#(another that falls under the likes of Ra's muses) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaypeace21 · 4 years ago

Text

Analyzing the 5 plays in this drama club poster .From the bts pics of stranger things 4.

So... some of ya’ll know I'm going through the st s4 films given to us by the official st twitter + the films reffed in the show itself or mentioned by the Duffers in interviews .

So I decided to look at the plays mentioned here. Because even if we don't see the monologues in the show directly - the Duffers wouldn't name drop anything unless it inspired them in some way. Similar to films name dropped in the show. Tw : for some dark themes .

This is just a quick little analysis I decided to do since we probably won't get any new st content today (3/22). Nothing too deep. Just mentioning things that caught my interest especially cause these plays have a lot of narrative connections to the st s4 movies I've been watching.

Invitation to a march (Authur laurents)

Reminds me of the stancy/jancy love triangle. "A young woman is having second thoughts about doing the right thing and marrying a respectable , rich, kind, young man with good prospects.By way of a prewedding diversion, this woman becomes interested in the passionate but poor and entirely unsuitable son of a local landlord.Basically, the plot concerns the efforts of Norma Brown to choose between a conventional fiance who "puts her to sleep" but is wealthy (like what her own mother did) or go for this new-poor guy. The play is principally interested in how this youthful love triangle affects the three mothers involved (whether the kids like it or not)

12th night (Shakespeare)

- viola (el) wrongly assumes a family member (hopper) is dead. She dresses up as a man named 'cesario'. A girl named Olivia falls for 'cesario' (violet dressed as a man). "Finally, when 'Cesario' and Sebastian (violet's twin brother: assumed to have drowned - Will) appear in the presence of Olivia there is more wonder and confusion at their physical similarity. Taking Sebastian for 'Cesario', Olivia asks him to marry her, and they are secretly married in a church. Cough if Olivia is 'straight' cause she fell for Viola (as a doppleganger dressed like her twin brother).Mike being into el who multiple characters in s1 said looked like a boy and specifically like Will is...suspish and a hint he's not straight lol. just like Olivia they're both into guys . plus, this play just has a butt load of love triangles (ugh i hated that aspect). There was also romantically coded letters (which was in the s4 films) . One character is also thrown into an insane asylum and framed as 'insane'.'Pretending that Malvolio is insane, they lock him up in a dark chamber. Feste visits him to mock his insanity'. We all know the psych hospital will be narratively important- talked about it more here.

The seagull (Anton Chekhov-russian)

similar to how I believed s4 will show m*#even already broken up since the months between s3-4 : act 3 (s3) ends with Nina begging for one last chance to be with Trigorin before he leaves/moves away. They kiss and make plans to meet again in Moscow.And in act 4 there's a timeskip where it shows they've been broken up for a long time between acts- and its established they never actually loved eachother. Do i even have to spell out why this parallels the m*#even ending in s3? There is also a play within the play (this is common in a lot of the st films- they have plays- or a story within a story- which illustrate certain themes or emotions of the characters within said film : blackswan, children of paradise, highschool musical, Rushmore, book of Henry, welcome to marwen, never ending story, romancing the stone, wet hot American summer, etc).The play is Konstantin's latest attempt at creating a dense symbolist work. There is also alot of love triangles in the seagull. TW!: for se#ual ab*se/su*cidal thoughts/ inc*st (here and in other play segments). The seagull motif reminds me a lot of Jonathan's rabbit story.Konstantin romantically into Nina shows up to give her a gull that he has shot. Nina is confused and horrified . Trigorin sees the gull that Konstantin has shot and muses to Nina on how he could use it as a subject for a short story: "The plot for the short story: a young girl lives all her life on the shore of a lake. She loves the lake, like a gull, and she's happy and free, like a gull. But a man arrives by chance, and when he sees her, he destroys her, out of sheer boredom. Like this gull." This immediately reminded me of jon's rabbit story and some of the movies on the s4 list . Like in forrest gump- Jenny (who is poor) was se*ually ab*sed as a very young girl by her father. As a child she runs away into a field-away from her alcoholic father yelling at her -there she prays that she can "be a bird so I can fly far far away" .

Jenny as an adult struggles with this unresolved trauma- being with ab*sive partners, doing dr*gs, and having su*cidal thoughts . She as an adult when contemplating su*icide, jokes 'you think i can fly like a bird ?' while looking down at a bridge.God-i'm worried about jonathan (Jenny was also a musician sort of like jon). In another s4 movie example ' mystic river ' :(in the 80s) a preteen baseball playing boy is r*ped by men in the woods. He later says he wishes he could become an undead monster to not feel the pain of that experience - cause quote " if I'm not human anymore maybe the pain will stop" (Will) . slightly off topic but he also has another personality, imagines a alternate word that dissappears when he turns his head. And as a less direct animal parallel to the play - the boy from the film also imagined his perpetrators as monsters and wolves to cope.In 'getout' the photographer character sees a dead deer in the woods and it represents a parent/his own childhood tra*ma relating to his past. similarly in 'prince of tides' the 2 siblings as kids were ra*ed by men. The older brother remembered it and the younger sibling developed DID (so didn't remember but she would draw wolves- as the perpetrators/villains in her picture stories she created . In the film they also had an ab*sive dad and were very poor. She also tried k*ling herself multiple times-but started to get better after remembering the source of her pain and trauma. There is also the theme of multiple attempted su*cides in the play- and the play ends with yet another attempt- and the audience is left unaware of the artist's fate at the end of the play.

The tempest (Shakespeare)

Prospereo - (the perceived antagonist) is a wizard with monstrous looks, storm powers , and ability to create monster-dogs

He wants revenge on a man who tried ra*ing his family member & revenge on his other family member who wronged him years ago. I mean... pretty much my did theory.But in the end.Prospero decides to show his enemies the mercy that they did not show him twelve years earlier. He tells Ariel to bring the men to him, he will restore their sanity and then renounce magic forever.Prospero breaks the spell that the men are under .

Diary of a scoundrel (Alexander Ostrovsky-Russian)

- I suppose this could loosely relate to Jonathan? Glumov, is a young man from an impoverished family lacking status seeking entrance into society's pampered class. A 19th-century Russian scoundrel must scheme his way out of his meager life in a small apartment -whatever it takes.He has a quick mind and some talent for seeing through the hypocrisies of people around him ( Jonathan does make a lot of social critiques about society). That gives him some advantages. A tale of one man's mission to finagle his way into upper-class society and find a cushy job. Set in 1874, this social comedy follows Glumov, a Russian youth who begins his ambitious ascent to social esteem. He progresses by wit, guile and rhetoric. Pitting one stupid person against another, he soon gains his ends. To reach these goals, Glumov will lie, flatter, and cater to the vanities of the wealthy. Unable to contain his disgust with his victims, Glumov decides to relieve his unvoiced satirical comments by recording his schemes in a diary. But he is tripped up by his uncle's wife, to whom he has made passionate love on his way to success. At the end of the play, his diary is stolen and his duplicity exposed, but he can nevertheless suceeds. The author is much more critical about the high society itself than about the main character, so the play keeps attracting generations of directors by opening possibilities for political criticism while also avoiding naming names of the current rulers.The play's aim was to overthrow bourgeois tradition and establish a class-conscious art called eccentricism giving a deliberately comic portrayal of reality.

