk away from the stairs.

“Not that way!” A guard yelled, making it down the steps and directing you into the desert. There was no way this man would be trusted without at least one of the princes allowing it, but somehow enough terror had occurred that evening that most people had lost most of their logical thinking, immediately heading where the guard led. You found yourself among that population, your hand still tight around Ahkmen’s, Kahmuh trailing angrily after everyone else. In the distance, you could hear yelling, blood curdling screams that seeped right into the bone, implanting itself into your mind to repeat over and over again. A particularly loud scream, followed by the sound of choking and gurgling sent a terrible image of some poor person getting stabbed ruthlessly in the street. You closed your eyes, shaking your head to clear the image.

It’ll be okay, you told yourself, with no Adom to confirm it, and no source of comfort but the pressure around your palm, pressing its’ medicine into your heart.

The hours following the evacuation were, if there were any true word to describe them, chaotic. Most of the nobles had never known danger, or the feeling of fear, so it ran potent through all. Even you, who had gone through quite a lot in your short lifetime, could feel it pouring off of them in great spouts. The twenty-or-so of you sat around a large rock, sheltering you from sight of the city, with Kahmuh sitting atop it and thinking of what to do next. You did not envy his position.

After much thinking, and as the sun began to peak over the horizon (many of the people had already gone to sleep; the others stayed up, too wary to drift off), he stood, his shadow towering over the huddled mass.

“We must travel to Thebes. Half our military force is there, and combined with Thebes military force, it’ll be easy to overtake those who have invaded us,” he decided, with much conviction in his voice. Beside you, finding no ease in sleep, Ahkmen furrowed his brow and stood with his glare.

“It’ll take fifteen days, and that’s with physically fit people. None of us have walked more than that in all our lives, we couldn’t possible do it in time! Even if we could, we have no clue as to what their numbers are. Further, we don’t know who they are, either. The only person who saw them died as he told us,” Ahkmen contradicted, and the people seemed split on who to agree with. On one hand, Thebes sounded nice, and Kahmuh was technically in charge. On the other, Ahkmen had a severe point - Thebes was far away, and even with their militia, there was no guarantee.

“How exactly do you know how long the walk takes?” He bit back with much venom in his eyes.

“The carrier from Thebes to Memphis, she travels by land, not sea, and on foot it takes her around ten or so days, and that’s with resting. She’s more than physically fit, above average I’d say, and taking into account all the gathered information, I believe it’d take around fifteen days.”

“And are you a mathematician, dear brother?”

He coughed, clearing his throat, and shifted his weight to his other foot rather awkwardly.

“No,” he admitted. “But it takes a fool to not see what’s blatantly in front of him.”

An audible gasp emitted from the crowd, and you kept your head down, trying desperately not to laugh.

“Do you propose a better plan?”

“Send our strongest man with a message. It’ll take him, or her, less time than a whole group. This person could cut sleep without complaint from others, and deliver the message much faster, and bring the army back in time.”

“Our best bet is to stick together. What if it takes just enough time that all of these people die at the hands of those barbarians?! Besides, I’m acting Pharaoh.”

“Not really,” you cut in, playing with your fingers. “Your father took a chance that this would be something easy to do. Otherwise, it all would’ve fallen to your younger brother.”

“Oh, shut up, you miscreation,” Kahmuh drawled, rolling his eyes. Crossing your arms, you sat back against the rock he stood on, and shut your mouth. You might’ve missed the absolutely filthy glare Ahkmen shot his brother if you hadn’t looked to him for some source of comfort.

“They aren’t wrong. There’s an issue of power here, and I think the way to solve it is to give our people a voice.”

A beat of silence passed, filled with a tension you prayed would dissipate no matter the decision, but you sort of knew that it would continue to irritate you.

“Alright,” Kahmuh turned to the huddled crowd, “we’ll have a vote on the matter.”

“All in favor of sending a messenger to Thebes say aye,” Ahkmen said, and somehow he had changed his tone in a second - he commanded respect. Before you could wonder in awe how a person could switch so quickly, you chimed in with your own ‘aye.’

“All in favor of traveling to Thebes ourselves and sticking together,” said Kahmuh, who clearly enunciated the last two words while staring straight at his brother. From there, you noticed half the people agreed with Kahmuh, and the other with Ahkmen. Clearly the brothers voted for themselves, so with that, there was an impasse.

“Ahk,” you whispered, and he knelt before you, clearly open to whatever you had to say. “Combine the ideas.” He lit up, a bright smile taking the place of his serious grimace. With a pat to your shoulder he stood, ready to propose his, or your, idea.

“I have a solution to our issue,” Ahkmen said, all eyes turning to him. “We send our fastest person out to Thebes to arrive first, but we go ourselves. By the time we reach there, the news will have already come, and if our take back of the city is successful, we can travel back by barge.”

Slowly nodding, sly eyes turned to you, and a suddenly sick smirk fell upon Kahmuh’s face.

“I agree,” he said slowly. “Piye is clearly the most healthy. That’s who should go.”

Ahkmen paled, his posture dropping before quickly recomposing himself. He looked nearly as terrified as he had just a few hours ago, running from the feast. You could feel your own mouth go dry, but it was only logical - even if Kahmuh didn’t have it out for Ahkmen, and therefore you, you would most likely qualify as most fit. Certainly as one who could run the longest distances, and had the most experience with it, and you might’ve even volunteered yourself if you didn’t know Ahkmen would’ve choked you himself.

Holding that close in your mind, you stood, and with a solemn nod agreed with the prince.

“I will go,” you agreed, watching the lurid smile grow on Kahmuh’s face, “but I require one of your guards’ sword. Can’t send me out with no weapons, right?” You cocked your eyebrow, and slowly, and so clearly reluctantly, he agreed. With a motion of his hand the guard nearest you regretfully handed you his sword.

“Take care of it. If I lose it, it comes out of my pay.”

“I will reimburse any loss or damage,” you chuckled. As was the case with most of the swords you’d seen, the origin was clearly from somewhere around Persia, cast in bronze and given the loving name ‘khopesh.’ For a moment you inspected it, before sheathing it in the belt the guard gave you.

Once you stepped foot out of the makeshift encampment, Ahkmen grabbed your arm, stopping you. Behind him, his brother addressed the crowd at hand, but did not capture the attention of either of you. Instead, the intensity of Ahkmen’s heed was focused entirely on you.

“Do not take chances. Be safe, my dear,” he told you, his voice deep and grave. Something you rarely ever heard from him, but one that was becoming scarily regular.

“I should be telling that to you,” you chided with a small smile, but the sentiment was not returned. With a harsh tug, he pulled you into a hug tighter than any you’d felt, pressing his worry and good wishes deep into the settlement of your heart. It was not for a long time that he let go of you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and breathing deeply, only then releasing you.

“You’re going to see me again,” you tried to laugh, the sound weak as your heart.

He did not reply.

You knew, that if hell did not await you out in the vastness of the desert, it would certainly await the brothers in Thebes. Any of their explanations, especially Kahmuh’s, would not be listened to. Their father wasn’t one to listen to excuses, and he said so on many occasions, though these excuses were all perfectly logical. Half the military force of Memphis was in Thebes, and almost everyone was drunk, only the threat of torture and death sobering them. Still - the fall of the capitol city. Not something to be taken lightly. As much as you knew you shouldn’t have thought it, you were grateful the blame would fall on Kahmuh.

In no way were you properly dressed for this journey, sinking into the weak sand with sandals that kept slipping off your feet. At one point you fell to the ground, ready to chuck them off, before feeling sharp rocks stab at the palm of your hands, and thinking differently. As for the nights, they were cold. You kept along the nile, but all the areas that would’ve healed your aching heels were flooded from the inundation. To your luck, however, date trees were still in reach.

By the third day your pace noticeably slowed. Dragging yourself along the path that no one would’ve wished to willingly take, you kept your head up, using your shawl to cover yourself from the heat of the burning sun. The lack of sleep didn’t take long to get to you, either. Eve would draw closer and so would your eyelids together, desperately wishing for a bed to rest in. Instead, you made do pulling the leaves off trees, if only to keep yourself off the ground.

Besides the usual aches and pains, the trip was… rather normal. The only time you unsheathed your sword was to cut open hard fruits, or cut branches. Come the eighth night, it began to rub your mind raw, wondering if perhaps you just weren’t being observant enough. You got little sleep that night, but made it through the next day with the comfort that you would be sleeping in a real bed by in two nights’ time.

To your surprise, you must’ve sped up, ending up in the city by that evening. All were peacefully unaware of the turmoil of their capital, something you tried not to pay attention to. Instead, you focused on the largest building, smack in the center, standing tall as a reminder of the power of the rich.

Act normal, you told yourself, and with this reminder, most of the guards payed you no mind. It wasn’t until you reached the steps of this supposed city hall that you were stopped by a rather muscular woman, who was nearly as tall as you.

“You can’t enter without a pass,” she told you, her voice stern and rather deep.

“I have grave news from Memphis, I need to see the Pharaoh,” you said, trying to convey the urgency in your voice. “My father works for him, tell him Adom’s child comes to seek a hearing.”

“Sure. I’ll do that,” she said sarcastically, clearly irritated, before tacking on the end, “like I can just go up to Amun on earth.”

Think, think, think, you commanded yourself, turning away from the woman. An idea sparked - terribly wicked, and questionably ethical, but it would have to do. You turned back to her.

“Could I have your name, please?” You requested. She looked skeptical, but gave it anyway.

“Selma, daughter of Ahaouty.”

“Now, please step aside,” you said quietly, and though she appeared horrified, she stepped aside. With a wave of your hand, your hold on her could have been broken, but you couldn’t let that happen - not until you spoke with the King. Racing up the steps, you only stopped to give a cursory glance back to Selma, who was trying to get her mouth to open. Giggling, you tried reminding yourself that you shouldn’t have done magic in the first place, and that it was very rude to giggle.

The run to the courtroom gave you enough time to sober up, climbing up various staircases and through halls full of guards, some of whom you even recognized. Not giving them enough time to even question who you were, you burst through the doors of the courtroom, finding the mayor and the King engrossed in a game of Senet. The two looked up at you, the mayor clearly horrified, and the King mostly looking pissed off.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, loud and demanding as he stood. Clearing your throat, and attempting to make yourself look smaller, you tried answering.

“Memphis was sacked in your absence. Your sons escaped with a handful of people, they should be here within a few days. They sent me ahead to warn you.”

Barely giving you the time to finish, he raced out the door, leaving you with the mayor.

“What’s your name?” He asked, stepping in front of you with his arms crossed.

“Piye,” you answered hesitantly, unsure of what he wanted.

“… Really? That’s my name,” he said, nodding his head as though your answer was satisfactory.

“It’s… a good.. name.”

“… Yeah.”

He sent you away, directing one of his servants to show you to a guest room. It was certainly a nice room, you noticed as the servant left you with a bow. Nice, arching windows with a smooth floor and well decorated walls. You might’ve appreciated it more, had the uncertainty of Ahkmen and Adom’s fate not been squeezing your thoughts dry.

Not three minutes later, and a servant, a different one this time, came knocking on your door. Keeping her head high, she informed you that your presence was requested at a meeting. You kept your surprise to yourself as she led you there, wondering when the Pharaoh’s opinion on you changed from ‘get that thing away from me,’ to ‘best invite them to an important meeting.’

This room was much smaller than the courtroom you’d initially seen him in. No windows, lit only by dim rushlight****. A long table took up a good chunk of the space in the room, chairs surrounding it, filled by superiors, and at the head - Merenkahre himself.

“Sit,” he commanded, and you obliged, sitting across from the mayor. “Tell us all you know.”

“I’m, uh, afraid, my King, I know very little. I was ordered by Kahmuh not to return to the city. He thought it may endanger the remaining citizens.”

You watched as a subtle expression of either anger or horror grow on his face, and in your own fear you continued.

“Around twenty of us escaped, including your sons and myself, and a few guards.”

He nodded, intense eyes set low as he thought over his situation.

“We need time,” one of his advisors spoke, and he turned to her, listening intently. “Our best shot is to find out who the enemy is - it’ll help us decide how to proceed. If it’s just ruffians, we’d rush the city, for example. Different armies have different strategies.”

“You’re right, but it’ll take too long. A siege is our best bet. I’ll take the soldiers I took from Memphis, and half of Thebes, travel by nile.”

“With all due respect, I think we need our army, especially after what has now occurred. What if their next target is Thebes?” A man beside you said.

Once again, the Pharaoh grew quiet, contemplating for any easy answer. For a moment all that passed was silence, till he stood, grabbing your elbow and pulling you outside to speak in private. Your first reaction was that you’d done something wrong, that he blamed you for the absence of his children, but instead he only looked worried.

“I know Adom’s secret,” he whispered to you, and the realization crashed into you. He knew of his magic?

“The…” you didn’t want to say it aloud, so you made an odd gesture with his hands. There was no possible way he could’ve understood what it meant, but he nodded anyway.

“I am praying you have that gift as well. Without Thebes’ army, I can’t even begin to think about taking back Memphis. But,” he poked you in the chest, “if I can promise them a savior… they may believe me. And we may win back our home.”

It was a clever choice of words, but you supposed he needed to have that talent. We win back our home, raising you up from being called an ‘it’ to being a supposed savior. However, the twist of words didn’t mean anything when things were in such a dire state. So you agreed - and in an instant, he relaxed, smiling at you for the first time. Quickly assigning you a task, he reentered the meeting, dismissing you to your assigned room.

Several hours later you received the message that you were to look after the brothers once they reached the city, and that Merenkahre had left his wife and a few advisors, including you, behind to travel to Memphis. It was a lot of information to absorb, that you were now more or less at the mercy of Piye (the mayor - not you) and whatever he may wish of you, and Shepseheret, though the only interactions you’d had with her were quite nice.

As expected, by the next morn news of his departure had reached the city in general, and as the next few days passed, you kept busy staying by Shepseheret’s side. She had no need for you, and told you this many times, but you didn’t have a place - something you weren’t used to. For the most part, however, she let you tag along to her dinners and spa treatments. It wasn’t till your sixth, or was it seventh? day there that the survivors entered the city, the bright gold tresses and sullen makeup catching the eye of many guards, most of whom ran into the palace, alerting everyone in sight that there were lost nobles entering.

Hearing these shouts you raced from listening to Shepseheret’s personal servant going on about salaries, wind blasting past your ears as you skipped down the steps four at a time, racing to the front gate of the city. Spotting you through the crowd, Ahkmen forced himself through the growing crowd, practically smacking into you with the tightest, most forceful hug you’d ever embraced so happily. Your chest ached with the impact, or maybe it was only with your longing - either way, it wasn’t till a long time had passed that you let each other ago.

“I missed you,” you finally murmured, your throat tight as you clutched the cloth on his back.

“As did I. I was worried… well, you know. That you wouldn’t make it,” he spoke just as softly, releasing you slightly, still holding you against him. He pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath.

“You know to think higher of me,” you chuckled.

“You’re pretty weak, I dunno,” he shrugged, forcing giggles out of the both of you. Trailing with slow steps, you followed the crowd of nobles, a crowd you noticed had not decreased in size in the least. In easy conversation you caught him up with your trip to the city, what had occurred once the news reached the Pharaoh’s ear, and what you’d done in the lonely six days more it had taken them. He ended up getting the room next to yours - something both of you were excited about, but never to each other. Instead, you mostly bullied each other, till night caused the two of you to part, sleeping beside each other, with only a foot thick wall in the way. Not fantastic, but better than a desert.

“Will I see you in the morning,” he asked, standing far too close to you as you stood outside your room that evening, “or will you be magically gone?”

“I’ll be returning the guards’ sword in the morning, but you will see me. I’m afraid I can’t magically disappear,” you replied cheekily, feeling as though the sudden closeness was naught but natural. Usually the two of you kept a respectful distance, which was expected of good friends - but you didn’t mind the touch. Somehow, it wasn’t odd in any way. He scoffed, shaking his head, but still smiling. With a pat to your shoulder, he said good night, and you parted for the evening.

When the sun rose you did as you told you would do; returned the sword of a very pleased guard, who bowed in thanks. Afterwards, glancing down mostly empty halls, you tried to find your suddenly absent friend. He wasn’t in his quarters, nor was he in the dining area, or even in the kitchen. You couldn’t find him on any balconies either (which was something you had learned earlier that he loved - something about wind), or outside in the gardens. No, instead, you found him embroiled in an argument between his mother and his brother, all three of them somehow disagreeing with each other person. It felt like an awful thing to interrupt, who knew what Kahmuh would do to you, so you turned, and you left.

That’s none of my business, you thought to yourself, grimacing.

Instead, you stayed in the gardens, watching birds flit by in the bright sunlight. Through the irrigated river fish would swim by your feet, the bench you sat on right at the waters edge. Turning your attention to the clouds, drifting by with the gentle breeze, you tried to ignore the footsteps getting closer to you. Maybe they weren’t headed for you -

“Piye, there you are,” said an awfully familiar voice; one that you did not like hearing too often. Maybe he was talking to the mayor you hadn’t noticed standing right beside you, but, then again, he wasn’t standing next to you. So at last you turned your tired expression towards Kahmuh who looked positively fuming. At least you could enjoy the image of his childish anger.

He sat beside you, his leg jiggling in his anxious state.

“You know my brother rather well, right?” He asked, and you nodded with a hum. “Could you hazard a guess as to why I get blamed for everything?”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t know that. That has to do with your parents and I don’t think they like me,” you said, nodding to yourself but not meeting his eye.

“Not hard to figure out why,” he muttered to himself before continuing with the pertinent conversation. “There must be something that makes him more likable than me!”