I suppose I notice some possible commonalities- besides s3 critiquing the wealthy/capitalism in comedic ways . jonathan since s1 has worried about his family's finances / had some resentment toward the rich . In some of the s4 movies ��orphan’ & ‘ girl interrupted’ someone reads their diary out loud to get at them (in girl interrupted the winona character’s diary even had critiques of her new friends). Alot of movies also have someone (usually a teen/young adult) making a documentary about their life -which could narratively replace said diary? A few movies have a poor guy adjusting to snobby rich social circles (or being poor and then getting money)- titanic, kingsmen, karate kid, the craft , godfather, wardogs,into the spiderverse,flashdance, and many others . And movies like wardogs has a poor-young-character do shady things to finacially support his family . There’s also that whole uncle’s wife thing- which makes me uncomfortable for obvious reasons (but I’m just thinking of Lonnie’s creepy gf who was into him). A few movies had the guy’s step mom innappropriately hit on him- orange county & you got mail. And him trying to avoid her advances. Or...not to mention ... it may be a problematic coincidence /trope. But in enter the void -the guy who needs to finacially support his sibling/ does dr*gs -hooks up with his dr*g dealing friend’s married mom (who would give him money). Or in gilbert grape- the poor teen-who has to finacially support his siblings/single mom-has his endgame relationship be a girl his own age. But before that he h*oked up with a married woman -who would give him money. Don’s plum -young film guy-propositioned by older female film director (for dream job). Not even mentioning the other films that have the guy hooking up with toxic older women (like ‘the graduate’). Or analyze this-where the therapist accuses him of having an Oedipus complex (not touching that one... but the guy in ‘enter the void’ a 100% had one). It’s possible those movies were just- inspo for s3? A coincidence? Or s3 was foreshadowing for this in s4- but unlike s3 it will accurately be played as wrong and a sign of Jonathan recreating past tra*ma caused by Lonnie (cough like the photos) /being desperate for money. And not played ‘comedically’ like how it mostly was in s3. But shown as self destructive (for Jon) and immoral on the Woman’s end. Like... Billy and Jon are character foils. Both are older siblings into rock music, with ab*sive dads who shoved them into walls. Both lose it (and beat steve to a pulp when Steve accidentally triggers their daddy issues). In s3 it’s established womanizer Billy has mommy issues, than he tries ho*king up with someone his mom’s age, and the characters ref ‘back to the future ‘ and Steve incorrectly says it’s about “alex p keaton trying to bang his mom.” This could illustrate his subconscious issues with parental figures/adults cause of Lonnie’s possible past se*ual ab*se . One film the friend even says to the guy “you don’t have friends!” guy b: i have friends! him: no you have acquaintances! ADMIT IT! YOU’RE AFRAID OF MEN!I mean-Jonathan liked Nancy- but he initially hooked up with her cause he wanted to prove he didn’t have ‘trust issues’ from his dad. Also it’s prob a bit of a reach (and maybe a coincidence)- but the fact Murray in the same breath compares Steve (Nancy’s then bf) and Lonnie ... uh... if you think too long about it ... it’s very sinister . Especially because in s3: muray tells Joyce that despite her wanting to be with a nice guy, she’s curious about “the brute” Hopper despite him reminding her of a past “bad relationship”(aka Lonnie). Like- yeah connect some dots. Quite a few films (other than forrest gump) also have the character who (as a kid) was r*ped by their dad/parent- begin to do dr*gs/be pr*miscuous as adults since they never learned to properly cope with their trauma (’girl with the dragon tattoo’, ‘black swan’, and ‘magnolia’). Unfortunately the whole relative doing such things to kid-relatives is in at least 30+ movies.

Personally, i would be MUCH happier if Jon had a age appropriate romance- and had not a single creepy adult near him. A few movies actually imply Lonnie gets yet another ‘new model’ replacing his gf in her 20s with a new gf- who is ‘barely l*gal” and just turned 18. so there’s that possibility as well- that she’s jonathan’s age.I just want Jonathan-happy &safe. GOD. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

#byler #byeler #will byers #mike wheeler #Jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #joyce byers #jim hopper #murray bauman #stranger things #el hopper #s4 theory #stranger things theory

181 notes · View notes

a-vctlan · 2 years ago

Note

aloe : how does your muse handle grief ? (Kunsel)

𝘉𝘖𝘛𝘈𝘕𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘓 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘊𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘕𝘚

Kunsel doesn't know how to let go, and it's been apparent ever since he was a child.

Absence isn't something unfamiliar to him -- it takes over most of his memories of his father, entirely swallowed by his work at Shin-Ra's labs, but there is something about it that leaves him restless.

People leave, yes, but they have to come back. ( In one way or another. )

A General Affairs officer was the one to break the news, a letter to be delivered personally, waiting on him and his mother.

Ushered to another room, told to stay inside... but he couldn't help to listen in, brown eyes focused entirely on the black suit standing there, unaffected by his mother's crumbling visage.

There was an accident, and Anselmo Zantos had died. His body could not be recovered. What remains of his belongings would be returned in due time. As part of Shinra's severance package and accident policy, they would be allowed to continue living in their current Shinra issued housing.

No questions, no answers, they were to accept this as it was presented to them. This was the truth, thinking otherwise would fall under conspiracy-led thinking, and could have their worker-relation privileges revoked -- if not have them outright charged criminally.

But there was something about not seeing the body, of being told but not shown, that crept into his head and made a nest in it, resting on the already established branches of distrust and frustration towards the company. There had to be more to it, secrecy that ran so deep it made him sick, he had to know what really happened.

Paranoia, as well, had found home in his heart: he'd grown overly attached, needed to know every move his mother made, became controlling and clinging to what few friends he did have at school, jealous and unreasonable -- all borne from a lack of safety, the thought that there's a chance that once people leave his field of vision they'll be gone for good. This gets better with time, his mother doing her best to accommodate him until she gave up and put him through therapy... but it never really went away.

Five years pass, he's thirteen and dumb, entirely naive to the commitment he would be taking on, but it seemed like the easiest way to get close to the information he wanted: against his mother's wishes, he successfully applies for the SOLDIER program. It is an entirely reckless and impulsive decision brought on by a chance encounter during one of Shinra's many school fair presentations, but he had to know what happened, had to find out.

... He never does, the closer he got, the more questions would rise, some things hidden too well for even him to find.

Over the years, in what would just be another manifestation of his clinging behavior, Kunsel grows somewhat apathetic towards others, a necessary sense of disconnect to spare himself the heartache -- he is not shocked or surprised that Genesis deserted with a collection of Seconds and Thirds, merely curious as to why. More questions, more digging, never any answers.

( That's the son of a Shin-Ra scientist for you. Never satisfied with what he knows. )

But as much as he may try to be apathetic, at his core he's a people person, he craves connection and the biggest tell on his true nature would be his involvement in the mentorship program and ultimately how much he smothers Zack with reminders and notes, whom he genuinely grew to consider his best friend, someone whose personality shone so bright it felt like basking in the sun of a Costan summer. Unfortunately, this does lend to him often times leaning into his obsessive nature, but it comes from a place of affection.

And with the SOLDIER program crumbling around them, his workload increasing, cracks in Shin-Ra's foundation becoming more and more apparent... when Zack disappears, his friend too declared dead, Kunsel feels something disconnect in his mind. He doesn't even think to question that Sephiroth and everyone else were declared dead as well, accepting it at face value, entirely wrapped up in trying to figure out what happened to Zack and Zack alone. He's entirely in denial of it, trauma and uncertainty brought on by Shin-Ra constantly using SOLDIER's being KIA as a cover for something else, and although part of his thought process is irrational, when did grief ever care for logic?

( Part of him wondered if he wasn't purposefully narrowing his scope. Protecting himself from answers he wouldn't like. )

He wouldn't let go, no matter how much time went on -- and instead, he'd crawl his way to a higher vantage point, do what he could to get closer to the Science Department, anything to get a single glimpse or note of what could've happened in Nibelheim.

With grief, Kunsel throws himself into denial and into his work, be it his involvement with the SOLDIER program or his incessant search for the 'truth' in whatever shape it may come.

It cannot be understated how much better his work ethic and behavior became once Zack was out of the picture, seemingly finally taking his job with the seriousness it warranted, and after a while he's set on the path to a promotion he doesn't particularly care for -- but Shin-Ra's running out of poster boys, and his interests aren't a consideration when it comes to the good of the company image.

#｢ headcanon ｣ 𝘒𝘜𝘕𝘚𝘌𝘓 𝘡𝘈𝘕𝘛𝘖𝘚 #｢ ficlet ｣ 𝘒𝘜𝘕𝘚𝘌𝘓 𝘡𝘈𝘕𝘛𝘖𝘚 #wakes up at 5 am. entirely rewrites this post. slams it on the dash.

1 note · View note

tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago

Note

hello! can you write a scenario for atsumu? something like idiots to lovers. like they're best friends or sth like that and they end up accidentally confessing each other gshksfsghgs it's up to you actually, i'd lobe to read anything you write ♡♡ i understand if you won't do it btw but thanks anyways!!

cherry cola — miya atsumu

1.8k words | genre/s: fluff, uni!au | warning/s: — | pairing: atsumu x gn!reader

↪︎ in which you find your best friend, atsumu, passed out on your balcony after a party the night before. now you’re giving him a wake up call with a cherry cola and a confession

a/n: definitely not my best writing, so sorry if this ended up not being what you expected, because this went totally different from what i first had in mind lmao

atsumu’s head was pounding. like a hammer whacking right on his forehead over and over again. he groans, muttering something incomprehensible as his neck and back ached. he wasn’t exactly dreaming, yet he knew very well that he was awake in some form of way. like a limbo? he didn’t know—more like he didn’t bother to find out as he shifted uncomfortably, his head pounding harder and harder the more he stirred in his sleep.

the hell was he sleeping on anyway? concrete?

atsumu didn’t remember your bed being this hard the last time he stayed at your house. wait. why could he hear birds chirping right next to his ear and why was he at your house again?

“atsumu!” a voice shouts at him as he felt a soft throw pillow pelt at his face.

“what the hell?” the setter groans under his breath, yanking him out of his lingering slumber as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

his eyes were open now at least, albeit he struggled trying to keep them open. he peeked through his eyelids to see your figure hovering over him with that same fatigue draining you. not to mention the cool morning breeze suddenly pulling him into his senses that he was in fact outside on your balcony passed out.

you make your way over to him, tugging his arm to get up. “hurry and get your ass out of here before the ra sees you, idiot.”

atsumu’s expression contorts into confusion as he rests himself against the railing, right hand holding his temple as his headache turned into a migraine. “the hell happened last night?”

“what do you mean what happened?” you scoff, placing yourself next to him. “how much could you have drank to not even remember we had a party last night?”

a party? yeah, that does ring a bell. atsumu thought, sighing out the last lingering taste of beer out of his mouth.

it was then the memories from last night dawned on him like a sudden downpour. being the idiots you and atsumu were, you two decided to throw some mindless party just because you two were bored in your literature class one day.

the night was still blurry as his head, all tangled up in jungle vines and foggy from the alcohol. he recalled it starting off with a bang, as atsumu worded it himself an hour before the party started. you two had spent a good amount of money on alcohol and evaded a noise complaint by giving out free liquor bottles to keep their mouths shut. the night progressed like normal before atsumu knocked the fuck out, yet he couldn’t shake off the fact that you sat uncomfortably next to him with a look on your face as if you had just committed a crime.

it was the look you usually had when you and atsumu had done some completely and utterly stupid last night—it was just a matter of what.

“do you remember anything,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders as you handed him a drink in one hand and an ibuprofen in the other. “i dunno, that happened last night during the party? like anything strange?”

a huff left atsumu’s lips, trying the conjure up the energy to even speak. “no?” he answered all confused before looking down at the beverage that was radiating coldness throughout his palm. “what’s this?”

“a cherry cola and pain medicine so you can get out of here already,” you muttered. “and are you sure you don’t remember what happened?”

the setter didn’t respond as he cracked the can open and chugged half of it’s contents down. it seared in his throat slightly as the sugar from the drink had forced energy into his body, downing the medicine along with it. “why the cherry cola?”

“answer my question first.”

“i already told you that i don’t remember, (y/n).” groaned atsumu as he took another swig of cherry cola as if it were alcohol. he then leaned in close to your face, watching as you pull back slightly with your eyes wide like saucers.

strange, atsumu thought, but if only he could hear your raging heart beat within your chest and see the faint pink hues upon your cheeks.

“now answer my question,” your best friend chimed in as he mused at your expression.

pursing your lips, you quickly thought of a lie. “nothing. i’m just bribing you with your favorite drink to hurry up and leave.” you attempted to push him up on his feet again, but it succeeded with no prevail as he threw you smirk.

“why do you want me to leave so you badly, huh?” he leaned in again, provocation lacing his words like ant ridden saccharine. even when he was hung over, atsumu was still as playful and cocky as ever.

he was much closer to you, more than both of you were used to. despite being best friends and being by each other’s sides 24/7, there was still a bubble of personal space between the two of you that has always been respected, and yet, you didn’t fight him off nor push him away and it certainly didn’t seem like atsumu was going to do anything about it either.

“you don’t remember what i said last night?” your voice emitted much softer than anticipated. perhaps it was from the close proximity between the two of you that you didn’t need to be loud in order to be heard, or maybe it was the fact your faces were just inches away from each other.

“we talked a lot last night, though.”

you shook your head, “no, it was a few minutes before you passed out. we were alone and we were drunk in the bathroom and—”

atsumu’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, racking his brain to remember the scene but all he could recall was the two of you talking on the bathroom floor after he just threw up. he probably just said something snarky to you and hoped it wasn’t a big deal.

“did i say something strange to you or something?” he asked as he was still a bit confused.

you scoff, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. how could he just magically forget what he said last night and act like it’s not a big deal? if it was you that didn’t remember something you said, you would be panicking right now. “yes,” you deadpan.

an amuse chuckle left the setter’s lips, “then what do you want me to do about it?” atsumu’s conscience mentally slapped him over and over again, yelling, what the hell do you think you’re doing? as the words fell between his lips before he could stop himself. since the moment you two became close there were always unspoken boundaries placed between the two of you and yet he was screwing it all up. the signal in his mind didn’t release itself until the moment he felt his eyes fall upon your chamomile lips. and to atsumu’s peachy ones, did you even dare to think of the impossible, of the serenity that filled you two under your blushing cheeks.

even if he was just playfully and mindlessly flirting with you, it wasn’t like you reacted to it much. before, you would most likely just shrug it off as a joke or roll your eyes at him. and yet, now you’re cheeks tint red and you get all flustered just by the sight of him.