“For one he’s nicer, and he treats others as his equal.”

“See, I’ve never understood that,” he said, his lisp beginning to come out in his unchecked anger. “We aren’t equals to others, we’re the blood of Gods and Goddesses, what we say is rule. I shouldn’t have to treat others as I treat myself.”

“You could at least treat your parents with the same respect you show yourself. They are, technically, not even your equals. They’re higher than you.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands, letting them drag over his skin and pull at it.

“I could tell you the truth if you’d like, but I worry for my life,” you chuckled, a teasing tone, but he took you far too seriously. From there he requested you tell the truth, the whole truth, and disregard his royalty.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you told him nervously.

“Just do it, okay?!”

“Alright, alright,” you hissed, taking a deep breath. Where to start?

“You’re insecure,” you decided to begin with. “You aren’t sure of yourself and somehow you’ve blamed that diffidence on those around you, even though the only root is the lack of love you get from your parents, which is really your doing. Maybe you’re simply insecure because your brother is more handsome than you, or something, but clearly you’ve hated him since he was born, which has led to even more fragility in yourself and your masculinity. You’re unsure of yourself and of the world, so you try to take control of it but it doesn’t work because you aren’t respected by your people or your parents. That’s because you’re insolent.”

After that sentence you couldn’t continue, not with the hand tightening around your neck, and the obsidian knife pressed into your stomach, almost breaking the skin there. You kept yourself calm - there was nothing he could do to hurt you. Then again, just because you wouldn’t die, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.

“I’d advise you don’t murder someone, especially not in the gardens. Can’t clean up blood from dirt, and it clashes terribly with the sand,” drawled Piye, the mayor, who had shortly occupied your thoughts not moments earlier. With as much ferocity as he’d pulled it on you, he sheathed his dagger, releasing you with a slight push and stomping away.

“Thank you,” you murmured to him, brushing yourself off and rubbing the area he’d poked you.

“It’s alright,” he said with a knowing smile. “Us ‘Piye’s’ have to look out for each other.”

He left after a short conversation with you, mostly discussing what you’d done to anger the prince in the first place. You didn’t linger in the garden long, the energy suddenly putting you off. Perhaps the kitchens would fare better times - yes, you thought to yourself - the kitchens would do nicely. If Kahmuh attempted to approach you again, you could simply put bread in your mouth, and excuse yourself by gesturing that you couldn’t speak.

Upon entering the doors of the kitchen, you suddenly remembered what had brought you to the gardens in the first place, leading to your encounter, and your subsequent trip to the kitchens. Finding Ahkmen, who was currently crouched in the corner, probably crying, and holding a jug full of wine in his drooping left hand. With cautious steps you came over, grabbing the drink from him and setting it on the floor before he could drop and spill it. Servants and cooks looked warily over at the pair of you, and in return you smiled, which put them off a little bit.

“Hey,” you said softly, setting your hand on his shoulder and trying to get him to face you. He wouldn’t, instead burying his head deeper into his arms crossed over his knees, brought up to his chest.

“He’s really, really… such an asshole,” he mumbled, muffled by his arms. You leaned in closer.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kah-m! You don’t… like him, do you? God, he’s so.. conniving-mmnnm.. I wouldn’t put it ‘bast’ him t’ turn you against me,” he slurred, his limbs suddenly flopping open and onto the floor.

“You’re drunk,” you noted blandly, furrowing your brow slightly. He giggled, still not looking up at you.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You look awful.”

“Don’t I always?” He questioned, finally looking up with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Let’s get you out of here,” you said with a grunt, raising him to his feet and nodding towards the kitchen staff for their patience. This time, they answered with tiny smiles.

“Avoiding the quesssstion, I see,” he grumbled, leaning into you far too much. With him practically nuzzling into you, you headed down the path you knew took you to your room. Not that you were actually taking him there - his room was right across from yours, and he needed to take a nap. Day drinking was a terrible habit to get into.

Kicking open the door, you set him on the bed, and making sure he couldn’t see past your back, you flicked a few ingredients into existence. Main problem was rehydration, you thought, filling the tall glass with water, adding into it chamomile and ginger. Not the best tasting, but it was a cure you’d learned from Adom after seeing him use it on the Pharaoh periodically after feasts. Swirling it around, you waited till the ingredients fully seeped into the warm water, turning to Ahkmen as you did so.

He hung upside down off the bed, wig on the floor and his necklace dangling in front of his face. Sighing, you helped him up as he protested.

“Drink this,” you told him, helping him sit straight and not sway. Rolling his eyes, he took the drink from you, gagging when he swallowed it down in one gulp.

“Disgusting.”

“You’re not supposed to drink it that fast,” you chuckled, sitting beside him and stilling his sway as he leaned into you once more. You looked him up and down, just a quick glance to check if he was alright, you told yourself. In a soft voice, you asked, “what were you and your mother and brother arguing about?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, that. Mother tried to, um, tell him that, uh, tell him something about my father being, um.. really upset, about something… something about royal, um… duty. ’N Kahm’ said it was all my fault, but mam was buying NONE of that shit. Thank the Gods, right? Anyway, uh… Kahm’ got pretty mad, guess I don’ blame him.”

Through that prolonged sentence you picked out what the argument was about - punishment for Kahmuh for the loss of Memphis. Not something to be taken lightly, but in all technicalities it really wasn’t his fault. Not the way you looked at it, at least, though the boy did need to be put in his place.

“I see,” you said, even if you didn’t really see what had upset him so greatly.

“Yeah, whole situation was… just ridiculous,” he grumbled, falling back onto the bed. You watched, unwilling to join, till he tugged harsh on your arm, making you fall next to him. Shifting uncomfortably, you stayed where you were.

“Why’d you get drunk?” You asked, glancing at him sparingly.

“Oh, yeah. He said.. somethin’ about you. Wasn’t very nice,” he said, growing quieter as he fidgeted with the material of his skirt.

“… what was it?”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking..?”

“No, wait,” he sat up suddenly, patting your bare stomach as he did so, “I meant I purposefully didn’t tell you. It’s a bad idea.” He leaned in as he said his last words, the stench of alcohol coming quite ripe off of him, making you shrivel up your nose.

“Why’s that?”

“Secrets, my dear,” he murmured, lying back on the bed with a great sigh. As his breathing slowed you stood, maneuvering him so his head rested on the pillow. An hour from now he’d be sober, you told yourself, which would be in time for dinner. No one needed to see a drunk prince.

“Is it bothering you?” He asked, keeping his voice quiet in the dead of night. Maybe letting him sleep in your room for the night was a mistake - he’d asked, so naturally your first instinct was to comply. Now he lay on the floor at your bedside, a few blankets and a pillow on the ground for his comfort. Moonlight kept the room alight just enough for you to see the outlines of your bed, and the ceiling, and if you bothered to look down, you would probably be able to see him.

“Is what bothering me?” You asked in return, keeping a dull tone as you stared at the ceiling.

“You know,” he came up, resting his head on the edge of the bed and looking at you with doe eyes. You looked over at him. “Your father.”

Oh. You weren’t expecting him to really think about you, at least not in the terms of where he’d be worried about your well-being, especially concerning the people you were close with. In fact, the question had taken you by surprise enough that you didn’t answer.

“Piye?”

“Uh, yeah. Guess so. I’ll get over it,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your hands. In the darkness, you could barely see them above the sheets.

“He’s a strong guy. I’m sure he’s vanquishing my fathers enemies as we speak,” he joked, his tone lilting playfully as his head tilted to the side. Tips of his short hair tickled at your shoulder.

“Sure,” you chuckled. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” he said, shifting into a more comfortable position, his shoulders now visible above the edge of the bed.

“Why’d you ask to sleep in my room?”

In dim light you saw him tense up, the color in his face getting darker but indistinguishable in the cloak of night. Knitting his fingers together, he tried to answer, once, then twice, opening his mouth with nothing coming out. The third time he tried, he found an answer.

“Just wanted some company,” he replied softly, his hand untangling and reaching up to you. With a touch you could barely feel, he tucked a few loose strands of your hair behind your ear.

It wasn’t often you saw him without his wig, but he always saw your natural hair. White as death, Kahmuh had once called it, but Adom never wore a wig, and implored you to accept yourself as you were. And, well, you trusted Adom far more than you trusted Kahmuh. For the most part, Ahkmen didn’t comment on it, but you knew he noticed. Now more so than most times.

“Good enough reason,” you mumbled. “You comfortable on the floor?”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied as you turned to face him. His hand remained close to your face, just shy of touching.

“Sure about that?”

“There’s not much of an alternative,” he snorted.

You remained quiet. In that silence, mild insinuations occurred, mostly consisting of eye twitches and nods of heads. Slowly he rose from his position on the floor, slipping in beside you underneath covers. You shuffled to make room for him. It was a little odd, being so close to him, especially since this was your first time. One could complicate the situation with all the intense emotions felt beforehand and after, and during, and all the dread that had occurred leading up to the moment, but in all honesty, it was just two children. Two very frightened children, who had no idea where their fathers were. With closed eyes you faced each other, drifting into sleep as his hand reached for yours, falling short by mere centimeters.

For a month now you’d heard nothing, not that you’d expected to. It took an army to walk from Thebes to Memphis quite a while, and though a barge was much faster, there weren’t enough to supply such a massive amount of people. Fifteen days passed and you safely assumed they’d arrived in the city, and thus you began to wonder how long the fighting would last before message would be sent, or if any message would be sent at all. Ahkmen seemed rather confident in both the army and his father, while Kahmuh thought their father was incompetent. Shepseheret expressed no opinion; at least, not to you. As the days seemed to grow longer you found yourself less interested in the affairs of others and more preoccupied in your own anxiety. Much of your time was spent alone, which was to Ahkmen’s quiet chagrin.

His behavior had turned a different direction from yours. Maybe it was the difference in the way the both of you were raised, or maybe it was because the two of you were simply very different people. Either way, he began to socialize more, talking to any servant that passed by and attempting half desperately to get you to talk to him. You supposed it would probably be healthy for you to indulge once in a while, to avoid the isolation, but you couldn’t find the energy within yourself to do so.

“You’ve changed,” said Ahkmen one day, catching you napping midday in your room. You had been asleep for most of the day, actually, until he’d so rudely awakened you by pulling the blankets off of you and opening the curtains to expose bright sunlight. You groaned as he did this.

“No shit,” you grumbled, burying your face in the soft pillows.

“Come on, it’s not healthy to.. do whatever it is you’re doing. I want to go for a walk,” he said, jumping onto your bed and straddling you as you still lay on your stomach.

“I’m not stopping you.”

“I want to go with you,” he practically whined, tugging at your hair. Mumbling incoherently, you pushed him off of you, sitting up with tired eyes. Sighing, he stood once more.

“Well I don’t want to walk. I want to go back to sleep. I did my fair share of walking,” you mumbled, falling back onto the pillows after pointing a vindictive finger at him.

His attempts at getting you to move didn’t stop there - if you didn’t know better, you would think he was trying to annoy you to death. But no, that’s just who he was. Indescribably annoying while at the same time far too caring. Sometimes, often when he was dragging you places, you wished you’d never met him.

Days grew long and uneventful as he came to the conclusion that you weren’t open for talking about anything, or doing anything. Every now and then he would sit in your room and study while you either carved or slept; the two activities that took up the majority of your time.

“I think Memphis is much more entertaining than here,” he said one day, looking up from his scriptures.

“Better gardens,” you added in a mumble, half asleep.

“Good view of the Aur, too. Closer to the sea.”

“Mmm.”

Somewhere around the two month marker a messenger came, dirty but unharmed, note in hand. Piye 2, as Ahkmen affectionally titled him (the mayor hated it), read the note aloud to the courtroom at large, which consisted of several servants, a few nobles, the princes, their mother, and you.

“I am writing to inform you that I and the militia I have been supplied with have arrived safely to Memphis. Outside the city, opposite the nile is a mass grave. I write this upsetting news in hopes that I will, at some point, be able to identify those who have died in this attack. We have not yet found any lone groups that may have escaped - I suspect they may have fled to another city, or that they have been either imprisoned or killed.

“From the vantage point upon a nearby hill I have found what I believe to be Nubians inhabiting the city. As much as I loathe to say this, we may have provoked this attack, though with the violence given I plan to return with just as much vigor and might.

“I hope all is well in your city. Share this letter as you see fit; tell my wife that I miss her and that I am sure of the safe return of our home. Relay the same message to my sons.”

A mass grave wasn’t exactly a comforting image, thought, or idea, and as much as you began to despise those who had dug that grave, you reminded yourself that the kings of the past had done the same to them. Nearly too deep into your own thoughts, you only came back to reality as Kahmuh rushed past you and out of the room. Most everyone stared at him as he did so, wondering what in the letter, or in his thoughts, could have provoked such a temper in him.

“Well,” Piye cleared his throat, “dinner is in a few hours.” With that, those remaining left. You left to your room, as usual, this time with Ahkmen trailing behind you.

“There’s still hope, you know,” he spoke soft but firm, holding your upper arm to keep you from locking yourself in your room. He stopped you right in front of your door, looking up at you with an expression far too confident for your liking.

“I know he’s alive. You don’t need to assure me,” you bit back, pulling yourself harshly out of his grip and slamming the door behind you as you entered. His words only made that sick feeling in your gut worse, tugging your heart to be just as sickly as your thoughts. He followed you into the room before you thought to barricade the door. In the moment you hadn’t realized, but you fell to the ground, your hands gripping tight at your hair. Swallowing thickly, you watched him come closer till he knelt before you.

“I’m sorry, for my words,” he apologized slow and quiet. “I’m not used to such… disaster. Not an excuse, I know. But it is an explanation as to why I suck at this.” He chuckled, heartlessly, a laugh that you did not join in.

Sighing, he sat beside you, leaning into you and gently untangling your hands from your hair, till the only pressure you felt was his head on your shoulder. Though your entire mind felt like the color black, as though it would collapse upon itself, you let yourself breathe.

Several more weeks passed before the next message came, telling the nobles, as well as the royal family and you, that passage returning to the city would be safe. The exact details of what had happened were murky, as the Pharaoh said he would explain the full situation later, when everyone was safely in their home.

As arrangements were being made for a barge to sail the 22 survivors back to Memphis, you were allowed to sit in on meetings.

“It’s rather even, actually,” one of Piye’s advisors told him, holding a tablet in front of him. “Three boats, around three days supply of food. Little extra, just as a precautionary tidbit - it can be ready within the hour, sir.”

“And a crew to man each boat?”

“Um - well, that… it’d be easier if the guests rowed themselves. It’d cut down the number of boats, the time it takes, as well as the food supply necessary.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Piye cleared his throat curtly, laying his folded hands on the table. “Make arrangements for a crew as well.”

With a curt nod, the advisor stepped to the side, conversing with several people before returning. For the rest of the meeting, you only retained the pertinent information - five boats, now, with four days supply of food for much more than 22 people. By next morn you sat behind Ahkmen and Kahmuh, the shade allowing for comfort as several people logged the boat into the nile, beginning to row the people and the food back home.

“Let’s hope for an uneventful and fast trip back to Memphis,” Kahmuh muttered, mostly to himself, though he was overheard by both you and his brother. Staying silent, Ahkmen simply nodded his agreement. You showed no acknowledgement that you’d heard him.

For the first day things went rather smoothly, clouds shadowing and allowing for those rowing to do so in a slightly more comfortable environment. By the second day several people were complaining about the speed, as well as the fact that they had to ‘save food’, to which Kahmuh tried to politely explain that they weren’t saving food. They were extending it so it would last them till the end of their journey, something most of them simply couldn’t understand. By the third day, you were desperate to get this venture over with. Sure, returning to the city, seeing Adom again would be fantastic, but dear God you wished you’d gone alone. Ten days of walking alone was better than another minute with the overly pompous and far too glorified rich people that now surrounded you.

Come the end of the third day the land around you became recognizable, as you docked off on a nearby stretch of dry, shadowed land. Growing tall and undisturbed, date palms swayed in gentle wind as blankets were strung about for both sleeping and protection from weather. On the first day, you remembered fondly yet annoyed that most people thought that Ahkmen and Kahmuh should sleep together. In fact, they thought this to be so true in their minds that the brothers were forced to sleep together for the night. No sleeping was actually done, by anyone, and from then on they slept separately. You tried to find humor in the whole situation, but what with the discomfort of the day, and the slow movement of the landscape passing you by, it was more infuriating than funny.

As you got closer to seeing your father again, your mood lightened drastically. And, as you sat in your own thoughts, you felt worse and worse for your treatment of what was once a very good friend. You and Ahkmen hadn’t spoken much, not since you’d lashed out and he tried to comfort you. Sure, his attempt wasn’t worthless, but it couldn’t be worth more than a few silver rings. He was right; he wasn’t very good at comfort. Either way, he had avoided speaking in length to you, and you’d done relatively the same, not actively avoiding but certainly nor pursuing.

I should apologize for my behavior, you thought to yourself as a few of the servants and guards set up tents and blankets on the ground. He sat underneath a date tree, leaning against the hard wood and admiring one of the flowers that had grown in the sand at his feet. Though a small smile tugged at his lips, he remained mostly stoic, unreadable chaos behind his eyes.

Gulping, you stepped forward, readying yourself for any outcome of the coming conversation. He could easily forgive you - he was that sort of person, kind and fair, and understanding. Yet he was also a prince, and spoiled, so there was also the chance that he would never partake in the enjoyment of your company again.

“Ahk, hey,” you began with, keeping your voice low as you sat beside him.

“Oh, hi,” he said, smiling as you did so.