“nothing,” you mutter as you finally pull yourself away from him and up on your toes. “just hurry up and get back to your dorm—”

your wrist was suddenly snatched, forcing you to look back down at atsumu. “are you okay?”

“yeah, don’t worry about it.” you dismissed, but he still refused to let go of you.

atsumu was now up on his feet despite struggling to gain balance for a quick second before following you back inside. “why are you acting like this?” he questioned, genuinely curious considering the fact that nothings lining up for him, but that’s probably because there’s still alcohol in his system.

“i told you already,” you repeated, the anger suddenly rising in the tone of your voice and you yanked the door open. “it’s nothing, just forget about it.”

“forget what, (y/n)!?” he exclaimed all of the sudden, his voice echoing own the corridors as the frustration suddenly building up within him at such an early morning. this wasn’t good for anyone, not for you or atsumu, and not even your neighbors who were probably still sleeping.

“because you told me you had feelings for me last night, idiot!” you quickly shut your mouth up the moment the words left you.

atsumu’s expression hardened as his breath hitched in his throat, hesitating to even answer as the words could barely leave his tongue.

you weren’t supposed to know about that.

the thought was drowning in the back of your heads, only for you to swallow any unnecessary feelings back into the dark depths of your gut as you turned away. atsumu cleared his throat and mirrored your movements, creating a space between the two of you once more as if whatever just happened didn’t occur. perhaps the setter had a problem with keeping things to himself while he’s drunk, but surely you didn’t even have the ability to resist the urge you swore you would never succumb to.

because isn’t falling fun?

atsumu’s eyes flickered back and forth from the ground before him and you who seemed to be too deep within your psyche to notice as you refused to even look at him. he captured his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled himself together to answer. “i’m sorry,” he apologized, “i didn’t want my feelings to ruin our friendship.”

you shook your head, scratching the nape of your neck as your gaze finally decided to meet with his. “it’s not ruined, atsumu. we’re just being idiots right now.”

“when are we not?” he chuckles softly, trying to lighten up the mood that suddenly turned awkward. “i just hope you didn’t reject me while i was drunk.”

“i would never!” you scoff, offense written all over your face as you felt relief coursing through your body knowing that everything seemed close to normal again. “i mean how could i reject someone that looks absolutely adorable while their drunk?”

a playful look melted upon atsumu’s expression as he smirks, “you think i’m adorable?”

“a hundred percent. it’s just too bad i couldn’t kiss you since you threw up right after you confessed. it was disgusting.”

atsumu rolled his eyes, “don’t lie, you know damn well that was the best confession you have every received.”

and it was. purely from the fact that was from your best friend, miya atsumu, who you often called idiot. but if anything, he was your idiot and you wouldn’t change it for anything.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #atsumu scenarios #atsumu oneshot #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #hq atsumu #haikyuu atsumu

332 notes · View notes

greenninjagal-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out.

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

#sanders sides #board gaming #platonic moxiety #Analogical #Logan is the hottest side confirmed #Because everyone wants to date him #(Except Pat)#Me the author: what the fuck is hurt comfort #tw: cancer #I just like board games okay #maybe a little too much #I kNew YoU WeRe TrOuBlE WhEn YoU wAlKeD IN #virgil is a disaster gay #Patton really awesome #Hugs? Hugs.

78 notes · View notes

drjingujisclinic · 4 years ago

Note

hello!! I just wanna say I absolutely adore your work & how you write <3 can I request some gentle femdom of jakurai and fem s/o?? nothing really serious or anything, just where he lets his s/o take the reins to make him feel as good as possible and taking care of him ✧(⸝⸝⸝ᵒ̴̶̷ ｡ ᵒ̴̶̷⸝⸝⸝) thank you so much in advance & for ur hard work!!

JAKURAI JINGUJI:

tags: sleepy shower handjob, as you do

He’s not controlling, so much as he is a person who prefers giving rather than receiving. His nature is to dote as much as possible on you, and his favorite phrase is to say “Don’t worry about me, I’ll worry about you.” But you can’t help but feel a little bad anyway. Jakurai is always good to you.

Another late night at the hospital. He always tells you not to wait up for him, and you always do anyway. Usually you’re met with a click of his tongue and a remark about how you need your sleep, and please don’t worry about me, I’ll always come home safe, with that weary look on his face. But tonight he looks more tired than anything else. He gently pushes you away when you approach, mumbling something about how he needs a shower first.

You can’t argue with that, after all.

But you do miss him when he gets shifts like these.

You tiptoe into the bathroom (with a solid knock just to signify you’re there - you’ve certainly been the target of his old reflexes before). He doesn’t argue, just watches out of the corner of his eye as you undress and step into the shower behind him. His muscles quickly tense in his shoulders as you wrap your arms around his midsection.

“Can I start worrying about you now?” You ask, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. It’s about as high as you can reach without standing on your toes.

“You don’t--”

“I know I don’t have to. But I do, you know.”

He lets out a long sigh, and looks over his shoulder. His eyes are always gentle, even now, when they’re exhausted.

“Long day. That’s all.”

“Mm.”

One of your hands slides just a little lower, pressing gently against his lower stomach. You hear it, just barely, a little huff of breath, and feel the instinctive twitch of his body under your fingertips.

“What are you doing?” It’s hardly a question. He knows what you’re up to.

You purse your lips. “Do you not want me to?”

Jakurai swallows and closes his eyes, just for a moment.

“Go on. There will be less to clean afterwards.” He muses, more to himself than anything else.

You can’t help but laugh to yourself. “I’ll take care of that too.”

He smiles, just a little. “Thank you.”

Your hand slides down, and you wrap your fingers around his length at the base. He’s already half hard - whether from your hands on his stomach or your body pressed against his back, who’s to say, really - and he lets out a soft sigh as you move your hand.

Jakurai doesn’t often let you take the lead. He doesn’t want you to worry about him. But he can’t help but indulge himself when you do. His head lolls to the side, pressing gently against the shower wall as he lets you work him slowly. He doesn’t force you to speed up, just gently rocking his hips into your hand. Somehow it feels like even now he’s got a hand on the reins.

Your thumb rolls against the tip, and suddenly a hand shoots up to clasp over his mouth. A muffled whimper falls past his lips and into his hand. You can’t help but frown a little. With your free hand, you gently hold his wrist and pull his hand away.

“Don’t do that, you sound so pretty, Ja-ku-ra-i~”

You’re met with an exasperated little sigh, but he can’t be too upset when you’re holding his hand in your own. He bites at his lower lip, hoping that might muffle him, but it does little good as you roll your thumb against the tip again. His hips stutter forward, you swear you almost hear him rumble a please from deep in his chest.

“It’s okay, finish when you’re ready. I won’t be upset.” You murmur to him, and crane your head to kiss at his jaw. Almost as if on command, he gasps and shudders, and a familiar warmth coats your fingers.

“You’re okay?” You ask him softly, squeezing his hand.

“Mm. Thank you.” He sounds sleepy, and you press a little kiss to his shoulder.

“Go to bed. I’ll take care of you.”

#Anonymous #jakurai jinguji #lemon #hypmic #hypnosis mic #matenrou

62 notes · View notes

the-noir-sorceries-castle · 3 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Bloody Castle!