“I, um,” you hesitated, trying to find the right words as your eyes stayed fixed on the flower petals Ahkmen was currently tracing with his fingers, “I want to apologize, for my behavior the past few days. I never meant to hurt you, and I don’t have an excuse, nor an explanation other than I was anxious and worried.”

He chuckled, turning to look at you with just as dopey a smile as he did many moons ago.

“Piye, you don’t need to apologize. I understand. I just thought you might want some space, so I gave you some,” he explained softly, patting your shoulder with his hand.

“Oh.”

“Nothing to worry about,” he murmured, cuddling up to you and holding your arm as though he was hugging it. You could do little but hum an acknowledgement, wondering how to fully express your appreciation for his forgiveness. Maybe you could —

He began to snore, softly, as you knew he only did in comfortable sleep.

“Must be tired,” you mumbled to yourself, looking down at his crown-less head. As comfortable or warm as he might’ve been, it wouldn’t do well for your spine tomorrow if you were to stay like that the rest of the night. So for a while you let him sleep, staring up at the heavens and wondering if you had any pull or say in your own life. After you’d fully gotten over that, gently you shook him awake, causing him to mumble incoherently and grip you tighter.

“You need to lie down,” you said, and he mumbled a bit more, but didn’t protest when you helped him to his feet. Directing him, his eyes half lidded through the camp, you set him down beneath a tented blanket.

“Sleep with me,” he slurred, grasping your hand in his. You contemplated it, but came to no conclusion before he pulled you down, collapsing you to your knees.

“Fine,” you half grumbled, settling yourself in. “Again, I’m sorry.”

“Mm. No need,” he murmured, quickly falling back asleep once more.

When the sun arose in the morn, the guilt that had been bothering you had vanished in a rather neat fashion. He woke first, helping with the various things he could help with. Granted, he wasn’t very strong, so he couldn’t help with major heavy lifting, but he did help with taking down the tents. You watched, too tired to move. Once the sun was fully visible in the sky, Ahkmen pulled you to your lazy feet, and you boarded the boat in hopes of a short trip home.

As short as the trip really was (you kept track of the time by looking for the sun behind the clouds that had amassed) it felt longer than ever, your excitement regarding your return elongating the time that passed seemingly slower than ever. You tried to pass the time by having small games with Ahkmen, but the both of you were rather distracted.

“I miss my vases,” he commented to you around noon, his voice quiet to avoid the attention his brother.

“Seriously? That’s what you miss?”

“Well they’re very beautifully done!”

“… Uhuh.”

The two of you chuckled, quiet but certainly there. In front of you Kahmuh rolled his eyes and let out a soft grunt, which only spiraled you into an even worse fit of laughter. Still, you tried to retain an ounce of dignity and self respect, though that was quickly going down the drain.

When at last the dredges of civilization, the very edge of what you knew to be a grand city came into view, the citizens hidden away within the small structures of the boats came out in their awe and excitement for quiet celebration. The energy on the boats was beginning to grow, and suddenly the nobles didn’t care for the food that had been dwindling away. Much better food awaited them in the city, and as it came into the sight, the ruins and burning houses of the poor did little to stifle their happiness. As long as their homes, way up in the center of the city were unharmed, you noticed that they couldn’t possibly care less about the lower citizens.

“Sad sight,” you commented to Ahkmen, who was furrowing his brows together as he stared at the charred homes.

“I can hardly believe it really happened, but, here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.”

Eventually, you docked more near the center of the city, the large palace towering in the distance. Excitement trilled through your fingers, making you antsy as you stepped off the barges after the princes.

“Well, besides all the blood, still looks like home,” Kahmuh noted on the blood splattered walls of downtown, taking higher streets before coming before the main attraction - the palace. Skipping the pleasantries, you squeezed Ahkmen’s hand, motioning forward. He nodded, and you left towards your room. Adom had to be waiting there; receiving people, guests or family, was not a formality he was ever included in. As you got closer you began to run, the excitement bubbling through your stomach and getting to your head. What new stories would he have to tell? He always had such an entrancing way of telling them, and an invasion would surely be one of his best yet.

Before you could actually make it to your room, you were stopped by a servant boy, who held parchment in his hand.

“Uh - excuse me, please stop,” he said as you tried to make your way past him, the door right in your sight.

“What, what is it?” You asked hurriedly, finally looking down at him, your breathing slightly heavy from the running.

“A message, from the Pharaoh,” the boy told, handing you the parchment.

What in the hell does he want now? You asked yourself, unravelling it as the boy left.

To whom it may concern;

I have the unfortunate task of notifying all surviving family members and friends that Adom has passed, giving his life to protect our great city. His burial will be presided over in the highest fashion, the smallest honor I may give him.

And there it ended. Not signed, the most impersonal message possible, without even a mention of your name. It couldn’t be right - maybe they’d found someone else’s body, or maybe this was the wrong name, or perhaps…

You could already feel your face draining of blood, a horrid, putrid sickness feeding off your doubt and crawling beneath your skin.

With slower footsteps you made your way to the throne room, where you knew the Pharaoh held court often. As you thought more and more about how wrong the Pharaoh had to be, the faster you began to walk, till you sprinted down the hallways, the dull pounding of your heart barely affecting you through the rush of the wind.

Entering, the Pharaoh sat upon his throne, looking regal as ever, his sons at his side and the nobles at his feet. He was obviously imparting to them some information, most likely about the invasion, and what they should do in the event of a loss of property. That didn’t matter to you right now, though, anger boiling through your veins till all you wanted in the whole wide world was to punch your Pharaoh.

He noticed you almost immediately, your energy clearly different and stifling compared to the emotion of the rest of the room.

“What is this?” You asked, holding the parchment that you hadn’t realized you crumpled in your hand out to him.

“Ah. That. I thought it’d be best to inform you of your fathers’ death before you found out by some other means.”

“You mean you weren’t even planning on telling me originally?! What was I supposed to do, assume he was wandering around the city?!”

“Um, Piye -“ Ahkmen tried to stop you, stepping forward, before he was held back by his brother, who tutted his disapproval.

“I will not be spoken to in this manner. I did as I saw fit. I am paying for him to have the proper funerary services. Do not direct your grief at me,” the Pharaoh spoke, suddenly sounding a lot more commanding than you’d ever heard before. This new tone did not deter you.

“You couldn’t have sent a letter, when you found his body? I know you must’ve seen it, it’s not like he’s hard to find since he’s a fucking mutant like me! Why couldn’t you have told me earlier?!”

“You shouldn’t speak to your king like that,” Kahmuh said, stepping in front of Ahkmen and looking at you in a rather condescending way.

“No rightful King would treat a human like this!’

You were starting to lose control of yourself, you could tell. The last time you felt this lost in your own emotion was before you went on your mission, and now it seemed as though it was all for naught. Not only were you losing grip of yourself, but your accusations were becoming outlandish, and you knew it, but somehow you continued, trapped within your own mind as you yelled profanities. Your heart hammered in your chest, anger swelling in your aura.

“Guards! Take this thing out into the desert. Do not let it return into the city,” Kahmuh hissed once he realized you were not going to back down.

“What? No, you can’t - surely there’s a better way to do this,” Ahkmen cried, trying to grasp your hand as you were tangled in the arms and spears of soldiers. With his elder brother in the way, he couldn’t reach. You tried to fight back, tried to assure your friend that you’d be alright, but you couldn’t manage it.

The Pharaoh did nothing. As much trust as he had put into you to guard Thebes and his sons, he watched as you were dragged away, banished from the only place you’d ever called home.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum

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lunariasilver · 4 years

Text

The Virtuoso 2- Meteor City II

Masterlist

Previous / Next

My association with the Troupe only grew as time went on. I spent more time with Machi, Paku and Chrollo than the others, but I enjoyed being around all of them. They were decent company. When they asked me to help them out against a group that was testing their patience, I was more than happy to accept.

It would do me some good to have an actual battle outside of sparring.

(Actually, that fight was the first time I met Franklin. He was new. Ish.)

Looking out at the group of people standing against us, I felt remarkably calm. None of them struck me as particularly strong. None of them really seemed like slouches either, but it wasn't like I was weak.

The moment of peace was interrupted by a flurry of blows from both sides. As I cut into my first foe using a conjured version of Nobunaga's Blade, (the same blade he had give to me as a gift,) an impossibly large grin stretched across my face. It had been too long since I was in a proper fight!

A man met my blade with some sort of wooden baton which I assumed was conjured since I couldn't cut into it at all. For a brief moment, the two of us were at a standstill, both pushing at the other with all their might. Making a split second decision, I ducked down while making my katana disappear. Using the man's resulting imbalance I knocked him to the ground before finishing the job with Killua's Dagger. Trading that in for Nobunaga's Blade again I spun around to face my new foes.

I registered that the members of the Phantom Troupe seemed to be having just as much fun as I was...especially Uvo. There was no escaping his laughter. It made sense. In the short time I had known him I had learned how much he loved a brawl.

My grin grew wider as I let out a chuckle. Two more people advanced on me, one launching nen throwing knives at me as they ran. I dodged out of the way as I gleefully swung my blade in their direction. A wave of energy swept out with the arc of my swing, cutting one of the people in half while the one with the knives jumped gracefully over. I noticed that my attack had killed two other people behind my most recent attackers.

He dodged a few more of my swings, now a bit too up close and personal for my blade to be of much use to me anymore. I dodged a fistfull of knives as I swapped my blade back out for Killua's Dagger. I swiped at the man, but he dodged out of the way, immediately back on the offensive.

'I'm at a disadvantage.'

I didn't have a weapon that was good against this many individual knives. My dagger wasn't cutting it. He was gripping several of them in both hands like some kind of knifey version of brass knuckles. I never should have let him get up close. My smile slowly faded as I forced myself to focus.

'Note to self. Get stab resistant gloves.' My skin might be resistant to most cuts, but Nen affected the equation too much to simply let him get a blow in.

Medical supplies were almost impossible to get a hold of here. I couldn't afford an injury.

I deflected one of his blows with my dagger, causing sparks to fly off of our respective weapons. He threw a punch which I blocked by meeting his arm with my right arm while swiping at his shoulder with my dagger in my left. My dagger sunk into his flesh as I brought it into a downward swipe, which he responded to by headbutting my forehead.

I stumbled back slightly, taking my knife with me, giving him all the opening he needed to land a kick to my stomach. It suddenly hurt to breath, but I pushed on as he launched at me again. I dodged to the side, trying to circle behind him to get a clean hit, but he responded immediately. It was a little weird to be on the defensive as much as I was. The rhythm of the battle was now entirely in his favor. That was a dangerous thing for me to have allowed to happen. My face reddened slightly as I berated myself internally.

I had gotten a clean hit on his shoulder. I just had to run him out of energy.

I leaned back, narrowly avoiding getting stabbed in the face. This put me off balance, something that he immediately took advantage of by sweeping my legs right out from under me. I landed on my back.

I quickly went to regain my footing, but he was already going in for the kill. I had to settle for just sitting up. I swapped out my dagger for Grandfather's Violin, using it to hold his knives at bay. The violin had more surface area. I grimaced at his grin as he pushed harder against my violin. He leaned over me ominously.

My mind was going a million miles a minutes as I tried to think of what I was going to do. Blood from his shoulder wound was dripping onto me, irritating me. Right as I had made the decision to kick him in the balls, the pressure lessened. My attacker's eyes were wide with shock. I glanced down and recognized the sword through his torso as Nobunaga's. My attacker was pushed off of me, and I registered that the fight was over.

The rest of the Troupe was staring at me as I remained sitting on the ground, my eyes wide.

'What just happened? I could have handled it! I would have been fine! I was losing? Nobu saved me? I didn't need to be saved!' It had been looking dicey, but I was handling it! I was fine!

Chrollo began walking over to me.

'No, please. Don't come over here.'

I flinched and closed my eyes as he stopped in front of me, expecting the worst. I could already practically hear him.

'Don't fail again. Next time we won't help you.'

'You should be ashamed of yourself.'

'Disgraceful.'

I kept my eyes shut as I awaited the verbal and likely physical blow that would undoubtedly accompany my failure. After a few seconds of nothing, I opened one eye before my other flew open.

In front of my face was an outstretched palm.

'He's...helping me up?'

If he noticed my hand shaking a bit as I took his, he didn't say anything. Instead, he just pulled me to my feet.

"Are you alright?" He asked, staring at me.

I blinked. "You...aren't mad?" I looked around at all the members of the Troupe. None of them seemed particularly angry.

Uvo was the one who answered. "Are you kidding?! You killed plenty!"

"It looked like a bad matchup." Paku affirmed.

"Tch." Feitan just made a noise like he was annoyed with me for even asking.

I furrowed my eyebrows at them all. "I...am confused."

"Don't be. We won." Machi stated simply, walking over to me.

"Yeah! Let's celebrate!" Uvo exclaimed, slinging an arm over my shoulder as he started walking me away from all the corpses. The others quickly followed suit, all talking and laughing while I just stared at them with obvious bewilderment.

'Is this...normal?'

Having almost lost that fight, I started training harder than ever. I had been slacking recently. That was why I had been so unprepared for a fight. It was pathetic. Or maybe people in Meteor City were just unreasonably strong. Regardless, I couldn't afford to be weak.

Looking back, my opponent shouldn't have been strong enough to even touch me, let alone have me on the ropes. There was something wrong with me. There had to be.

I was getting soft.

It was for these reasons that I elected to ask Feitan to torture me. I was getting soft. Torture training would help, I was certain of it.

However, when I asked, Feitan just looked at me while squinting. "Why?"

I shrugged. "I've been getting soft. Slacking. It's what we do in my family when someone messes up. Makes us stronger."

He stared at me for another second. "Why?"

I blinked at him. "It's torture training." While I registered that normal people didn't really...do torture training, I didn't think the concept would be so foreign to somebody from Meteor City.

I didn't even think he was really surprised. Actually, I couldn't read him at all at the moment.

"You did that a lot?" He asked.

I bristled. "No! I never used to mess up!" It was true. I had always fought so hard for my family's approval, I almost never made a mistake. I couldn't afford to, especially after Killua was born.

"No. Tortured." He clarified.

"Oh." I furrowed my eyebrows. "Well, yes. It hardens our bodies. Makes us more resistant to pain. I've been going through torture training since I was little."

Feitan considered this before nodding. "You don't need anymore. Maybe you had too much."

"Too much?"

"They went overboard."

I squinted at him. "How?"

"You handle pain fine."

"That's true, but-"

"Better to be holding the blade."

Well. I couldn't disagree with that.

I was lounging on the same couch that Feitan had been on when I first met him, staring aimlessly at the shoddy ceiling. Chrollo was reading a book on a beat up loveseat across the room.

"This is dull." I commented drily.

"What do you want?" Chrollo responded. I listened to him turn a page.

"A will to live."

"Haha." Another page was turned.

"I miss electricity." I stated. I had been thinking about home more and more lately. I wanted to go back there so badly. And the food here was terrible. I missed Killua...I missed Mom and Dad...a ridiculous part of me even missed Illumi.

I didn't miss Milluki. Well, maybe a little.

Chrollo didn't respond. He had heard me complain about the lack of electricity before. He probably thought that I was a spoiled brat. He was probably right, too. I had never known hardship like these guys had.

I missed Grandpa.

I vaguely registered a bit of moisture gathering in my eyes. "I miss my books."

I heard Chrollo's book shut. I continued staring at the ceiling as I heard him approach.

"You can have this one." Chrollo said.

I turned my head to see him holding out the book he was reading. "Chrollo, that's your favorite."

"I've read it." He responded.

"I can't just-"

"It's your's."

The two of us stared at each other for a moment before I sighed and took it out of his hand. I studied the cover as he returned to his seat.

My lips twitched as I fought a smile. "Thank you, Chrollo."

"I'm excited to discuss it with you."

"I'll let you know when I finish it."

It was nice to have lunch that I didn't have to cook. Paku had made it. I had found the two of them, and they offered to have me join them for lunch.

I was having fun.

"This tastes surprisingly good." I commented as I ate.

"Should I be offended?" Paku asked with a bemused expression.

"She's insulting you." Machi stated.

I looked up, panicking. "Wait, I-" then I realized that from her face that she was just teasing me. "Machi!"

She responded with a laugh. "Sorry, sorry."

"But why are you surprised?" Paku asked again.

"I haven't had anything decent to eat since I got here." I told them.

"What, haven't you been cooking?" Machi asked.

I paused in my eating. "I uh...I never cooked before I got here."

Paku's eyes were wide. "Not once?"

"Never in my life." I admitted.

"...How are you still alive?!" Machi exclaimed.

"You don't know how to cook at all?" Paku verified.

I shook my head. "I've just kind of been throwing food on fire?"

The two of them looked at each other for a moment before they burst into hysterical laughter.

It was strange, 2 months ago I would have been bothered by their laughter. Instead I just kept eating my food.

#Ivela Zoldyck #The Virtuoso #Hunter x Hunter #Chrollo x reader #Chrollo x oc

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matan4il · 4 years

Note

Heyy I'm that anon about 3.9 Also sorry for the misunderstanding ig? But both of you do such an amazing job together especially the 3.12 meta!! Gave me so many insights. Ig what I was looking for was the 'flirt'ing aka talk thing that happened between buck and Eddie in the kitchen.. WHat was THaT. Omg yayy. Cannot wait to read all that you've written about 3a and 3b. :))

Hi Nonnie and yay, glad to hear from you! :D And don’t worry about it because yes, @riarklus really does an amazing job with the gifs, she’s so freaking talented and our fandom is so much better for having her in it. I’m forever hearteyes over her creations! <333

I am so happy you liked the 312 meta post, I can’t repeat that enough. One of my faves! Any insight I may have, it’s my pleasure to share with you! xoxox

So if you check out AO3, you’ll see my old meta was divided into 33 parts and I just checked, what I had to say about 309 was in parts 29 & 30, which means it’ll take me a while to get to re-posting them on AO3. I do have links for where I originally posted these, which is Twitter and I can link you to those if you’d like me to.

But honestly, there IS NO REASONABLE HETEROSEXUAL EXPLANATION. I mean, yes, there is, kinda, if you tilt your head and squint twice. Eddie is upset, Buck is his friend, Buck wants to cheer him up, Buck suggests playing video games to distract Eddie from his pain. So far, so heterosexually good. But it’s really in the way that he does it, isn’t it? It’s his body language - the little strut over to Eddie, the invasion of his personal space, Buck’s hand on his belt buckle, the slight thrust of his hips forward, the way he plays with his head movements and tone (I swear, I compared it with the way Buck uses those when he flirts with Taylor Kelly and it’s the same freaking body language to the T, including the supposedly-bashful little look down and then back up again). It’s all so freaking flirtatious, I’m shocked these two are still oblivious morons. And then you have Eddie’s reaction which, you know. If this is just bros being dudes, he should be able to verbally react freely, but his reaction, especially at the end, is basically one long *gulp*. There’s tension there and you can cut it with a knife and not even the knife is heterosexual anymore, since these two are so bi for each other.

And then if you wanna talk about the emotional significance of this scene, it’s so loaded, too! Buck sees Eddie as being someone that he needs to be there to save, and he insists on apologizing again when Eddie isn’t used to being treated like that. Shannon never apologized, just demanded to know when she’d be forgiven, yet here is Buck, apologizing not once, but twice, even after being forgiven. His strength in being able to do this is so breathtaking in this scene. Also, I think after 315, after we have a better understanding of how destructive Eddie’s parents have been for his self confidence (and they never apologized either as far as we know), it makes Buck’s insistence on showing Eddie how much he matters even more meaningful and beautiful. Eddie keeps feeling like he’s a failure, like he’s not enough, with Shannon, in Afghanistan, with Chris... But to Buck, he is more than important enough to do this for. And Eddie is so emotional about this whole thing that he really can’t react normally, he can only resort to deflecting quips and long silences and sipping on his beer thinking of Buck’s kissable lips. Not to mention, what Buck is offering ends up being exactly what he needs. It’s not just a game night, not just a distraction from the pain, it’s a sense of home and family and belonging and love and being seen and cared about. It’s a moment Eddie treasures so much, it’s one of those that play out in his mind as he’s drowning and it helps give him the will to go on fighting in order to get back to that family. It’s amazing.

OMG, Nonnie. I apologize, this answer is a mess! But so am I, every time I think of that unbelievable kitchen scene. I hope it gave you some satisfaction anyway! Feel free to let me know. xox

#Anonymous #ask #Buddie #buddie meta #911 #911 meta #anon ask #anon #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

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sonicrainicorn · 5 years

Text

Made of Love, Chapter 15

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Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Virgil finds out some things that may help out Logan, but it seems too good to be true.

TW: Cursing

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Virgil was going to punch something.

Maybe a wall, maybe someone’s face, maybe even the goddamn sun. He felt as if he had to. Logan continued to refuse to tell anyone about his problem, and at this point, Virgil was keeping it a secret just for pleasantries. But that was starting to wear thin. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to tell Patton. It was the right thing to do -- Logan was just being stubborn. And a maniac.

Honestly, he wasn’t fooling anybody. Anyone who knew him would be able to tell that something was up. It wasn’t something easy to pin down, but one could see that he wasn’t the same. Even if they weren’t that familiar with him.

And yet nothing was done about it. The three people in the whole, wide world who knew a thing about it, did absolutely nothing. Thomas and Patton continued to be out of the loop, having questions but never getting answers. It was awful. It brought Virgil closer and closer to his breaking point because this whole thing was just ridiculous.

“We have to do something.” Virgil stopped in front of Roman during a brief break in the busy demand of drinks. The bar was the one place they could talk in private. As ironic as that seemed.

Roman stopped messing with his empty shot glass to look up at Virgil. “About what?”

“About the suicidal maniac at home.”

“Oof. You still on that?” He put his head in his hand. “He’s not gonna change his mind. I think he would have to literally be dying to even consider saying anything.”

Virgil hated how right that was. “We can’t just stand back from it. He’s being a stubborn idiot. Doesn’t that frustrate you?”

“That’s always frustrated me about him. I’d say I’d know that better than anyone, but Patton’s dealt with him for over two hundred years, so.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “What are we supposed to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“You know, you’re really hot when you’re all riled up.”

Virgil scowled. “You make me want to punch your teeth in.”

“That’s kinky.” A lazy grin slid across his face.

He resisted the overwhelming urge to break a glass over Roman’s head. “Stop trying to deflect issues by making innuendos.”

“That’s literally how I got through the entirety of my adolescence.”

The urge was strong, but he couldn’t go through with it. Not in public. “We have to come to some sort of consensus on this. A final decision or something. Literally anything. Because he obviously can’t be trusted with his own life and we’re the only other two people that know.”

Roman dropped his hand. “He’s magic-less, Virge. We can’t just fix that.”

“Then we tell Patton. Or find Altair ourselves.”

“Do you honestly think two humans would be able to find a spooky wizard man when the actual magic users can’t even do it?”

Virgil tried to hold onto that thin thread of confidence, but it fell from his grasp. He deflated with a heavy sigh. “No. But I’m just worried, and frustrated, and --” he let out an aggravated groan -- “I hate keeping secrets. Especially something that’s as big as this.”

“You’re worrying too much. It’s out of our control.”

“But it’s exactly in our control. We can tell Patton at any time.”

Roman paused as if to mull over the words. “Okay. How 'bout this -- the next time we see him glitching out, we tell Patton. We don’t promise him anything, and we don’t let him stop us. Sound good?”

That was a start.

Most of the night passed as it normally did. Roman ended up finding a pen and some napkins to play games with Virgil anytime he wasn’t busy. They played four rounds of tic-tac-toe, more rounds than necessary of dots and boxes, one round of Pictionary, and now they were on hangman. It wasn’t how they normally passed the time together, but it seemed to be waning down the intensity of their previous conversation. So that was a plus. Also, Virgil didn't have alcohol clouding his judgment so he won most of the games. That made things a lot more fun.

Two hours until closing, Jamahl came up to the bar in uncertainty. "Hey, uh, Virgil?” He drummed his fingers against the counter. “There's a guy over there that wants to see you." He motioned over to one of the booths.

Virgil frowned. "Does he have a name?" He didn't see any faces he recognized. The pens in his pockets felt a lot more prominent.

"Don't know. He didn't say anything other than needing to see you."

He shared a glance with Roman. Confusion passed between them as well as uncertainty. "I'll check it out. Thanks."

Jamahl left with a nod of his head.

“You’re not actually going over there are you?” Roman set down his pen to give Virgil his full attention. “We don’t know who he is. Or if he’s human. He could be anything.”

“Right. So you’re gonna watch my back.” He looped around from behind the bar, leaving Roman gaping in his seat. "The answer's Prince Phillip, by the way."

He couldn't hold back a smirk at Roman's astonished mumble, "Why are you so good at this?"

He walked along the booths and took note of the people still in the building. Many of them were in groups; friends having a good time out for once. Very few were drunk. He slowed to a stop at a booth with only one person. A man lazily playing with a fork and zero interest in anything around him. He didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the patrons.

Once the man noticed Virgil staring, he looked up. A slow smile stretched along his face. Not a Figment, then. "I heard you're looking for Altair."

Virgil slipped a hand in his pocket. "Says who?"

"Says a lot of people. But more specifically, you did."

Oh, shit, he did. Maybe talking out in the open about magic wasn't the smartest thing to do. Virgil wasn't the only person in the world good at eavesdropping. "Okay. So why does that matter to you?" He slid into the seat across from the man.

"It doesn't, really, but I do happen to have a conscience. And that means I can't go on unless I tell you what I know."

"How is it that you know anything?"

He set the fork down and placed his hands together. "I guess you can call me a theorist of sorts. I figure out things so other people don't have to." He winked.

Virgil didn't find it amusing. "So what does that have to do with me?" He moved the pen out onto his lap, twisting it between his fingers.

"I have things that you want -- well, one thing. Altair's location."

He placed his elbow on the table top without stopping the pen from moving. “How can you know that? No one knows that.”

“Correction: no one wants you to know that. Anyone who does know is saving their own skin.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “Then why would you say anything? What makes you so different than anyone else?”

He smirked a bit, but maybe that was his version of a smile. “It’s my job. If someone needs something found out, then I go through the efforts of getting all the information I can. Now, you didn’t request my services but I feel you need my help. I have a hunch that you’re on a bit of a time limit.”

“Then get on with it.” Almost as if on impulse, Virgil stopped and clicked the pen. Instead of a dagger, however, the ballpoint tip poked out like it was a normal pen.

“Don’t brandish a weapon in public,” Thomas’s voice hissed at him.

Right. That wouldn’t have been smart. The muffled sound of the voices around them was a gentle reminder that they weren’t alone for this discussion. All it would take was one glance in their direction to see a dangerous weapon out in the open. There was no way he’d be able to explain that.

The Theorist didn’t seem all that impressed. “Why don’t we put the pen down?” He pushed Virgil’s hand down to the table with a finger.

Virgil scowled, clicking the pen and putting it back in his pocket. “How am I supposed to know if I can trust you?”

“Oh, you don’t --” Virgil was about ready to leave without a second glance back -- “but is that a chance you’re willing to take? Do you honestly think Logan will last until you get a lead of your own?”

Virgil stared at him in shock. “How the hell do you know about Logan?”

He placed a finger to his smirking lips. “I have to keep some of my secrets.” He dropped the act, suddenly taking on a serious tone. “Do you want the info or not?”

Virgil pursed his lips. If this was a trick, he’d be putting everyone in danger by saying yes. If it wasn’t, he’d run the risk of killing Logan by saying no. Either decision had a dangerous consequence. “What’s the catch?”

“There isn’t one. Maybe let me know the conclusion to your story. I do appreciate a good ending.” He offered out his hand.

Fuck it. “Fine.” Virgil shook it to seal the deal. “Tell me everything you know.”

So Virgil listened. The Theorist explained how Altair nearly perfected the art of hiding away. Nearly, but not quite. He most often stuck to less populated areas. Which, as time marched on, became harder to find. He was left sticking to places that people abandoned. And that’s where he was now. In an old, run-down building off of Hazelnut and Terrace. Just right outside their little city of Balledo.

“It shouldn’t be hard to miss, but I’d watch out for anything. I hear he doesn’t take kindly to intruders.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He slid out of the booth to head back over to the bar. “Thanks or whatever.”

“Charming,” the Theorist muttered. “Oh, and Virgil,” Virgil froze. He didn’t recall ever saying his name, “watch out for that little boy, would you? He seems to get into a lot of trouble.”

Virgil didn’t have a verbal response to that. He continued on his way as if he hadn’t heard it at all. But he couldn’t pretend he didn't hear it even if he wanted to. It almost sounded like a warning -- a certainty. Like he knew something Virgil didn't.

"What happened? What did he do? Are you okay?" Roman didn't wait to bombard Virgil with questions. He even stopped him before he got behind the bar.

“I’m gonna need you to tone it down real quick.” He returned Roman down into his seat. “I’m fine. We just talked -- he said he had information for me.”

“What kind of information?”

“Where Altair is.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Like actually? He knows where he is?”

“That’s what he said.” He frowned a bit. “I don’t know how reliable that is, though. Patton and Logan have been searching forever with no sign of him, but suddenly this guy knows where to look? Seems a bit suspicious.”

Roman frowned as well. “Then what are we supposed to do? This is the closest we’ve gotten yet -- are we just gonna pass it up? Logan’s not gonna last forever.”

“I know. We just -- we just need someone to know if this is true. We have to ask someone else.”

They didn’t talk about it for the rest of the night. Not even on the car ride back home. They let it hang in the air over them, constant ‘what-if’ scenarios playing out in their heads.

Once they stepped into the house, they stopped in their tracks. One light was on in the living room. Thomas sat on the floor, a canvas in front of him and a paintbrush in his hand. It looked like he was struggling to stay awake. His palette carried a mix of dark colors which translated onto the canvas as that cloaked figure in the grass as before, though this time it appeared more completed. There were five purple hyacinths -- a flower with clusters of star-shaped petals -- but the one the figure touched was starting to wilt. Its fingers transformed the deep purple of the petals into a murky brown.

"Hey, kid," Virgil said in a low voice as he took a seat on the couch. He vaguely registered Roman heading off to his room. It became a sort of unspoken agreement that Virgil would be the one to talk to Thomas whenever they found him up late. "Whatcha up to?"

Thomas blinked a few times. "Painting."

"Really? Kind of seemed like you were falling asleep."

He yawned. "No."

Virgil couldn't help the small smile that twitched at his lips. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Painting."

"I see that. But you should be in bed. It's late and you look exhausted."

Thomas waved a hand as if to dismiss such an idea. "It's only two AM. I can handle staying up later." Despite his words, he rubbed his eye, and ended up smearing black paint underneath it.

"It's almost three, kid."

"What?" He looked over to the digital clock beneath the TV. Sure enough, the time was a lot closer to three than it was to two. "Oh, man. I guess I have been up for a while."

"What's keeping you up?" Virgil let his eyes wander over the canvas. It was a rather dreary painting if he were to be honest.

Thomas shrugged. "Just needed to do something." He ran the brush up and down the palette, leaving a dark streak in its wake.

Right away Virgil could tell something was wrong. Like an innate instinct that pulled at his stomach. "Is there something on your mind?"

"I've just… I've been thinking."

"About what?"

He dropped the brush and sighed. A heavy and sad sound. "Logan's been hiding something. I know he has. But he doesn't want to tell me." He occupied himself with his hands by peeling off the dried up paint that dotted them. "And I know that you and Roman know, too," Virgil felt his stomach drop, "but I don't want to hear it from you. I want Logan to tell me."

"Why's that? You could easily ask either of us and we'd tell you."

"I know Logan almost as well as Patton. He wouldn't want you to say anything." Virgil had to agree. "And it's not the point. If he were to tell me, it would be straight from the source without any of your filters. Except he's never going to tell me no matter how many times I ask." He stopped messing with his hands. "He still thinks of me as a little kid. He treats me like I'm still five years old and I can't handle anything. I'm almost a hundred. I'm not that immature, am I?"

"Of course not. But… you are a kid, Thomas. You're his kid. He doesn't want to upset you."

"And keeping things from me is supposed to make that better?" He frowned at Virgil. His eyes were starting to water. "It's something big. It has to be. Why else would he keep it from Patton, too?"

Virgil hesitated. There was a chance it made Thomas feel better. "Maybe it won't be an issue anymore."

Thomas furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I may have found out where Altair is. And that might help his problem."

His eyes widened. "For real?"

"Maybe. I don't know if the person who told me can be trusted."

"Who told you?" Before Virgil could even open his mouth, Thomas continued, "no. Wait. Don't say anything. I know exactly who we have to ask." He paused. "Maybe when it's a normal time. I don't think they'd want to be woken up in the middle of the night."

"I guess that means you should head to bed, then."

"I am ninety-four years old. You're not the boss of me." He rubbed his eyes again. "But on an unrelated note, I will be heading up to my room after I clean up."

Virgil shook his head with a fond smile. "Don't forget to wash your face. You look like a raccoon."

The next morning, Virgil woke up at the ungodly hour of 8:30 AM. That shouldn't have been a real time. He would have stayed in bed if someone didn't open up the curtains to let all the awful sun in. He let out a mixture of a groan and a whine as he tried to block it out with his blankets. It didn't work.

"Come on, Virgil." Thomas shook his shoulder. "We gotta go see Joan and Talyn so you can tell them who you saw. We'll be back before you know it."

Virgil pulled down the blanket enough to scowl, though in his groggy state it might have come across as a pout. "This is my sleeping time. I have work tonight. Which, in case you didn't notice, requires me to stay up late."

"You can sleep when we get back." He yanked off the blankets.

Virgil groaned in loud and obvious annoyance but rolled out of bed anyway. After a slight wardrobe change, they were on their way.

"Going to Joan's with Virgil, be back as soon as possible," Thomas mentioned in passing to Patton and Logan.

"Before breakfast?" Patton asked from the stove.

The mention of food made Virgil's mouth water despite rarely ever eating breakfast in his life.

"Save us some," was Thomas's response.

"Don't tell Roman I'm taking his car," Virgil called back as he grabbed the keys. "I don't want to deal with his whining when I'm sleeping later." Then they left.

They hopped up the front steps to a familiar little house in a sleepy neighborhood. Virgil still felt like staying in bed was a better option. He didn’t know how Thomas could be so awake. He didn’t know how anyone could be so awake. It was exhausting to think about.

That thought only tripled in his mind upon seeing Joan having no trouble at such an early hour in the morning. Well, early to Virgil at least. Far too early.

“So what’s up?” Joan asked as they all sat down in the living room. Talyn was already there with a little dog in their lap. Sephone wasn’t anywhere to be seen, which made Virgil on edge.

“We need you to fact check some things,” Thomas explained. "Virgil met someone who thinks they know where Altair is."

"Who was it?"

Virgil snapped out of his nervous scanning of the room to process the words that were spoken to him. "Uh, I never figured out his name. He referred to himself as a theorist, I think."

"Wait -- a theorist? Or the Theorist?" Talyn questioned.

"Um. I don't really know." He pulled his hoodie sleeves down to cover part of his palms. "He said he figured things out so people don't have to if that helps."