WHAT IS THE NOIR SORCERIES CASTLE?The Noir Sorceries Castle (TNSC) is the home to all things vampiric, gothic, artistic and of course mysterious. The castle belongs to 3 eccentric lords. The lords have been rulers of this castle for millennia, ruling with grace and harmony. But after 100 years, they decided to use the castle walls as a sort of radio tower, to connect with the outside world. Now, the castle has become the one place where all can gather and read/observe about the world of the paranormal. So to all new and old...welcome!

<+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+>

MEET THE LORDS:

𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐢||266||♎️||He/They||Magician||Seer||Non-Binary||Bisexual||OCD||Colorful Emo Mess||The ENFP Starlight Trickster||DDADDS Lover||Actor||Lover Of Games||The Oracle

Dimitri: ZITTI E BUONI - Måneskin, Paid In Exposure - NateWantsToBattle, Master Of Puppets - Metallica, Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana, Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen, Sick Of The Silence - Mother Mother, Wolf In Sheep's Clothing - Set It Off, Welcome To The Jungle - Guns N' Roses, Rock You Like A Hurricane - Scorpions, American Idiot - Green Day.

Dimitri: Psychosocial by Slipknot, Under Pressure by Queen + David Bowie, Supremacy by Muse, Beat It by Fall Out Boy.

Dimitri: Zombiecore, Darkest Academia, Cottagegore, Cryptid Academia, Gothcore, Woodland Goth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝔸𝕟𝕟||265||♌️||Zey/Zem||Ex-Mayor||Pirate/Fae||Agender||Lesbian||GAD||Ballerina||Latex ESTP Goth||70s Icon||Fashionista Icon||Entertainer of Birds||The Rebel

Ann: Lies - Pale Waves, Preach - Jessie Paege, Wicked Ones - Dorothy, Screw Feelings - Au/Ra, Blood In The Cut - K.Flay, Hot To Go! - Chappell Roan, One Way Or Another - Blondie, Sissorhands - Maggie Lindemann.

Ann: Ur A Stranger by Willow, Froot by Marina, Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land by MARINA, Monica Lewinsky by UPSAHIL.

Ann: Dark Fairycore, Weirdcore, Victorian, Mori Kei.

<+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+>

╭──────────────────╮

playιng: [Cellophane] - [FKA Twigs]

1:06 ───⊙─────── 4:21

⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

╰──────────────────╯

Thank you for reading, goodbye!👢

#pebbles egos #nwtb egos #goth academia #dark acamedia #victorian aesthetic #goth #demonology #occult #tnsc #⌚

2 notes · View notes

just-the-mage · 3 years ago

Note

[ 👶 ] is your muse good with kids, or do they prefer to avoid them?

For Eva

Evangeline stepped through throngs of people crowding the Rosewood Stalls in Gridania. She checked her list a third time, ensuring that she had what she needed. The cloth bag at her side held eggs, butter, milk, some spices, and a smaller bag of jerky she had picked up for herself. She was in the mood for meat today. If she was being honest, she had been in the mood for meat the past few days. And…the past few days before that. Ever since they had returned from Amdapor, in fact. She put off considering it again, finishing the piece she had been worrying at while she was walking. She cast her eyes around, giving one more look before she turned back towards the lodge. She stopped for a moment, considering a flower stand. Pidgeon would like some flowers…and it wouldn’t be too much, right? Friends bought each other flowers sometimes. Eyeing a bouquet of hydrangeas that would look lovely woven into Pidgeon’s dark hair, Evangeline heard something.

Sniff…sniff…Mama…

Flowers forgotten, Eva stopped, listening again for the noise. Soft sobbing echoed from underneath the stall next to the flower stand, which was unmanned for the time being. It’s owner must have stepped away. Evangeline crouched down, pulling up the cloth around the base of the stand to reveal a small au ra girl, surely no more than five years old, curled up underneath it.

“Hey there, little one…” Evangeline whispered, her voice as soft as she could make it. The child opened her eyes at the sound, two brilliant blue pools meeting Evangeline’s eyes, one violet and one crimson. She gave a little gasp, and scooted backwards a bit.

“Did you lose your mommy?” Evangeline said, backing away a bit but continuing to hold the curtain up so she could still see the girl. The au ra’s lip quivered, and her blue eyes filled with tears as she sobbed:

“Y-yeeesss…”

“Ohh, it’s o-okay, hush, now…” Evangeline said softly, reaching a hand out. “Why don’t you come with m-me and we can try and find her? I’ll have you know I’m v-very tall, and it’s quite easy to spot someone from my s-shoulders.” The little girl paused, still teary-eyed, and slowly nodded, crawling her way out from under the stall. Eva bowed her head, allowing the girl to climb up onto her shoulders.

“What is your name, little one?” Evangeline asked, slowly standing and steadying the girl with her hands.

“Maseera…” came a quiet response.

“Well, Maseera, cover your ears because I’m a-about to be rather loud.” Evangeline said. “I’ll keep you from falling, so d-don’t worry about that. She took in a deep breath, watching from her periphery to make sure the child covered her ears.

“EXCUSE ME!” She boomed, using the tone of voice she hadn’t bothered with since she was an Immortal Flame. She started walking, wading through a crowd that was now turning to look at her. “WE ARE LOOKING FOR THE MOTHER OF MASEERA!” Yet more heads turned towards her as she walked, the au ra still plastered to the back of her head, hands over her ears. Evangeline repeated herself once more, and luckily that was all that was needed. A frantic looking Au Ra woman rushed up to them, crying:

“Maseera? Maseera??” She caught a glimpse of her daughter as Evangeline reached up with a large, calloused hand, plucking the girl from the back of her neck and delivering her into her mother’s arms. Evangeline crouched down, putting herself just below eye level with the mother.

“I do hope you have a n-nice day. Both of you.” Maseera turned to give a bright smile to Evangeline before burying her face into her mother’s shoulder.

“Thank you!” The mother replied. “Thank you so, so much! I’d been looking for her for ages!” She managed a half-bow with her daughter still attached to her, and rushed off into the crowd. Evangeline stood, still smiling. It was probably time to get back to the lodge. She could worry about flowers another day.

This was also asked by @pidgeon-sorrel. Thank you!! ❤️

#ffxiv #evangeline cross #viera #rava viera #final fantasy xiv #au ra #asks #writing #thank you for the ask!

4 notes · View notes

amoretheiwa · 4 years ago

Text

Closet Conversation

Tim and Kon have had a thing going for a little while now--a friends-with-benefits kind of things. But Tim isn't sure he can't keep up the pretense of only friendly feelings towards Kon. So things start to come out... That's basically it.

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr below the cut

Tim found himself hating Kon just a little bit when the Kryptonian finally pulled completely away and didn’t seem even nearly as out of breath as he was. Sweat made Tim’s face damp and he willed his arm not to swipe at his forehead, chest still heaving.

Kon grinned at him—teeth blindingly white and lips still swollen—as he began to reach for his costume pieces.

“I think I have a new favorite room here,” he said with a wink.

Tim pushed down the emotions—and arousal—that evoked and rolled his eyes.

“If every place we did anything like this in ended up as your favorite room, half the Tower would be your favorite.”

Kon raised and wagged his eyebrows.

“Exactly.”

Tim scoffed and turned around, searching for the discarded pieces of his uniform. In the midst of their little…tryst, the oddest things ended up in the oddest places. His boots were in opposite corners and his cape was stuck over the door handle.

“One of these days someone is going to need something in one of these closets and they’re going to find way more than they expected.”