Talyn thought for a moment. "Sounds like him."

"Who's him?" Thomas looked at them in confusion.

"I would also like to know about this mysterious guy you know so much about," Joan added.

Talyn ignored the obvious teasing in favor of laying down some exposition. "They call him the Theorist, but that's all anyone really knows about him. He's like an urban legend, really. Just a name whispered around when you need to know something you probably shouldn't. He's a Seer, I think."

"What's a Seer?" Virgil asked.

"Someone who can see the future," Thomas explained. "But, like, they can just do it themselves. They don't need a spell or mystic object or anything. They can also look into the past if they want. Logan's sister was a Seer, actually --"

"We don't need a history lesson at this exact second, Thomas," Joan said.

Virgil felt as if he needed one. How long has Logan had a sister?

"Right. Uh, so does that mean we can trust what he says?"

Talyn pondered the question for a moment. "From what I've heard, he usually gives out genuine information. Sometimes what he says isn't always true, but that's a rare circumstance. I think I've only met one person who's complained about him. He's a pretty chill guy."

"What are the chances he's given us the right information?" Virgil grimaced. He jumped at the feeling of something in his lap. One of Sephone's heads looked up at him with puppy eyes. For a big dog, she was rather sneaky.

"Nine out of ten?" Talyn shrugged. "I've only ever heard stories, but he never tries to trick anyone. He genuinely likes helping people."

"That sounds like a good sign." Thomas grinned.

Maybe it did. But Virgil couldn't find anything to celebrate about. The Theorist could see into the future -- he had a natural ability to do so -- which meant that the warning he gave Virgil shouldn’t be taken lightly. He knew more than he was saying. And Virgil didn’t want to experience it first hand.

(Next)

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #joan #talyn #logicality #platonic prinxiety #coinverse

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anonil88 · 6 years

Text

Loyal Lines, Loyal Stunts (wayhaught college au) : Chapter 6

Notes: So i did an update and I am leaving for a funeral, but i am going to try and update a few chapters before i do that plane flying thing.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16373183/chapters/38681555#workskin

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13091723/6/Loyal-Lines-Loyal-Stunts

Tw: for cursing (its wynonna) and verbal abuse (oh willa) Also two things: Pinwear day are special days designated by your greek organization where you have to wear your groups pin and dress in business casual wear. Flashbacks, memories, and lyrics are italicized; Text messages are bolded.

Waverly woke up yet, again alone. Well not completely Vanessa, her roommate, lurked into their room early in the morning. She tried not to think too much about the day prior and didn't even check her phone. A part of her was racked with worry that Nicole wouldn’t even message her after the yesterday. She knew that Nicole was worrying about her and wondering if she was okay and likely wonder why exactly she walked up to the revenants unscathed. Ignoring the thought Waverly tried to get through the day without dwelling too much about what she could not fix and what she knew would eventually have happened. She knew eventually she would have to face the skeletons in her closet sooner or later. Despite the inner turmoil she was facing she made everything seem normal for everyone around her. She upped her normal pristine image it being pinwear day gave her an excuse to dress up. She wore her hair pin straight and her pink turtleneck with a pair of loose black pants. Waverly woke up extra early just to put the effort into the silkiness of her long brown tressles. Wynonna would be proud at the hair maintenance skills she donned from her. Her too long tan coat was not dragging on the ground due to a pair of her favorite heeled boots. She dug the boots from the bin in the bottom of her small dorm closet filled with things from her home in purgatory. When she fished them out of the container she also stumbled upon a dirty wrinkled leather vest. Unfolding the vest she sat on her rug gazing at the object with lost eyes. The vest’s back was partially covered in a single faded off white bottom banner. The banner was clinging to the vest with thick black thread and a leather epoxy that still faintly smelled of burning rubber. That smell reminded her of the rotating wheels of a big wheel Dyna pulling at freshly laid asphalt. Blue stitching was fraying underneath Waverly’s fingers as she traced over the letters. The letters were coming undone but still read out angel face in a thick scripted font. Waverly's alarm tone and a groaning fast asleep Nessa shook her from her memories. She shoved the vest back under the mountain of shoes that desperately needed to be sorted through. These boots that clicked against classroom floors made her slightly taller but not as tall as Nicole. In her mind she wondered if she would be tall enough to rest her forehead to Nicole’s without having the taller girl lean down for her.There i go again she internally chastised. Besides the revenant business Nicole also filled her mind. It wasn't just then as she left the dorm Nicole also invaded her thoughts all day. Even when she was getting compliments left and right in between tutoring and mandatory workshops she thought of what her friend was up to. In the middle of her busy schedule she never did get to message her about if she was okay after everything. She felt worse about that then when Champ surprised her in the history building hallway. He was wrapping his burly frame around her from behind and she prayed it was Nicole. But, it wasn't and she let him annoy her while she printed off copies for a tutee. Waverly texted Nicole but the conversation was awkward. Even more so after Nicole asked if she was doing any better for the 10th time.

Nicole

If you are okay, are we just not going to talk about the pink elephant?

Waverly

What elephant?

Nicole

(-_-) okay then i guess if that is how you want to be.

Waverly

Im sorry. I guess i just want to forget that it ever happened?

Nicole

Ok, but would you want to file a police report to feel better?

But, Waverly made sure to decline. A report would only escalate the lingering situation from a possibility to catastrophic inevitability. She was sitting in a large upholstered chair in the student center, as she thought back to her stop on the police talk. One thing Waverly would never be, on purpose, was a tattle tale or a narc no matter what her elder sisters might refute. Especially Willa, Willa who she tried to stuff so far in her mind that her stomach churned at the thought of her name. While physically Waverly seemed to be stoic as she let the chair swallow her, her mind went to her dark place. The sound of lightning clapped against the sunny and cloud covered sky. A storm was churning passed the mountains in the far distance the gray and black peaks creeping towards Purgatory.

“You ruined everything, you always ruin everything,” Willa spat at a frightened six year old Waverly. Waverly was tucked behind a rickety wooden sitting chair in the homestead’s kitchen.

Her small hands trembled and her eyes grew puffy hoping this chair could block the storm growing in her sister. She had a clear shot of Willas face, contorted with anger and raging irises burning past the chair frame. Their eyes were always so similar but, Willa always carried a deep resentment in her own. Waverly hoped that the chair would deflect the words being hurled her way or at least the stinging slaps that could follow. Their father, Ward, was dragging Willa’s latest older boy toy down the dirt driveway of their home. Leading the boy no doubt to where his parents beat up minivan was parked in the driveway. The girls were left home alone while Ward attempted to play sheriff half sober. These days he had been doing a worse job than usual as the drinking was getting worse. When he came home early for lunch and caught Willa necking said boy in her room the blame fell on Waverly at least from Willa’s perspective. No matter how many times she protested and Wy backed her up Willa was upset. No she was livid. Willa grasped one of wards almost empty small bottles of whiskey. She downed the small amount left and hurled the bottle in Waverly's direction. Twelve almost Thirteen year old Willa was every inch of her daddys image. The wicked words and the bullheaded stubbornness. One thing they all inherited was his fight versus flight instincts. Waverly ducked the shattering glass and sobbed outloud. “Please Willa i promise,” Waverly’s squeaking voice cried out. “Always crying like a baby, that’s how i know YOU aren’t my sister, YOU cry too much.” Willa cut her sister off. She was taunting Waverly by circling the table after her. Waverly didn’t know why but her sister seemed so much bigger and far scarier than any other time before this. Little did baby Waverly know that things would only get so much worse the year after. Wynonna had stepped in once she hid the guns they kept in the house from their dad. She was sure he would have killed that 15 year old for messing with his 12 year old, drunk or not. Wynonna began pulling Willa to sit in the living room forcibly trying to put some distance between her sisters.

Willa continued to jire, “She's not our blood Nonna. She is just some half breed that momma had and now we have to put up with.” Waverly curled herself into a ball and waited to hear Willa running out of the house. A loud bang of the front door slamming confirmed what always would happen. When Wynonna returned to the kitchen she grabbed a dusty old broom and pan to collect the glass on the floor inches from her shuttering sister. Waverly was panting and crumpled under that wooden chair it did protect her. After sweeping the shards and sitting them far away from drunk old men and clumsy kids Wynonna huddled next to her baby sister. “Don’t listen to her she’s wicked when she’s mad.” Wynonna attempted to coax her sister from under the chair. Waverly, then sniffling, made her way onto her sisters lap. Wynonna tousled the little girls growing mane, “You know you are the best Earp because your better than us. Stay better baby girl.”

Wynonna was so young trying to hold it together. Trying so hard to maintain the insanity until it happened. The incident that changed so much for the Earp name and how people viewed their family was on the horizon, but none of them knew that then. Waverly loved Wynonna but, feared Willa even when they eventually reconnected. Time would help her forgive but Waverly could never forget the way her heart sank when Willa’s voice echoed in her ears. When Ward did enter the house again he just pulled a bottle of whiskey from his coat pocket. He sat in the same chair he always did and drank away. Waverly wondered if he even could hear her sobs or even cared about her whether she was his or not.

It was good that the recounted memory was fading and the color was coming back to her face, because when she looked up Wynonna was striding towards her seat. Waverly smiled as her sister clad in a fringe leather jacket, spandex jeans, and a lasagna del ray shirt sauntered in front of her. Wynonna sent finger guns Waverly’s direction when she was close enough to see her sister’s lopsided smile. Waverly returned the motion and Wy sat on the ottoman in front of her. There were a few wide eyed boys in the student center and a few concerned gazes from professors on break. No matter how many times her sister visited campus she always seemed to get odd stairs.

“Heyyy baby girl you look...nice,” Wynonna said raising her eyebrow.

Waverly shook her head and closed the book in her lap placing it in her bag, “It is just pinwear day Wy i have to look nice.”

“Nah Earp i have seen you on other cult days and this is a whole nother level.” Wynonna waggled her eyebrows, “ You got a hot date.” “Yea sure i am blowing off our talk off to get lucky with the guy of my dreams,” Waverly joked back. “Or girl, which is fine by me,” Wynonna interjected loudly receiving and playful slap from her younger sister. “Where is Officer Ginger these days Waves.” Waverly sighed, “Well that is kind of why i need to talk to you.” Wynonna’s eyes got wider. “No, not for advice it has to do with what i texted you,” Waverly quickly replied. “Right, Rev scum party of three,” Wynonna muttered as she fiddled with a charm on Waverly’s bookbag. A group of girls all dressed in similar clothes filed out of the dining hall and others started to pour in from the external doors. Wynonna grimaced, “Look waves your cult of Heathers’ has arrived to indoctrinate you.” “Ha ha,” Waverly fake laughed as she made her way over to some of her fellow sigmas. They all stood against the largest open wall in the student center and proceeded to make pose after pose after pose. There was a flash with every position as a tall fraternity member was taking each photo with a plastered puppy dog grin on his face. Wynonna stared at the event like it was the prohibition era and bottles of whiskey were being poured into a river. Horror oh the sheer horror, she never understood why Waverly would join the group. Then again Wynonna never really found herself wanting to assimilate into normalcy for or with anyone. When Waverly was finished talking and returned, Wynonna was standing making googly eyes at a very familiar football coach. Waverly groaned and slipped her bag on before dragging her sister outside. “Call me later Xavier,” Wynonna said a bit too seductively for Waverly’s comfort as they passed him on the way out. He smiled in her direction and Wynonna’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Really Wynonna,” Waverly silently judged and chastised her sister but was inwardly kind of happy that Wynonna was in her usual swing of affairs. “Oh don’t get your panties in a bunch. He is actually kind of cool,” Wynonna said as she rounded the old red jeep and hopped in the passenger seat. Waverly had slipped into the driver’s side Wynonna’s keychain dangling on her fingertips as she slid the key inside and turned over the ignition. The jeep stalled with a stuttering puff after a coaxing coo and tap on the hood from both sisters the engine turned over. Waverly pulled out of the teacher/visitors lot and started her way back to Wynonna’s place. The car ride was filled with a bit of blaring rock and roll as they took to the freeway. The song switched as Waverly took their exit and a familiar song hit Waverly’s ears. Wynonna started to choppily belt out; Saturday night I was downtown Working for the F.B.I. Sitting in a nest of bad men Whiskey bottles piling high Boot legging boozer on the west side Full of people who are doing wrong Just about to call up the D.A. man When I heard this woman singing a song. Waverly chimed in with her sister, actually keeping on note with the radio playing Long Cool Woman by The Hollies. They finished the song just as Waverly stopped the car in front of a slightly dilapidated apartment complex. Wynonna stepped out and led them both upstairs, they passed the old but reliable chopped silver yamaha xs650 parked under a crooked tree. The bike had seen better days but the shiny extended handlebars glimmered in the cloudy sunlight. It was nicknamed peacemaker after the similar looking revolver that Wynonna kept on her person at all times. That gun had saved both sisters many many times and deserved to be commemorated in some way. When they were both sprawled on Wynonna’s beat up leather each sipping on a beer Wy broke the unspoken tension. “What happened babygirl,” Wynonna’s voice was filled with concern. Waverly sat up straighter against the couch arm holding the glass bottle with both hands. Her line of vision peering into the light brown bitter brew. The inside of her lip was being tugged by her teeth as she formed her thoughts. Wynonna was patient and just watched her little sister until she was ready to speak. The ticking of a clock on the wall reminding them both that time was still passing in the silence. Waverly took another sip of her beer before recounting yesterday to her sister, when she got to the part where she was sitting in Nicole’s car she hesitated. Her sister did not like cops of any kind and she knew Wynonna would not be too ecstatic that Waverly was interested, seriously interested, in hopefully a future deputy of the law. Wynonna sensed her sisters apprehensiveness and tapped her knee ushering her to go ahead.

“We were in her car talking. Well i was talking and she was listening. She was looking at me different nonna,” Waverly’s accent started to peak out more and more as she recounted. “I was scared like good scared. Scared like how i want to try parachuting out of a plane at 15,000 feet or maybe swimming out so far into the ocean that i can't see the bottom anymore.” “Woah there wave extreme much,” Wynonna stopped her sister for a moment. This was a bit intense and she knew all about her sisters emotions with relationships. She could pine over a guy that was for sure and even if he was no good for her, her sister was too good to leave. Wynonna did admit to herself that this did seem different though. It seemed honest still, she always aired on the side of caution when it came to Waverly. Reckless was her thing and safety was for her sweet baby sister.

“Wynonnaaaa,” Waverly near shouted causing her sister to startle. Waverly looked annoyed bordering upset and Wy chose to tell her to continue rather than face her wrath. “As i was saying she scares me Nonna. I don’t even know if i am gay i know i am not straight but i kind of went in to kiss her” “Kind of ?” Wynonna questioned as always. “The revenants showed up,” Waverly said ignoring the lingering question. Wynonna’s face went from playful to straight laced. Her fingers gripped the bottle a bit tighter. “It was Jim, Jonas and Peeper, they were burning tire in the parking lot of my building.” Waverly gulped from the beer ingesting more liquid courage. “I panicked and ran up to them, it was stupid i know. But, when they saw me Whiskey Jim went to grab me.” “Asshole,” Wynonna scoffed while sipping on her own beer to keep composure. Waverly rolled her eyes and continued, “When i reminded them that campus was filled with cops, was off limits, and that i happened to be their boss's sister in law they peeled off.” Wynonna gave a knowing eye, “And…” “And i reminded them i was a pretty accurate shot with a shotgun or a rifle their choice,” Waverly giggled nervously. Wynonna returned a cheeky smile and pulled her sister in for a side hug. She kissed her sisters forehead. Waverly was no longer a baby, but it would always be Wynonna’s job to protect her. Gus would kill her if anything happened to her niece, really either of them. Gus sent them both east in hopes that they would escape Purgatory’s small town curse. “No doubt they let bobo the clown in on that little act Waves, but at least even he has his own fucked up rules to follow. I am glad you stuck up for yourself just be careful with the revs they are unpredictable. And…” Wynonna was stalling. “And be careful with Officer Haught, i will.” Waverly knew what he sister was going to say. Wynonna snorted, “Officer Haught, that is going to be fun. Eh, yea haught shot too.” *** Nicole was helping Chrissy and the rest of the Tau Zeta crew clean up for the party after her shift. She was quiet most of the time methodically carrying out her plan of action. She designated everyone jobs just to keep things organized. When they were all finished the non- housemates went home for the most part. Before Chrissy left she’d asked if Nicole was okay, but she shrugged off the suggestion that she wasn’t. Those that lingered would just head to the game early on Tomorrow morning. Nicole made sure to take off work for tomorrow night to help keep the peace in her own home. She would work late doing another security officer’s shift but would not be late enough to miss the smell of weed and alcohol filling her house. Instead of dwelling on her dread she was dragging herself, a beer, and a slice of gluten free pizza up to her room. Once she stared at the slice in her bedroom light it looked less appetizing but her stomach was in knots so she ate it anyway. Nicole put on a random tv show trying to tune out the voice in her head. Waverly is lying. Nicole closed her eyes hoping to ignore her internal conscience that told her something was wrong. The voice that told her Waverly was in trouble. Instead ignoring the voice just made things worse and she found herself getting frustrated. She rolled over and found her phone on the side table. Gliding her finger to the phone app and hovering over Waverly’s name she hit the green dial button. Nicole sat on the bed head in hand and phone to ear. She was determined to get an answer from Waverly. Determined to find out why the girl insisted she was okay but shook in her arms until she found sleep. Then again as the phone rang, Nicole wondered why did she care. Yes they were friends, but they definitely weren't anything more. There was nothing more in the way Waverly looked at her and definitely nothing more in that almost kiss. Nicole’s thoughts were stopped when a fresh with sleep Waverly Earp answered the phone. “Nicole,” Waverly asked quietly. The chords of an acoustic Ring of Fire had woken her up. Sighing Nicole whispered back, “Hi Waves, i just wanted to make sure you were okay again. Text are one thing but hearing your voice is another.”