Kon snorted.

“So what? Good for them.”

Tim tensed for a split second before going back to getting dressed. Their friends with benefits arrangement was mutually beneficial. Kon got out his insane amounts of pent-up sexual tension, Tim got stress relief and the added bonus of close proximity to his current crush/best friend. If he could even still call it a crush after the past few years.

Maybe it was the Bat-training, maybe it was his attempt at keeping feelings out of the whole thing, whatever the reason, Tim was finished getting dressed even as Kon was still looking for his top. Tim allowed himself to watch as his friend floated up to the top of a cabinet. His butt looked good at this angle. Tim felt his cheeks flush and turned around, crossing his arms. Robin tradition or not, he mused bitterly on the stories he had heard from Dick, messing around in random rooms in Titans Tower does not seem smart or safe.

“That was dumb,” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes.

“What was?” Came Kon’s voice most definitely too loud and too close.

Tim whirled and glared at his…friend.

“This,” he gestured at them both, at the room. “This whole thing was and every time we have done it and probably every time we will do it. It’s a dumb thing with dumb perks.”

Kon furrowed his brows, blue eyes glinting.

“What’s dumb about it?”

Tim scoffed.

“Everything. It’s firstly unsanitary,” Kon outright laughed. Tim pursed his lips. “Secondly, it could end causing problems between teammates.”

Kon tilted his head.

“How so? Unless you don’t like my skills,” here the half-Kryptonian wiggled his hips, “I don’t see any reason to stop.”

Tim felt his heart jump and his blood roil. Ignoring the fact that Kon could hear all the ways his body was betraying him if he was even bothering to pay attention, Tim continued. He turned around again, crossing his arms.

“Say you and Cassie get back together, or you meet someone else. It just would be problematic!”

Kon shrugged and pulled his shirt on. He went to tuck it in as Tim spoke again.

“That was dumb.”

“I know. I heard you the first three times.”

“Crazy dumb. Crazy, stupid sticking fingers into light sockets kind of dumb.”

Tim glared at the wall, not saying anything else. Before he knew what was happening, Kon was pinning him against the wall just as he had been before, only this time both his hands were above his head and Kon wasn’t touching him anywhere else.

“What’s so dumb about this, Tim?” He asked in a low, sultry voice. It wasn’t exactly the same as his sex voice, a little more serious and less out-of-breath, but still far from his hero's voice.

“Is there something that bothers you about this Tim, or is it something about me?”

Tim swallowed, his throat suddenly extremely dry. Even though they had just spent quite a bit of time in there, certain parts of his body were telling him they were more than willing and ready to go another round, maybe even two, with Kon.

“This isn’t a personal commentary on either of us, Superboy.”

Kon leaned in closer to Tim but still didn’t touch him anywhere else. The familiar tingling of his TTK wound its way up from his ankles to rest low on his hips, pushing him further into the wall. He attempted to swallow again.

“Isn’t it though? You don’t have any problems with Bart and Jaime, or Steph and Cass.”

Tim tensed and a good portion of his arousal went away.

“Because they’re all in a public, committed relationship. Any of the potential fall-outs are at least partially anticipated.”

Kon pulled back some.

“Really, Tim? You’re going to go full-on Bats on me like this?”

Tim resented the fact that even Kon called him out on his more Bruce-like qualities—it wasn’t like Jason and Dick weren’t enough. He grit his teeth and tried to pull his wrists free from Kon’s hands. The clone didn’t fight him but didn’t let him just slip away, either.

“This has nothing to do with being a Bat, and even if it did that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.”

Kon floated back some, giving Tim some more space without really freeing him.

“No, you’re right,” Kon put a hand through his hair, “this has nothing to with being a Bat. This has everything to do with you and your repressed emotions. It might make you fit in with the rest of your crime-fighting clan but you didn’t inherit it from them.”

Tim contemplated slapping Kon right then and there. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that being the one to initiate physical contact would mean Kon had won in some sick twisted way.

“I’m no detective but I think there’s something else that makes you see this as dumb,” Kon said softly, almost gently.

Tim flinched and closed his eyes. He was by far not prepared for this change in tone. Fighting, he could do—it’s all he and Kon had ever done before they became friends. But emotions, pity? Hell no.

The silence in the closet was deafening, and if his heartbeat was even half as loud to Kon as it was to him he knew there was no point in hiding. They stood there for what felt like hours before he opened his eyes. Behind his mask, he felt a sense of anonymity rarely afforded to Timothy Drake-Wayne. But in front of Kon? Kon-el, Conner Kent, the clone of Superman himself and containing Lex Luthor’s DNA, was not stupid. Even if he liked to be underestimated as such. He knew it was a lost cause that he was going to have to either come up with a really good lie (even by his standards) or tell the truth, as heart-wrenching as it would end up being.

Tim was just about to open his mouth and say—he didn’t know what, but something—when their communicators went off.

“All Titans, come in. We’re needed ASAP!”

Kon pulled all the way back this time and sighed.

“We’ll finish this conversation later.”

Tim didn’t follow Kon out immediately, instead letting his head fall back against the wall.

If I have any say in the matter we won’t.

Tim had almost forgotten about the uncomfortable conversation that happened after his and Kon’s most recent…meeting. Almost. And God did he hate that he couldn’t bring himself to just calling it what it was—sex, unattached and as platonic as it can get sex. Fucking, banging if he wanted to be crude, but it wasn’t much more. No making love for Tim Drake. No, he is much too busy and sleep deprived as it is, let alone emotionally repressed as others had so kindly put it.

He would have completely forgotten about the fact that his best friend (are they even still best friends at this point? What were they supposed to be?) still wanted to talk if it wasn’t for said friend. Tim had hit the showers—finally—after their quick mission. A gangbanger that had gotten too big for his britches decided to dabble in Venom and wrecked a few city blocks by the time they were able to stop him.

While he pulled on some civvies, Tim winced. It was far from the worst battle he had ever been in (hello Ra’s al Ghul, Damian) but bruised ribs were bruised ribs. A knock on his door had him tensing. His schedule did not allow him to spend much more time at Titans Tower. After all, he had business back in Gotham of both the suit-and-tie kind and the crime-fighting kind.

“Come in,” he called out. Whichever Titan it was hopefully wouldn’t take up too much of his time.

He heard his door open but knew immediately it wasn’t Bart or Cassie; both of them would have instantly been chattering about something or other. Tim knew in his gut it was Kon before he turned around.

“Do you need something?” He asked, voice cold in a manner he didn’t frequently use on friends and family, just barely keeping himself from crossing his arms.

Kon made sure the door was shut before walking over to Tim’s desk and sitting in his seat. The clone leaned back a tad, just enough that his t-shirt rode up his jeans some. Tim was suddenly very grateful for Kon’s fashion taste and the fact the high-waisted jeans covered skin that otherwise would have been visible and very distracting.

“Yeah, I do, but not right now. This is more of a…a prelude to talking about what you and I need.”

Tim made the split-second decision to not sit down but did finally give in and cross his arms.

“Fine. I don’t have much time so spit it out.”

He hoped that the minute shaking he could feel wasn’t noticeable, but who was Tim kidding? Even with half of Superman’s genes, this was still a superpowered Kryptonian. He leaned against his dresser, the distance exactly enough to not be awkwardly far away but not so close as to make the conversation too intimate, too personal.