Waverly yawned, “Mmhmm i’m okay Nicole just hanging with Wynonna, catching up.”

“Okay then Wave,” Nicole stalled having nothing to say to that. Waverly did sound better, less shaken and more stirred. Nicole guessed it had to do with her sister. They seemed close and she noticed how quickly Waverly relaxed after trying to contact her sister that night. Although in her eyes Waves seemed more mothering her older sister than what most would expect from a younger sister.

Waverly rubbed her eyes and sat up on the familiar bed she was sleeping on. When Wynonna insisted she stay the night as a safety precaution she couldn't say no. They fetched a few things from her dorm including her cheer uniform for the game and Waverly ended up watching Jeopardy with her sister. It was actually fun teaching Wynonna something other than latin curse words. They both needed the distraction from everything. Wynonna had more boy trouble than whiskey and she had a lot of whiskey. So now here Waverly was sleeping in her sister’s room while she worked in whatever bar she was serving at this week. Waverly played with a strand of hair nervously before she said, “are you angry with me?”

Nicole was surprised but, honest and replied. “Yes, because you didn’t tell me the truth and no, because i am just glad that you are okay now at least.”

Waverly smiled listening to Nicole's tone lighten up. There was a sigh as Nicole laid on her bed. “I’m glad i am okay too.”

“Does this mean you are going to tell me when you aren’t okay, Waves,” Nicole questioned her eyes feeling heavier than before. “Maybe,” Waverly laid under the blanket on her side wishing Nicole was there. Nicole laughed quietly, “just let me in i don’t bite and tell me about your day.”

It seemed like whenever she spoke to Waverly she let her do most of the talking. Nicole knew Waverly was usually being spoken to and told what to do rather than not. That came with being in a sorority that prided itself on group think rather than individuality. Nicole actually enjoyed hearing how Waverly’s day went, her day always seemed to include a funny story about her kindness. That was usually a contrast to Nicole’s day sure she was able to see the kindness on this campus but, she was also becoming more accustomed to the more illegal things on campus. For some reason they caught two seperate drug deals on campus today and they weren’t the usual adderall or pot deal. They were dealing newer party drugs than the WHU security was accustomed to and actual police officers had to come collect the drugs for evidence. All that seemed so crazy compared to Waverly's stories of helping librarians and students playing soccer in the quad. It wasn’t long before the lull of Waverly’s voice transported Nicole into a place filled with cotton candy dreams and gluten filled pizza.

Waverly was still talking when she heard the steady rhythm of breathing through the speaker. Nicole fell asleep and Waverly couldn't help but blush. “Goodnight Nicole, ” she whispered. Waverly left the phone on speaker on the pillow next to her.

A quiet but audible goodnight waves came back to her. Waverly fell asleep listening to Nicole relax back into a deep sleep and Nicole slept soundly with her phone resting on her rising and falling chest.

#wayhaught #wayhaught fanfic #wayhaught fic #college au #wayhaught college au #loyal lines loyal stunts #llls chapter 6 #llls #nicole haught #waverly x nicole #Waverly Earp #cheerleader waverly #wynonna earp fanfiction #fanfiction

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lewepstein · 4 years

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How to Treat Your PTSD (Post Trump Stress Disorder)

I wonder how many people reading this post have said to themselves or others, “When I listen to or watch President Trump it feels like I’m in an abusive relationship.” You don’t need to be a student of psychology to know that his overt hostility and his hateful, verbal attacks are designed to inflict pain and humiliate people. But Isn’t this exactly what abusive, toxic males have always been accused of doing? Trump’s hyper-aggressive, threatening tone often reminds people of someone from their past - perhaps a rageful father, but more often an insecure and manipulative partner whose selfishness and arrogance knows few limits. The quality that Trump shares with other weak and bullying men is his need to control others. He will lie, cheat and intimidate in order to achieve his narcissistic whims. Abusers like Trump see all who challenge them as threats and harbor a thinly disguised contempt for their victims.

One could argue that we as American citizens aren’t in an “actual” relationship with Trump and therefore why should his behaviors be experienced as abusive? I believe the answer to that question lies in our symbolic relationship to leaders and the way that they key into our deepest connections to parents, teachers and other adults from our formative years. The personas and behaviors of presidents, governors and others in positions of authority connect with our primal needs to feel safe and be cared for.

Donald Trump may seem quite familiar to people who grew up with a certain kind of father and learned to tolerate and accommodate his controlling nature. Some may experience his behaviors as “normal,” having come to make excuses for things they felt powerless to challenge or to change. They may have identified with the aggressor and received “rewards,” both practical and emotional for going along with the demands that he made and for keeping the peace. Others may have lived with the disempowering behaviors of these types of fathers and partners and drawn lines in the sand signifying that they would never tolerate this type of behavior again. We have all been victims of patriarchy in one form or another but there is a profound difference between those men and women who listened to the Access Hollywood tape in which Trump boasted about “grabbing women’s pussies” and said, “boys will be boys” versus those who said, “This is abusive and assaultive behavior and is unacceptable on every level.”

The reason I think many of us will require a post-Trump recovery period is that we have all been subjected to four years of abusive language, hostile imagery and threatening behaviors and policies. We have lived in fear of a leader who has often seemed unhinged and has been willing to act out his selfish wishes to the detriment of the rest of us. Whether it is his twenty thousand false or misleading statements - abusive men believe they have a right to lie - his willingness to have a nuclear standoff with Kim Jong un, his mimicking of a journalist with a disability, his current, implicit threat to unleash violence if he loses the presidential election or his bringing federal forces into cities to intimidate racial justice protesters, these are just a few of the many trauma inducing behaviors of a man who has had power over our lives and whom we could not simply divorce or walk away from.

As Trump mishandled the pandemic to suit his whims and the bodies began to pile up, symbolic abuse became genocide by neglect and certain vulnerable groups were clearly expendable to him. Trump’s politicizing of mask wearing and his modeling machismo in the face of a killer virus leaves the blood of as many as one hundred thousand Americans on his hands. His catastrophic failure of leadership has severely damaged the American economy, disabling small businesses and depleting jobs in numbers that could have been avoided had the initial handling of the pandemic been run by experts and not politicized. The documented differences in managing the pandemic by certain countries in Asia - notably Taiwan and Vietnam - is so stark when compared to the United States that all Trump can do is try to to deflect and distract from his abject failure.

So how can we best deal with our Post Trump Stress Disorder? First, we need to get to a post-Trump era. We need to use our collective power at the ballot box to leave this abusive relationship and also leave Trump behind. We need to get him out of his position of presidential authority and thereby out of our heads. And even if he still has the power to stir up trouble he will no longer have the “bully” pulpit. Post election, he may be kept busy as he is pursued by prosecutors for his illegal deals and his many abuses of power and finance.

The symptoms that we may be left with from the Trump era that mimic the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that results from other abusive relationships are anger, anxiety, mood problems, a high degree of vigilance, flashbacks and trust issues. Some might be left with shame or guilt, feeling on some level that they should have been able to prevent this. And, as with those who have been taken in by a cult leader, some will believe that they got what they deserved.

The behavioral part of our PTSD therapy has to do with disempowering the abuser and doing whatever possible to not let political conditions deteriorate to the point where a demagogue again comes to power. If hypervigilance is one of the negative byproducts of abuse then it needs to be replaced by political vigilance. Thomas Jefferson said that, “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” I pledge to continue to participate in and contribute to groups like Indivisible and Move On, but not just around election time. I will not never make the mistake again of taking a break from political action just because a Democrat has been elected to higher office.

The “victim” in an abusive relationship is often suffering from what is called “learned helplessness” and hopelessness. It is a core part of depression and often includes anger that has been turned inward against the self. If we can identify the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness we have experienced during this era of Trump along wth the outrage behind it, then we may be able to mitigate what can become a downward spiral in our moods.

The cognitive approach to overcoming the emotional burdens of an abusive relationship involves challenging or disputing certain thoughts. There is a kind of brainwashing that comes with an abusive partner, especially a narcissist such as Trump who needs to mold people and reality to suit his needs. The sheer repetition of certain lies can bring us to question what is true and to doubt our own reality. The thought that “there must be something true about what the abuser is saying,” can begin to seep in. Having a core group of like minded friends along with intimate relationships that validate facts and uphold opinions that challenge the abuser’s worldview are critical to mental health. This especially applies to the historical period we have been living through that includes Trump’s reign of terror and whatever will be its aftermath.

We should all be aware of our “all or nothing thinking” as a response to having lived under a repressive regime. Seeing the world as “either-or” and “all or nothing” is an understandable response to an extreme and authoritarian leader. It may take time to get back to more nuanced thinking and not responding reflexively to what may be meaningful differences. The more Trump has been experienced by us as an existential threat, the more we need to be aware of the intensity of our thoughts and feelings.

If we find ourselves flinching a little when we listen to or watch the news over the next year, understand that this is the normal response of people who have been exposed to or witnessed emotional abuse in a relationship which they could not extricate themselves from. We may also be reacting from our own traumatic history - it makes sense that our PTSD may have been triggered and compounded due to the emotionally abusive relationship that we have been forced to endure over the past four years with our president. We will all need to heal from what we have been living through and I include in that assessment the “cult followers” who cheered on the cruelty and abuse that Trump meted out. All of this will require profound changes in the way we view the political world and the ways that we respond to it. It reveals to us once again how often what is thought to be political and that which is seen as “personal” intersect.

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gvbejvmes · 4 years

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Task: Secret

Title: Blood Promises Rating: PG-13 Relationships: Past Gabriel/Jonathan, Past Gabriel/Nancy, Implied Gabriel/Jillynn Trigger Warnings: Non-descriptive mentions of child neglect/abuse Brief Summary: Some meetings were always meant to be.

How many murderers are on the National Donate Life Registry? If you matched with a convict, would you take their organ? Would you rather die than having the kidney of a man who killed six people? If they were the only person who matched with you would you take it then? Will an organ transplant from a convict give you their poor impulse control? Are you willing to find out? How many people die each year because their only hope lies in a person trying to lighten their sentence?

2004

"It looks good to the parole board." Flaco (according to his birth certificate his name was Cesar, but Gabe never asked) said, in full explaining mode. "I don't know why that wasn't a thing over in the Sand Waste, man. The parole board loves seeing that shit. They love seeing that you're trying to improve yourself. And besides, if you match with someone and you get to have surgery, you get a cushy stay in the hospital wing. It's a win-win, Gabe. Besides, what else are you going to do?"

The way his cellmate phrased it made it sound like it was no big deal. Sign-up to give someone one of your organs or your bone marrow and hopefully you’ll get a lighter sentence out of it. According to Flaco, the Registry people came once a month and tested anyone who wanted to be added. The idea of signing up for the Registry just to do it didn’t sit right with him. If Gabe matched with someone, he knew he’d donate no matter what. That was just how he was which was why he didn’t know if he wanted to do it. “What are the chances of actually matching with someone?” He asked finally. He was looking at 25 years. A couple of years off his sentence and the good grace of the parole board? He wouldn’t mind that...

Flaco grinned, looking like he won. “That’s the spirit! I don’t know anyone who actually matched.” He admitted. “But I know guys who’ve signed up and nobody thought they were gonna get parole but boom! They ain’t here no more.”

Gabe nodded slowly. If the chances of matching were really that low, he wouldn’t have anything to worry about. What’s the worst that could happen?

Early 2019

"Good afternoon. This message is for Gabriel James-Michaels. This is Leslie Anderson with the National Donate Life Registry. I received your forwarded contact information from North County Correctional Facility. I'm reaching out today because we have a potential match for partial liver transplant. Please call me back as soon as possible to schedule additional testing. We understand that that it's been over a decade since you signed up for the registry, but we hope you're still interested. It's always exciting when we're able to find familial matches. Please call me back at...”

Late Summer 2019

"I feel like your mistress." Kaleidoscope gushed out from the side of Gabe's bed. "Your kids and your straight life crisis think we’re staying up at my estate for the next two weeks." He made a 'tsking' sound. "What a bad boy." His friend and mentor had been talking at Gabriel for the past twenty minutes as they waited anxiously to be taken back for surgery. "What I don't understand is why you just didn't tell them what they were doing. Donating part of your liver to a total stranger is a big deal. You should have told them. Did you at least tell John?"

A wry smile slid onto Gabe's features. It amused him to no end that someone whose legal name was Kaleidoscope couldn't call a grown man Johnny because it sounded too childish to him. "Why would I tell him? We're not married any more, remember? You wanted to throw me a divorce party." He reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

"The fact that you didn’t let me is a travesty." Kale pouted, but he didn't let Gabe's obvious deflection distract him. "Because I watched you fill out your intake papers, Gabriel. You've been divorced, what? A year? And separated even longer?" When Gabe nodded, he continued on. "And yet, you haven't legally changed your name back to just James and you still have him listed as your emergency contact. Even though you know I’m more than willing to be your emergency contact. You’re mine, after all. Besides, he'd care that you were having surgery."

He shook his head. "We can't tell anyone about this surgery, Kale. Ever." He tried to convey the level of seriousness with his eyes.

Kale rolled his eyes. "Oh, because you're donating an organ to the secret child that no one knows about?" He joked out, never able to stay serious for too long, but when Gabe didn't laugh, his face fell. "Gabriel Anthony, tell me you're joking.”

Sighing, Gabe scrubbed his hand over his face. "I don't know for sure." He defended as Kale made all sorts of noises, obviously processing the information. "All I know is that CJ swears she has a vague memory of another kid being around when she was little. DJ is pretty traumatized from around that time so she can’t remember much of anything. Nancy and I were trying for another kid before Georgie died. It seems convenient is all, and they seem to think I'm a familial match."

"Gabriel." Kale breathed out, just staring at him, at a loss for words for once in his life. It sounded like he wanted to say more, but Gabe wouldn’t let him.

"He's a minor and he's here with his parents. This isn't something that anyone else needs to know about, including him. We share the same DNA, but he's not my kid, not really, okay?" He all but begged the other man to understand.

It was quiet for a very long time before Kale said anything. "Do the parents know who you are?" His voice was much quieter than normal.

Gabe nodded. "They haven't verbalized it, but it's kind of hard to ignore sharing so much DNA with someone and the knowledge that my information came from a prison database. We discussed it, and it's best if he doesn't know where the donation came from."

Kale didn't get a chance to say anything else before the anesthesiologist came in.

2008

Groggy. He felt so groggy and he couldn't open his eyes. There was beeping going on around him, And voices. There were a couple of different voices - one familiar, the rest alien. There was something on his face. A breathing mask? He couldn't lift his hand to pull it off, but it didn't matter. He was distracted the second he realized he could understand the voices around him.

"Sir, don't make me call security."

"I told you already. That is my client in there and I need to see him immediately."

"And I told you already. No visitors. Only immediate family under supervision and there is only one name on that list and it is not yours."

"I am allowed to see him if the injury is directly related to his case and getting stabbed two weeks before his trial is supposed to start is just cause!"

"And if he was in any state to talk to you, I'd agree with you, but he's not. You need to leave."

"I need to see my client."

"That's it! I'm calling security."

Late Summer 2019 (Continued)

"Jay?" Blinking his eyes open, Gabe tried to remember why he was in the hospital this time, There was shuffling to his left, and he glanced over to find a dark haired teenager hanging onto an IV pole. He looked the way someone who was out of bed six hours after surgery looked: like he wasn't supposed to be on his feet.

The boy shook his head, his hair shifting into his face at the motion. "No, sorry." And he dragged himself into the chair next to Gabe's bed. "Is that your husband?" He gestured to Gabe's left hand, which was splayed open on his stomach, the name Jonathan more than visible on the side of his ring finger.

"Used to be." Gabe said with a cough. hand closing immediately. He glanced over to the padded bench in the corner where Kale was sound asleep. "That's not him though." He nodded towards his friend before putting his bed up a little bit and reached for the water pitcher next to his bed. "Your folks know you're out of bed, kid?"

"Of course not." He shook his head and looked at Gabe like he was crazy. "They would kill me, but I wanted to see you and thank you, but I knew they wouldn't let me. I know who you are."

Gabe looked at him as he took a sip of water and sighed. "And who am I?" He asked him tiredly.

The teen, Knox, rolled his eyes in a way that reminded Gabe so much of himself that he had to do a double-take. “I know I’m adopted. I’ve always known. I don’t remember a lot before Social Services took me away, but I remember having two big sisters and a mom who forgot about me sometimes. I had a dad, but he never talked to me. He pretended that I didn’t exist.” Knox sighed and chewed on his bottom lip.

“I think I knew then that I wasn’t his, but I don’t remember him too much. What I remember are my sisters talking about their Dad, a man who died. This guy who could do no wrong. The Dad who magically saved the day. I used to be so angry that he was gone, that I didn’t get to meet him. And then...” Knox closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. “When we thought I was going to die, when we thought I was never going to get a donor - you appeared out of nowhere and I knew immediately that it was you. That it had to be you - my dad.”

Gabe sighed and set his water cup down. “Kid, I may have given you half your DNA, but I’m not your dad. That man asleep in the other room? That’s your dad. I just made you.” He whispered out. “And when your parts break, it’s my job to help you patch up.”

The boy looked at him. “That sounds like a dad to me.”

Frustrated and tired, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “You should go back to your room before your parents wake up and realize you’re missing. This was supposed to be a blind donation.” He reminded his son.

“I know, but...” The boy looked beyond frustrated. “Will I ever get to see you again? See my sisters again? Meet your ex-husband?”

A smile slid onto Gabe’s features, and he reached out and gave the boy’s hand a squeeze. “You got a part of me stuck in you forever, kid.” At the fallen look on Knox’s face, he couldn’t help but to squeeze his hand again before letting go. “As soon as you turn eighteen, call me. Your parents have my number. And we’ll go from there. Until then...”

“We never met.” Knox whispered out getting what Gabe was saying. He nodded and then pulled himself out of his chair, using the IV pole for support again. He made it all the way to the door before turning back to look at Gabe. “Hey, dad? Thanks.”

Once he was gone, there was a sigh from the other side of the room. “Is that what you were like in high school? But with more eyeliner?” Kale asked, because of course he was awake and had pretended to be sleeping.

Gabe groaned and lowered his bed back down.

“Right.” Kale said, treating Gabe’s groan as a sentence. “I know nothing. I saw nothing.”

It was quiet for a long moment before: “I like him.”

“Me, too.” Gabe whispered out. “Me, too.”

#CJ tasks #drabble

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its-love-u-asshole · 7 years

Text

Let My Love [Ch. 4]

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Summary: For Kuroo, finding love was all about patience. He had no problem with waiting for the right person to come along, no matter how many awkward dinners or weddings he had to endure as a single man until they did. Regardless, meeting Tsukishima was something he’d never been prepared for. The feelings were overwhelming and intoxicating, ones he was sure he’d do anything for. However, it seemed his endless waiting wasn’t over.

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Note: I’m managing to update this semi-regularly, what a miracle. Big thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over and dealing with my shit LOL I’m excited for this chapter because things are picking up more and more, so I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading as always!

AO3

8tracks

Iwaizumi might as well have been dead.

He sat slumped on the ground along with all his textbooks, each of them open to various chapters, their accompanying study sheets spread out across the floor. Completed study sheets.

Yes, the handwriting had slowly deteriorated with every single one, but they were legible, the notes and sentences veering into the margins from the amount of detail he'd put into each answer. They had to be perfect. The answers had to be exact.

And they were.

Iwaizumi's wrists ached, and his hands were marked up to hell with neon highlighter, but damn it had been worth it.

He had finished his coursework, and all it had cost him was a few days of sleep and weeks of living in the library. Now he had a day to rest up, and then--

"Woo hoo..." Suga's dull voice accompanied the sound of papers being thrown into the air weakly, a sure sign the other was about just as over school work as Iwaizumi was. Iwaizumi chuckled, doing the same with whatever stray and unimportant notes he could find nearby. He was in no mood to move more than that.

Sadly, there was packing to do.

Iwaizumi groaned, sitting up after what felt like hours. His back popped, but otherwise, it was a refreshing stretch. A few feet away, Suga remained in the same position, face first on the carpet of their apartment.

Heh, he kinda looks like a starfish.

Iwaizumi nudged the head of silver hair with his foot, knowing it would get an immediate response. Suga hated when people messed with his hair. And voila, he was right.

Like a knee jerk reaction, Suga moved, slapping Iwaizumi's foot away with unreserved strength.

"Ah! You motherfucker, that hurt!" Iwaizumi laughed, launching a pillow at his motionless roommate. "Get up, I don't want to hear any complaints. This was your idea."

"Damn you," Suga muttered, lifting his head to send Iwaizumi a playful glare. "Do you have to remind me? I'm never doing this again."

"You're the one who decided to come with me on the trip," Iwaizumi said as he rose to his feet, knees slightly wobbly due to the fact his feet had fallen asleep hours before. He'd been too focused to move, and he was seriously regretting it now as he leaned on the nearby wall to steady himself. "You did it to yourself."

And it was true. Iwaizumi had asked Suga to go with him to the lake for several reasons. The first was because, as much as Iwaizumi loved Oikawa and wanted to be with him until the end of time, meeting his boyfriend's whole friend group alone was kind of intimidating. Second, he knew if he left Suga behind he'd just study himself into a coma, and the other deserved to have some fun. Suga always did go on about how much he missed the outdoors, so it was perfect.

At the very least, Iwaizumi hoped he could cheer his friend up even a little.

At the statement, Suga's body tensed, and he rolled over onto his back soon after. Iwaizumi stared as he watched his friend eye the ceiling in contemplation, biting his lip raw. Iwaizumi could already tell Suga was fretting over something just from the nervous habit alone, but he waited patiently for the other to speak up.

"You...don't think it's rude of me to just show up right?" Suga's voice, normally clear and confident, wavered. "I mean, I'm just some outsider. I'm not connected to them or anything."

"Neither am I," Iwaizumi said simply. Hell, he was nervous about the trip too, but he wouldn't let his friend worry over dumb things. Iwaizumi knew his boyfriend, and there was no way Oikawa had friends who would be mean spirited enough to shun Suga. If they did, well, Iwaizumi would give them a piece of his mind.

Plus, Oikawa loved Suga, at least, after he'd gotten over being intimidated by his weirdly refreshing nature.

Suga sat up, his pout evident as he stared at the carpet. "Yeah, but you have Oikawa and--"

"And so do you, you’ve met him before! And you have me, there's two people. End of discussion." Iwaizumi strolled to his closet, pulling out both of their suitcases in one swift motion. He placed Suga's light purple one on his bed, smiling at him and gesturing to the closet. The other traced the motion, eyes wide from the finality. "Now get packing will you? It's a long drive tomorrow, we gotta get some sleep.”

With that, Iwaizumi turned around, busying himself with his own stuff as he sorted through everything he needed. Suga was definitely staring at his back, throwing the words back and forth in his head as he often did.

It didn't much matter to Iwaizumi, he knew how things would work out. He believed in his friends, and as long as they knew it, everything would work out.

A few minutes of silence later, and he heard the slow shuffle of Suga rising to his feet behind him, breathing soft. And of course, before he knew it, they were both rifling through their clothes, packing whatever they needed. The quiet faded from tense filled to comfortable, and Iwaizumi didn't have to face the other to know they were on the same page once more.

However, he didn't miss the smile which bloomed on Suga's face, bright as ever.

"I'll help with your bags."

Tsukishima's head whipped around to face Kuroo again. For whatever reason, the colors of the hardwood walls and decor seemed brighter afterwards. Tsukishima didn't let himself think about why that was.

Kuroo was smiling at him softly, politely, but it wasn't genuine. Tsukishima had seen genuine from Kuroo, this was far from it. Tsukishima opened his mouth to reply, but his throat was like a desert, dry and without any end in sight.

Luckily, he was saved.

"Oh yeah, let Kuroo do that while we grill Teru here," one of Yuuji's friends spoke up. If Tsukishima remembered correctly, his name was Yahaba. "Dinner won't be here for a while anyways."

"But come back soon! I wanna hear how you guys met!" Oikawa called from the couch. It had barely been twenty minutes in the house, but the brunet definitely had the most presence out of any of them.

"You're a sap," Shirabu voiced from his chair, not bothering to look up from his nails.

Tsukishima tuned out the resulting complaints from Oikawa, turning to nod shyly at Kuroo.

It wasn't like them, but oh well. Kuroo had decided they were strangers, and Tsukishima didn't know if he should be offended or not. The worst part of it though, was that he could see the reasoning behind Kuroo's decision.

God, why couldn't this just be some horrible nightmare?

Tsukishima had finished introducing himself to everyone, keeping his nerves at bay as best he could. As if meeting a bunch of new people wasn't bad enough, he found it surprisingly difficult to keep his eyes off the raven. After all, he'd been a part of Tsukishima's everyday life for about a month.

And yet, he'd never bothered to mention his library friend to Yuuji. Wasn't he just the best boyfriend ever?

"Yeah babe, go get settled," Yuuji said as his arms came to wrap around Tsukishima's waist. There was a collection of gags and aws which filled the room, but Tsukishima swore he saw Kuroo avert his eyes completely. "I'll field all the questions for you."

Yuuji winked at him, and despite his internal turmoil Tsukishima snorted, pushing his boyfriend's face away. "Then I guess I should be worried."

"Oh, I like him already," Shirabu deadpanned, his face giving way to a smirk. Before Tsukishima could say more, Yuuji launched a verbal attack of his own, and the room was thrown into a cacophony of jabs and snide remarks.

No one even noticed Tsukishima walk away with Kuroo, his eyes set on staring at the wooden steps as they climbed farther and farther away from the noise. By the time they reached the top, all the madness downstairs was no more than a muffle.

The silence was too loud, jarring. Kuroo's hold on the handle of Tsukishima's luggage was fierce, and the blond could see the whites of his knuckles.

Kuroo was great at playing things off though, at deflecting as well as provoking. He laughed softly, keeping his voice low. "So, you and my cousin huh?"

Kuroo turned to look at him, waiting for an answer, and Tsukishima figured he could at least provide an explanation this time. He didn't exactly owe it to Kuroo but...it felt necessary.

"I had a job at a firm about a month back, designing a website for the marketing department or whatever," Tsukishima said, clearing his throat as he watched Kuroo's face. It made it harder. He didn't understand why. "Yuuji was painting a mural outside the same building, every day I left he was there. He...asked me out."

Kuroo's eyebrows shot up, his expression hurt, and Tsukishima resisted the urge to rock on his heels. "And you said yes?"

The words 'I didn't know you then' were burning on his tongue, wanting to be let out, but Tsukishima swallowed them down. He glared at the raven, crossing his arms.

Where did Kuroo get off, asking him that? There was no foundation for this whole conversation to even exist.

It was pointless.

They were friends.

"What, you're saying Yuuji's not a good choice?" Tsukishima couldn't help but sneer, watching Kuroo flinch in guilt.

However, soon Tsukishima's heart stopped and plummeted to his stomach, overwhelming him in his own heaping dose of self-loathing.

Ah damn, too far again.

He thought he'd gotten over being so cutting back in high school, but it seemed his attitude could still flare up at the worst of times.

They both stared at the floor for a while until it became unbearable to not have their eyes, meet, and they both flinched again at that same realization.

This was some kind of shit they'd gotten into, that was for sure.

Kuroo sighed, bringing his hand to card through his hair, a nervous tick. Tsukishima couldn't help but smile. Kuroo was a good guy through and through, but flawed like everyone else. It hadn't been fair of Tsukishima to try and bring out the ugliness like that.

Even now, as awkward as the air between them was, Kuroo was trying to be apologetic and sympathize with him. Nerd.

"I'm sorry," Kuroo breathed out, posture sagging. "Teru is a great guy, the best guy."

"Yeah, he is," Tsukishima said, voice soft. "An overgrown child, but..."

The blond bit his lip, debating his word choice. Talking about his feelings remained difficult for him, but he managed most of the time these days. Still, he'd told Kuroo about it...that or the raven had figured it out on his own.

He honestly couldn't remember. It didn't make a difference.

Kuroo knew, and he laughed, nodding in agreement. "A sweet one?" He suggested, grin smug, and Tsukishima wished he had another magazine to throw at him.

"Yes, yes, whatever," Tsukishima muttered, and the easiness in his speech was back. It was just how it went with Kuroo. Even with all these uncertainties hanging around them, it was still so simple to hold a conversation, to talk about everything and nothing.

It scared Tsukishima, mostly because he'd never had that with anyone else, and it was a problem.

Kuroo picked up on the tenseness in the blond's shoulders, nudging him with the suitcase as if touching him was a fatal mistake. It probably was.

"You know, you deserve someone like that Tsukki--ah, Tsukishima. I'm glad you're dating him," Kuroo said quietly, and Tsukishima wanted to scream at him to stop giving him such a fake ass smile.

In fact...

"Don't smile if it's going to be fake," he offered instead, against his better judgement. Acknowledging the strain between them was a bad idea and he knew it.

"I mean it," Kuroo supplied. "You make him happy, so...it's great. He's great. You're--"

"Please stop."

"Okay." Kuroo expelled a little too much air from his lungs, a good indication he'd been holding his breath like an idiot. Tsukishima wanted to mock him, but he couldn't find the energy.

Below them, they could hear the chaos lessen, a good sign they should be returning back downstairs.

It was better to leave it at this, Tsukishima thought, but deep down he knew they weren't finished.

There were a lot of things he could've said. He could've suggested they start over, thanked Kuroo for helping him carry his suitcase, but none of it felt right. So instead, he made another mistake, and gave Kuroo an inch.

"You can still call me that, I don't care," he practically whispered, and he knew he was flushing. The strength to fight it in that moment had all but left him.

Kuroo arched a brow. "Huh?"

"You know...Tsukki," the blond said with a long roll of his eyes, embarrassed at having to say the stupid nickname aloud.

He wished he'd kept his trap shut, but then Kuroo was lighting up the hall with how damn bright he smiled, showing all teeth and looking like he'd won the fucking lotto. Idiot.

Tsukishima hated how it warmed his heart.

The joy was there and gone in an instant though as reality settled back on Kuroo, and his smile weakened, returning to the pitiful state Tsukishima detested. The blond could frown all he wanted, but it didn't look right on Kuroo.

Why did he even think that? Why did he care? What--

"What are we going to do?"

The question hung heavy in the air, and it was one Tsukishima had been dreading. Kuroo looked at him like a kicked dog, but he smiled all the same, putting all the power in Tsukishima's hands.

Unfair.

It was a call, essentially. A push to acknowledge whatever was between them. He'd have to be a fool to not have noticed Kuroo's lingering gazes, his fond tones, the subtle compliments. Kuroo's feelings were laid bare and out in the open, while Tsukishima's remained locked up, only seen through the smallest of cracks.

Tsukishima didn't have the slightest clue what he felt, all he knew was that Kuroo was at the forefront of his mind, invading his thoughts like a parasite. It made him feel like shit. His boyfriend was downstairs, along with his closest friends. Tsukishima's only concern should be Yuuji, and making a decent impression. Kuroo was part of that sure, but anything more was inappropriate, unnecessary.

And really, what was Kuroo thinking? That they had some strange connection? Tsukishima didn't believe in those things.

The only thing that would keep both of them sane and in check, was to accept that none of those feelings existed at all, and it was exactly what Tsukishima was going to do.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tsukishima said plainly, willing himself not to fidget. Kuroo already knew it meant he was lying. "There's nothing to do."

Kuroo's face turned from sorrow to shock in a blink, and yeah, Kuroo never hid his emotions. It should've been a weakness, but right then it felt like the sharpest tipped spear, having those eyes on him.

"Tsukki, you're...you're joking right?" Kuroo said, disbelieving. "You're not actually--"

"Whatever delusions you have about the situation are none of my concern," the blond continued, resilient despite the chill in his body.

"But--"

"What would you have me do?" Tsukishima stood firm, taking a chance on such a question. He knew Kuroo wasn't afraid to go after what he wanted, but he also knew Kuroo was sweet, kind hearted. So, Tsukishima put the power in his hands, knowing Kuroo wouldn't be able to help but use it for what was right.

Maybe it was a dirty tactic, cruel too, but well...Tsukishima would follow through. After all, there was nothing between them.

Kuroo flinched again, mind juggling the question like it was worth a million dollars.

So damn genuine. A selfish person would've already had the answer, and Tsukishima wished the butterflies in his stomach would drop dead already. He hated that about Kuroo, because while his brain saw every flaw in the trait, he couldn't help but feel drawn in, encircled by it.

Unfair.

Ridiculous.

Irrational.

Unnecessary.

Those were all words to describe this conversation, and Tsukishima couldn't wait for it to end, to be plunged back into his normal reality like a jump into the ocean.

From the heavy sigh which left Kuroo's lips, it seemed his wish would be granted. How fitting. When was the last time that had happened?

"Nothing," Kuroo spoke, the words weak and lost. "I don't want you to do anything. He's my cousin. I'm happy for you."

Oh shut up. You're so cheesy.

On a normal day, Tsukishima would've joked freely, but his stomach felt like it'd been jabbed, so he thought better. It was a cheery ending statement to a completely dreadful conversation, and it hardly fit, like it'd been awkwardly tacked on just to save face.

Tsukishima didn't comment. He let it end there, because anything more would've pulled them right back. They couldn't have that, not anymore.

With a heavy sigh and a harsh grip on Tsukishima's bag, Kuroo turned away with stiff muscles, and Tsukishima forced himself to follow.

"Where do you work?"

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Does Teru take you on nice dates?"

The questions surged from one end of the table to the next, and Tsukishima sighed at his own ability to keep up. Thankfully, Yuuji sat by his side, doing his best along with him.

"Okay, okay one at a time!" Yuuji shouted, but the clamor around the dinner table only seemed to intensify. "Give him some time to think guys..."

"That gives him time to lie," Shirabu said with a smirk, which was thankfully met with a good kick to the shin from beneath the table from someone.

As soon as Tsukishima had sat down, he'd been bombarded with question after question. It was normally his worst nightmare, his anxiety levels going through the roof until he shut down completely. Then he'd tend to get labeled as rude or boring, maybe even disrespectful, but surprisingly, it hadn't happened. Maybe it was having Yuuji next to him, or the fact he'd already endured one awkward conversation that night, but regardless, he didn't care. He was answering every question swiftly and politely, and had asked some of his own in return.

The relief he felt was immense, and he was thankful Yuuji's friends weren't the most difficult people to talk to.

"No, it's alright," Tsukishima supplied, actually managing a small smile "I don't mind the questions."

And for once, he wasn't lying.

Beside him, Yuuji snorted, a shameless smirk on his face as he brought an arm around Tsukishima's shoulders. "Now I know that's a lie babe, you hate talking this much."

"Yeah seriously," Kuroo added from where he was sitting. Right across the table from them.