Kon eyed Tim. It wasn’t a sensual checking out or aggressive sizing up, just a drawn out and unsubtle observation. Tim began to fidget, a tell and a nervous habit Dick and Bruce had yet to fully train out of him.

“Well?” He finally prompted, undeniably impatient.

Kon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you brought up earlier, man, and I want you to know that I wasn’t just being a jerk for no reason.”

Tim snorted.

“Like you’ve ever needed a reason to be a jerk.” Kon snapped his head up and glared at Tim.

Tim raised his hands in surrender, genuinely regretting the words.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Continue.”

Kon pursed his lips for a beat before doing just that.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I still stand by what I said earlier even if some of the…personal digs weren’t relevant. It’s a Bats thing to stay emotionally unattached and I’m not like that. I hate it, I actually really hate it. So even though we’ve got this friends-with-benefits thing going on you’re still one of my closest friends. Besides,” he leaned back again, grinning now, a glint in his eyes and the beginnings of a smirk around his mouth, “it’s not liked we don’t keep each other happy.”

Tim swallowed. His heart was racing but he also felt kind of faint. Instinctively the oblivious side of him wondered if he had maybe been poisoned but he knew instantly that that wasn’t the case.

“So you’re saying that you want to keep this up, nothing changing, even though I think it’s dumb?”

Kon groaned and closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I don’t know man. Ideally, there’d be more than just amazing sex in random rooms but since that’s all you’re gonna give that’s all I’m gonna take.”

“Fine b—wait, wait what?” Tim’s voice squeaked in a way it hadn’t in a few years. Kon’s eyebrows furrowed and his cheeks flushed slightly.

“Do you like me?”

Kon looked miffed at having been interrupted but shrugged.

“Yeah, man, I guess. We are friends after all.” Tim stood up and shook his head.

“No, no, you don’t understand. Do you like like-like me? Like, physically and emotionally attracted to me? As in don’t want to just fuck?”

Kon rolled his eyes.

“Well duh. Why do you think I broke it off with Cassie? I straight up seduced you dude, I just realized pretty quickly you weren’t into me on the same level. It’s cool though.”

“Why did you think I’m not into you? I thought it was obvious and you were just humoring me while getting all the benefits.”

Kon raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak but froze. He dropped his head back and started laughing.

“What’s so funny about this?” Tim said, speaking louder so that he could be heard over Kon’s laughter. Emotions were racing through him like a heard of horses but the most prominent one had rapidly become confusion.

“It’s, it’s just that this whole time I, I tho-thought,” Kon wheezed, “thought that you. I don’t know, I just didn’t think you were interested that way.”

Tim felt his jaw metaphorically drop.

“Are you kidding me? We could have been dating this whole time?”

Tim ran his fingers through his hair and gripped it, pacing. Kon stood up and smiled. He walked up to Tim who had begun muttering at light speed, and gently stopped him, holding his shoulders.

“Tim, hey, Rob,” he said softly.

Tim looked up at him and sighed. He bit his bottom lip, and Kon’s eyes flashed down toward his lips.

“Let’s let go of this whole mess and just start over, okay?”

Tim nodded vigorously. Kon grinned and leaned in, kissing him softly. When he pulled back, Tim seemed to be a little in shock.

“So, Robin, Tim Drake-Wayne, would you like to go on a date with me tonight?”

Tim pulled back a little and stared Kon down.

“As much as I want to say yes, I’m way too busy tonight. How about tomorrow? I can make time for a few hours if you can.”

Kon grinned and kissed Tim again, lingering this time.

“I can always make time for you, babe.”

“Babe?”

“Well, yeah, if we’re boyfriends then I reserve the right to call you babe.”

Tim couldn’t deny that he wasn’t getting flustered and flustered quickly.

“Alright, Kon,” Tim grinned, “it’s a date.”

#timkon #tim drake #conner kent #amoretheiwa writes #closet conversation

19 notes · View notes

kda-chat · 4 years ago

Text

Kai’Siv Hercules Inspired AU

Long Post Warning! Inspired by Disney’s Heracles, changed the Greek mythology to Egyptian mythology. Because of that, there are slight variations compared to the original story. Just know this is just a simple, general AU post and I hope you enjoy! :)

XXX

Shai, God of Fate and Destiny, foretold a prophecy: Set, God of the Desert, Storms, and Evil, will one day overthrow Anubis, God of Funerals, Mummification, and the Afterlife and take over Duat- the Realm of the Dead. With Anubis gone, this leaves Osiris, Lord of the Underworld, and Set's brother, vulnerable to overthrow. The downfall of Anubis and Osiris will destroy the Mortal Realm, crumbling Egypt to the ground. However, a mortal champion, chosen by Anubis, will rise to stop Set. No matter what, this champion will be successful.

To prevent the second half of the prophecy from coming true, Set sent ruthless sandstorms around temples that worshiped Anubis, depriving him of followers. For many years, Anubis' temples were barren and empty, loss of faith.

One day, a poor woman, on the verge of death, finds herself in the footsteps of Anubis' temple, carrying a baby. She begs the deity to save her child's life before succumbing to death. Anubis, knowing the prophecy is now set, takes in the baby, and names her Sivir. Gifting her with godlike strength, he requests aid from Ra, God of the Sun. Ra sends down his demi god champion, Azir, to help.

Azir is Sivir's ancestor [Azir was human at one point, thousands of years ago], thus why he was chosen to become her parental figure, taking on a human disguise. His role is to guide Sivir and raise her in the Mortal Realm, to learn and understand about humanity. However, Sivir grew up isolated and distrustful. The other children and parents were fearful of Sivir's inhuman strength and treated her like an outcast. Worried, Azir then took in another child named Taliyah from an exiled village that was destroyed by bandits. Thus, Sivir and Taliyah got along and became close friends. Taliyah didn't mind Sivir's strength and saw her as an older sister that protected her.

One day, Azir reveals Sivir's destiny to her, after she had been questioning her existence and role in this world. He tells her to visit the Temple of Anubis, who will then prepare her for her fight against Set.

Sivir travels to the Temple of Anubis and meets Anubis himself. He tells her about her mother, how she came to him, and now what she needs to do. Anubis sends his champions down to Earth, Nasus and Renekton, to train Sivir. Nasus will teach her how to use her mind in the face of battle, using strategy, plans, and tactics to win. Renekton will teach Sivir about bravery and perseverance, how to use her godlike strength to win. The two brothers have different views of strength and often fight about it. [Insert Sivir's workout montage and getting buff.]

Meanwhile, Set has found out about Sivir. Using spies to observe the young woman, he noticed her attraction towards women. So Set chooses Kai'sa to hopefully "slow down" Sivir's progress and kill her.

Kai'sa is a mortal girl, a victim of the Void- an empty space that is filled with gruesome monsters. Kai'sa once loved another woman [I guess this can be Cassiopeia but I'll leave it blank]. When her lover was trapped in the Void, Kai'sa rushed in to save her but was betrayed by the lover and left in the Void for many years. This made Kai'sa distrustful and cynical towards romance. The only thing that kept her sanity in the Void was her need to survive for her father, Kassadin, who thought she was dead.

Set makes a deal with Kai'sa. He will release Kai'sa from the Void, and return her to her father if she seduces Sivir and kills her. Kai'sa takes the deal.