He and Tsukishima shared a brief, stunned look at Kuroo's slip, but luckily it went unnoticed. Mostly because everyone else's heads had also turned to Kuroo. Goddamnit.

Kuroo coughed, shoveling more rice onto his plate. "You know, I mean it's probably really overwhelming for him. We're all strangers and all..."

It was a good enough save for everyone to forget he'd even spoken up at all, but Tsukishima couldn't help but shake his head in annoyance.

He directed his look to Yuuji, who continued to smirk at him, eyes gleaming with their usual mischief. He enjoyed getting a rise out of Tsukishima, that was for sure. Too bad for him, tonight it wasn't happening.

"It's fine, everyone's been very nice," Tsukishima reassured, only to gain a snort from Oikawa.

"Oh, so Shirabu didn't introduce himself?" The brunet smiled innocently, dodging the clump of rice thrown at him with graceful ease.

"Hey, we're gonna get rats!"

Semi's calls were ignored, even by his own husband, and Tsukishima hid a laugh in his hands.

"We all know who the real bitch is here, don't get me started," Shirabu muttered into his napkin.

"Okay enough!" Yahaba all but commanded, and Oikawa's mouth closed. "I'm trying to find out more about Tsukishima, not you two think for yourself-ers! Can it. From now on, only Yachi and I get to ask questions."

"WHAT."

Tsukishima couldn't hold back his laughter after the unanimous outburst, but he wished he had, since all eyes targeted him at once.

Yuuji's hand came to rest at the blond's nape, massaging gently in the way Tsukishima liked best. "Isn't he adorable?"

Tsukishima grunted in displeasure, and the whole table was full of smiles and smirks once more. He wondered if it was always like this. For whatever reason, his eyes lifted to find Kuroo's, only to notice the other chewing his food stiffly.

"Tsukishima-san, how did you and Yuuji meet?" A soft, shy voice spoke up before Tsukishima could dwell on Kuroo longer, and he looked to his left to see Yachi smiling at him. It was impossible to not give her his full attention he'd learned, she simply commanded attention whether she wanted it or not. To think Yuuji had once told him Yachi had only played supporting roles. She was sweet and genuine, and had the cuteness to go along with it.

It was probably seven years bad luck to be mean to her, and Tsukishima didn't want to test the theory anyways.

Tsukishima opened his mouth to respond, seeing as how the answer was pretty simple, but Yuuji beat him to it.

"Oh no, I got this one," he said, confident and loud. Tsukishima couldn't help but sigh, knowing there was no use arguing with him. Yuuji was a storyteller at heart, be it with words or a paint brush, and though the former could be too simplistic at times, he spoke with all the emotion he could.

It was one of the first things Tsukishima had noticed, and also what drew him to Yuuji. He wore his heart on his sleeve, always said what was on his mind be it respectful or not. As obnoxious as it had the potential to be, Tsukishima had been looking for something simple. Something safe.

Tsukishima could say with ninety-nine percent certainty that Yuuji wouldn't lie to or deceive him. It had been an ultimate selling point, so to speak.

At the time.

Tsukishima tuned back into the conversation, recognizing the fast approaching 'cute' part of the story.

"I thought I was done for I swear, I hadn't slept that day, and I had paint all over me. I probably looked like a fuckin' mess," Yuuji went on, gesturing wildly with his hands whenever he felt it necessary.

"You did," Tsukshima supplied, earning a few chuckles. He still remembered of course, meeting Yuuji's sleep deprived eyes as paint sat smeared on his cheek from a frustrating day. How they'd brightened instantly as soon as he took the blond in.

Tsukishima clutched the napkin in his lap with a fierce grip.

"Yeah, yeah," Yuuji waved him off with a kiss to his cheek, and Tsukishima couldn't help but flush even as he pushed his boyfriend away. Yuuji knew how he felt about PDA, but for him it seemed like it was painful to hold back. More often than not, the other forgot, and well, Tsukishima could let it slide sometimes. Especially since a chorus of coos and a few grumbles filled the room. Kuroo stayed silent, and Tsukishima didn't dare look over at him.

"Anyways, I was exhausted, and I started to doubt my work. And I know what you're thinking, but yes, it even happens to me," Yuuji continued, smirking at the glares he received. Tsukishima half expected to continue in the same manner, putting a fun and quirky spin on the story as he tended to do. Tsukishima played the part of an extrovert through and through, almost too much so. He'd strike up conversations with strangers at almost any bar or outing he took Tsukishima on, so the blond had heard this story billions of times, all different variations. But they all had some things in common, they were meant to be entertaining and amusing. That tended to be Yuuji's goal, and while it could be embarrassing, Tsukishima didn't care one way or another.

So when he saw Yuuji's eyes soften in a way he'd only seen them do in private, Tsukishima knew this story would be far from the typical mold, and he didn't have a rehearsed reaction for it.

Yuuji turned to him, like everyone else in the room hardly mattered, in a way which made Tsukishima the focal point of the room. Tsukishima felt his grip on the napkin tighten.

"So yeah, there I was, paint in my hair and thinking I'd get fired for sure...when this one walks out of the building and just...wow. Wow!" Yuuji laughed, and Tsukishima's face flushed against his will, more from the attention than the compliment itself.

Yuuji never stopped complimenting him, a charmer until the very end. The constant praise leaned on the side of generic, but Tsukishima appreciated the sentiment each time. Besides, there were only so many different ways to call someone special or beautiful, right?

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but smiled at his boyfriend's antics. "You're being extra again."

"He's always been extra," Kyoutani muttered, and Yuuji sputtered in offense.

His jaw set in determination, his hands splayed out on the table as he turned back to Tsukishima. "I'm serious babe! You may not believe it but..." Yuuji trailed off, weirdly bashful, and the same, fond expression was back on his face. The one Tsukishima couldn't handle. Soft. Serene.

"I thought I was going to faint, because an angel just walked by," he finished, like stating a fact, and Tsukishima's face was definitely fighting off a fire at this point. The table descended into a calm quiet at the statement, most of the group exchanging loving or amused looks. Meanwhile, Yuuji squeezed Tsukishima's hand under the table in a rare show of private intimacy, and the blond couldn't help but return it.

"This steak is like an angel," Kuroo muttered blandly from across the table, and Tsukishima eyes flicked to him in an instant. Oh god...

It got the raven a few awkward stares, but most of the group thankfully brushed him off.

"Oh! Okay I got one," Oikawa spoke up, hand raised. "What would be your perfect day?"

"You cheese ball."

"Kenjirou."

"Hey!"

Oh. Well, that one was actually easy. He hardly had to think about it. Tsukishima cleared his throat, breaking up the verbal brawl before it even began. "I'm not sure if it's possible to have a perfect day but...I like when it rains, not anything storm level but, enough where I don't have to leave the house. I could stay in and read or nap, order delivery maybe..." Slowly, his response began to taper off and die, the words registering in his head. As he went on he got less confident, not because he was less sure, but more for the fear of being seen as--

"Boring," Yuuji cut in playfully, and the table laughed. It wasn't cruel in anyways, more expected than anything, but Tsukishima still found his gaze flicking to Kuroo in search for support.

He didn't find any though, since Kuroo sat frozen, staring at his plate.

Why--

"Huh, sounds like some shit Kuroo would do," Kyoutani said offhandedly, and both Kuroo and Tsukishima tensed.

"Yeah seriously, no fun at all," Oikawa sighed. "Kuroo is pretty social when you actually get him around people, but dragging him out of the house is a chore. He'd love spending his day being lazy."

Kuroo's utsensils hit his plate with a clang, and Tsukishima jumped.

"Psh...what? I would...not? That...that sounds like an awful day," Kuroo said, looking straight at Tsukishima. And really, it sort of pissed him off. Idiot. Don't lie.

Tsukishima glared at him, unimpressed. You're the one who sits in the library all day.

As if echoing his thoughts, Semi butted in, although more politely than the others. "I thought you told me you'd been having fun spending time at the library lately?"

"For work, not fun," Kuroo insisted, still speaking in Tsukishima's general direction.

"The library Kuroo? Really? That's how you've been spending your time?" Shirabu began, and Yahaba was a giggling mess right beside him.

"Hold on there guys," Yuuji jumped in, a deadly smirk on his face, and Tsukishima swore the color all but drained from Kuroo. "Kuroo's only been camping out at the library because he met a hottie there."

Kuroo's napkin hit Yuuji square in the face about a second later. "You--"

"Wait...what?"

"Kuroo met someone?"

"How do you know?"

"Tetsu told me!" Yuuji addressed the confused chorus, throwing the napkin back at Kuroo. Tsukishima fixated on the table with all his might. "Nothing to be weird about man..."

"Hottie?" It was all Tsukishima could think to ask, his brain struggling to catch up while his traitorous heart swelled.

"I never used that word," Kuroo insisted desperately, staring right at him.

"Eh, you might as well have," Yuuji sighed, and Kuroo looked two seconds away from stabbing him with his chopsticks.

Tsukishima's stomach was having a fit, and his need to fidget was immense at this point. He wanted this conversation to end now.

Inferring about Kuroo's feelings was one thing, hearing about it aloud was another.

"Are you going to go after this mystery man?" Yahaba asked, but to Tsukishima's displeasure, and he wanted to plug his eardrums with knives so he'd never have to hear again.

"No, no way!" Kuroo said, his hands moving a mile a minute. "I mean, even if I wanted to...which I totally don't...I couldn't. He has a boyfriend."

The strain he put on the word was noted, and the blond swore Kuroo's shoulder slumped.

At the admission, the room plummeted into a tense silence, a stark contrast from the clamor he'd been getting used to. Looks of confusion and pity, all of which Tsukishima knew Kuroo detested, were all on the raven, and Tsukishima wished they'd all just quit it already.

"Oh no," Yachi eventually whispered. "I'm sorry, Tetsurou."

"Don't be," Kuroo muttered, an easy smile somehow forming on his face. Still fake, Tsukishima observed with dread, and he hated how he could tell the difference. "We weren't that close anyways."

And just like that, the swelling in Tsukishima's chest ceased, giving way to a painful squeeze. Annoying.

Then the spell was broken, and the clatter of plates and utensils resumed as clean up commenced. Either the group knew not to push the issue, or they truly believed Kuroo wasn't hurting. Tsukishima guessed he should be thankful for it, but it just made him sick.

"Hey man," Yuuji said as he rose from the table, having finished his food some time ago. "If there's no ring on his finger...well..."

Kuroo paled, and Tsukishima choked, and lucky for him, it was Yahaba who silenced Yuuji with a swift kick to the shin.

Tsukishima stood up stiffly, knowing he should probably be pissed at his boyfriend for such a morally controversial statement, but he didn't have it in him. All Tsukishima wanted to do was help clear the table, and retire to his room.

He didn't dare look at Kuroo again, but as the blond helped with the dishes, he knew it would be impossible to keep it up for a whole week.

Great.

Tsukishima stepped into the room he shared with Yuuji, noticing the strategically placed twin beds at each side of the room. Guess they were expected to keep things wholesome, not like Tsukishima minded. He wasn't exactly in the biggest mood to have sex.

Mostly he was just tired. Drained. Confused. All of the above.

He wanted to sleep. Part of him hoped to god that if he did, he'd wake up and everything up until now would be just a dream. But of course that wouldn't happen, he'd been wishing for it for a month, and still nothing.

Kuroo Tetsurou was real, and he wasn't going away. Honestly, Tsukishima didn't think he wanted him to, and that made everything worse.

He sighed to himself as Yuuji walked into the room, placing his suitcase on the bed. Tsukishima expected the rest of the night to go quietly, given his boyfriend must've been tired from the drive, but as he got ready to enter the bathroom to take a shower, Yuuji turned towards him in a flash. The movement was sudden enough to make Tsukishima stumble back, but Yuuji caught him easily, pulling him towards the empty bed.

Tsukishima gasped, gripping the other's shoulders to regain his balance "Yuuji--"

"I know what's going on with you."

Dread bloomed in Tsukishima's gut like a disease. His hands froze where they'd found purchase, and he fought to keep his face as neutral as possible. Yuuji's hazel eyes were boring into him, giving absolutely nothing away, and Tsukishima's nerves went haywire. Yuuji was usually so easy going, it was hard to remember how intense he could be. Persistent and childish. Fun loving and serious. Tsukishima was beginning to find that Yuuji was full of contradictions.

There were a lot of dimensions to him no one bothered to notice.

The occasional attention to detail was one of them.

It took everything Tsukishima had to stay relaxed in his boyfriend's arms as his mind raced with possibilities. He thought back to every exchange with Kuroo, every glance, any possible clue as to why this was coming up. Did Yuuji know? What had given them away?

Damnit. There was nothing to give away. He and Kuroo were nothing.

Tsukishima's stomach squirmed regardless, unconvinced.

"What do you mean?" Tsukishima cursed the whisper which was his voice right then, but he kept eye contact. It wasn't difficult. Yuuji had a weird calming effect on him. Despite the other's unending energy and impulsiveness, his eyes were always gentle when they looked at Tsukishima.

Caring. Genuine.

Comforting.

Oh. Right. How had he forgotten?

Slowly, Tsukishima felt himself relax for real into the other's touch, his pulse returning to a more acceptable level. He was being ridiculous.

He had nothing to hide but his own confused feelings, and he was perfectly capable of sorting those out in his own time. It was like he'd told Kuroo, they were nothing more than delusions.

They didn't mean anything, and if Yuuji had picked up on them, Tsukishima would crush any doubts.

If he and Yuuji didn't work out, it would be because they weren't right for each other. No other reason. Screw whatever connection Kuroo thought they had, Tsukishima wouldn't let it control his life as it was. Or at least, that's what he would tell himself whenever the butterflies in his stomach flared up, or whenever his heart raced strangely in Kuroo's presence.

For now, he'd set his eyes forward.

Yuuji rubbed his head into Tsukishima's stomach, snapping Tsukishima out of his thoughts. It tickled, and Tsukishima let a yelp or two slip against his will, and after a few beats of confusion, Tsukishima could tell Yuuji was grinning stupidly. "You're trying."

"Hm?" Tsukishima asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Trying?"

"Yeah, with my friends and all," Yuuji continued, laughing sheepishly. "I know you don't like to talk much...and that you get nervous, even though to be honest...I don't really get why. But it means a lot to me that you talked a lot at dinner. These people are really important to me, I want you to like them."

Tsukishima's mouth opened, and no sound came out, but Yuuji didn't seem to mind as he went on. "Just...thank you, for giving them a chance and coming here with me. I know I kinda sprung it on you, but you've been really cool about it. It means a lot."

Yuuji pulled him closer, hugging Tsukishima's waist tenderly while the blond willed his breathing to return to normal. The house sounded far from quiet, with the occasional stomping footsteps and clatter from the upstairs level. But the moment didn't need the silence, Tsukishima reasoned. It made a statement all its own. Plus, silence had never been part of Yuuji's character, and Tsukishima was getting more and more used to that. Somehow, it all made him smile, despite the hectic day.

He returned the hug, not their first one since they began dating, but still new enough to make his skin prickle. Relationships were strange, the blond found. Bound to a traditionally agreed upon timeline, but skewed and rushed all the same depending on who he asked.

Don't call right away.

Hold hands first.

Kiss by the third date.

It was all so tedious and unnecessary. With some people, the rules didn't have to be obeyed. With some people, it just flowed in whatever way it chose to, and Tsukishima figured this was an example of that. They’d gone completely out of order, and he could live with that. He'd held Yuuji's hand before, but this moment made it feel twice as intimate.

Tsukishima felt his worries from before almost melt away, and he noted this was another thing people often overlooked about Yuuji. The way he could go from raising everyone's energy levels like a night club drug, to acting as the human equivalent of a muscle relaxer. Like everything in the world would be okay with a bit of rest, no need to think too much on it.

Yuuji was brash, but apologetic. He bulldozed and interrupted, but listened seriously. He never seemed tired, but slept like a log. And more importantly, he showed his gratitude whenever he could, like he recognized the importance of people's feelings in a way Tsukishima had never been able to up until a few years ago.

It was still very new to him, if he was being honest.

While Yuuji's childish disregard for people would rear its ugly head every now and again (as would Tsukishima's biting tongue), overall his boyfriend watched himself when it counted. It was astounding sometimes, thinking how Yuuji was so different from him.

"Please say something so I don't feel like an idiot," Yuuji muttered, and the movement of his mouth tickled Tsukishima's skin.

"You're not," the blond replied simply, still too wary to thread his fingers through the other's hair. It didn't feel natural yet, it didn’t feel like it was something he wanted to do. "Thanks for inviting me here. Stop worrying about me."

Yuuji's eyes peeked from where they'd been hidden in Tsukishima's belly, and the pure ridiculousness of the image had the blond snorting.

"So...you're having a good time?" His boyfriend asked, slowly, already charged with excitement.

Tsukishima nodded a few times, and that was that. It was concise, brief, but the relief rang clear as Yuuji grinned up at him, pulling him into bed with a loud creak of the headboard. Had the ceilings not been so low, the blond was sure his boyfriend would've leaped. And as much as Tsukishima playfully fought to push him away, he appreciated Yuuji when it came to these things too. Things were easy when it was just the two of them, without the outside drama and the worries plaguing Tsukishima's heart.

Yuuji made him enjoy the moment, a quality which Tsukishima had originally found odd, but later convinced him to date the other in the first place.

So really, as he fell asleep with Yuuji's arms around him later that night, Tsukishima couldn't help but be thankful for him. Different or not, he admired Yuuji in a way he'd never experienced before.

And while something strange continued to churn in his gut, he managed to fall asleep soundly.

#kurotsuki #kurotsukki #adri writing #haikyuuwriters #iwaoi

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