At this point, Sivir has grown stronger and wiser under Nasus and Renekton's guidance. She has conquered different trials to test her abilities, gaining respect and honor from the people that ostracized her. She was now a hero in their eyes.

In an "accident" at the river, Sivir rescues Kai'sa and falls deeply in love. Kai'sa was unlike any other girl that Sivir fancied, her beauty was mesmerizing to gaze at. And so, for a while, Sivir took time out of her training to pursue Kai'sa [which pissed Nasus and Renekton off, who were suspicious of Kai'sa]. She slowly realized that this wasn't an "I want your body" type of love, it was an "I want you to be my life partner" type of love. During this, Kai'sa plays along to get Sivir's affections, while trying to get her killed. But each time, Sivir cunningly survives [not knowing it's Kai'sa's doing] and it starts to impress the young Void woman.

But as Kai'sa learned more about Sivir, she started seeing who Sivir really was. This strong woman was a huge softy that just wanted to be liked and accepted. Sivir admitted at being resentful of humanity for rejecting her but has grown to forgive them. She spoke fondly of Taliyah and her parental figure, Azir. Sivir was a well-rounded individual that had a big heart. Kai'sa started seeing how Sivir was the complete opposite of her former lover, and slowly fell in love. [Insert famous "I Won't Say I'm in Love" scene with Ahri, Akali, and Evelynn as the muses]

At first, Set is concerned that Kai'sa has fallen for Sivir, but then realizes that Kai'sa was now Sivir's weakness. During a confrontation where Kai'sa declares that she won't hurt Sivir anymore, even at the cost of losing her freedom from the Void and seeing her father again, Set captures her and sets a trap. He lures Sivir in to save Kai'sa, bargaining with her: If she gives up all of her strength and powers for twenty-four hours, she can have Kai'sa. Sivir makes Set promise that Kai’sa will not get hurt. He agrees to the deal [Kai'sa is gagged and unable to talk back]. Sivir accepts the deal because she cares for Kai'sa that much. Once the bargain was made, Set reveals that Kai'sa worked for him and now can go after his brother and take over Duat without fearing for Sivir.

Lost, broken, betrayed, Sivir is useless to fight against the onslaught of monsters that are now fighting in Duat. Kai'sa is equally as guilty, realizing that she was no different from her former lover. However, she still wanted to help Sivir and rushes to Nasus and Renekton, persuading them to go back to Sivir to help her. They do, returning to Sivir and reminding her that pure strength isn't just muscle but it's also the mind and the heart, bravery and intellect. In her renewed confidence, Sivir is able to take down a chimera. In the process, however, Kai'sa is brutally injured while trying to protect Sivir- breaking the promise Set said about letting Kai'sa be safe. This allows Sivir to regain her powers but at the cost of Kai'sa's life. When questioned why she tried to save Sivir, Kai'sa confesses her love for her.

Rushing to come back to Kai'sa, Sivir succeeds in stopping Set from his plans. However, when she comes back, Kai'sa has died from her injuries. Anubis offers Sivir to search for Kai'sa's soul in Duat, in an area where souls must triumph challenges before the "Weighing of the Heart" test. Anubis warns that Sivir might not return from Duat because she is still technically a mortal and can get lost in this area of Duat forever. Sivir does not hesitate to search for Kai'sa. She overcomes the challenges that the dead has to maneuver, searching for Kai'sa's soul. She finds Kai'sa alone, taunted by the betrayal of her former lover, which halts her journey to the "Weighting of the Heart" test.

Kai'sa, looks up to see Sivir has found her, but she is hesitant because the idea of a possible betrayal is taunting her. Sivir assures her that she will never let go of her hand and promises to return her to Kassadin, guiding her way back to the Mortal Realm. As they make their way back, Kai'sa is assured that she can fully trust Sivir and apologizes profusely for hurting Sivir earlier.

They make it back, safe and sound. The balance is maintained, the prophecy fulfilled. Anubis grants Sivir to be a demi-god like Azir but that meant leaving Kai'sa behind because she is still a mortal. Kai'sa assures Sivir that she will be fine, she thinks Sivir deserves this high honor. But Sivir rejects Anubis' offer and chooses to stay with Kai'sa, reminding her that she promised to return her to her father.

In the end, Azir returns to Ra, and tells Sivir that he will greatly miss her- his daughter. Renekton and Nasus say their goodbyes, crying and moping while trying to act cool. Sivir returns to her hometown with Kai'sa, letting her meet Taliyah, before embarking to find Kassadin. Once they find Kassadin, reuniting father and daughter, the two of them live happily ever after.

XXX

I hope you enjoyed. Yes, Akali, Ahri, and Evelynn don’t have a big appearance in this one but let Kai’siv have their moment since I left them out in the other AUs. I hope you enjoyed because it was fun to imagine! Now I’ve done all three couples, Akalynn- Beauty and the Beast AU, BladeMaven - Little Mermaid AU, and now Kai’Siv. :) Special thanks to Kaya for inspiring me.

#and perhaps ill do more #but for now #i hope you enjoy #i know it's not a fanfiction but its fun to push out these ideas i have #kai'siv #kai'sa #sivir #kda #kda kai'sa #pizza delivery sivir #my headcannons #my fanfictions #my au #like #follow #reblog

66 notes · View notes

adarafaelbarba · 4 years ago

Text

The Taste of You

Pairing: Nevada Ramirez x reader

Fandom: Trouble in the Heights

Requested: No

Warning: Smut. Do NOT read if you’re under the age of 18! Oral (male and female receiving)

A/N: This covers the 69 square of the Kink Bingo @thatesqcrush created.

You couldn’t believe he had coaxed you to come back. But like he said the first time, you would be begging for more. Although, to your defense, you weren’t here to beg. Nevada had been kind enough to feed you information about a rival of his. This was of course more for his gain than anyone else. One rival down and suddenly sales went up for him.

«Mr. Ramirez, I’m not here to listen to you gloat. So if there’s nothing more, then I’ll be leaving», You commented, crossing your arms over your chest. «Got somewhere better to be detective?» he mused in return. «That is none of your business. Not to mention I should even be here. My superiors will publicly execute me if they knew I was even talking to you.» It seemed to amuse him to hear that.

«And if they found out I was fucking you? What would they do then?» Nevada was riling you up, something he seemed particularly good at. «Don’t. Cause it’s not gonna happen again. Last time was a mistake.» Yeah, no that’s a lie, you told yourself, turning to leave. «Goodbye Ra—». You let out a squeal as he pulled you back, crashing his lips to yours in a heated kiss.

It felt like your breath left you as his lips meshed with yours. Like the first time you kissed, you tasted the cigarette and rum on his tongue. It drove your senses wild and you found yourself leaning into the kiss while all logic in you told you to stop and get out of there. Not that you ever seemed to listen to yourself whenever it came to Nevada.

He picked you up with ease, and very much like the first time, he carried you to the bed before dropping you on it. «I’m gonna show you a good fucking time detective! I’ll fuck you so good you’d never want anyone else», he growled. «All talk and no action Ramirez. Why don’t I put that mouth of yours to better use?!» You questioned him, pulling him down on the bed next to you before straddling his chest. «And how are you planning on doing that sweetheart?» Oh god you wanted to gag at his tries on sweetness, it really didn’t suit the man who killed anyone who went against him. «Lay back, and keep focusing on eating me out», you stated, looking at him. «Fuck that! You can suck my cock while I eat you out. Put your own fucking mouth to good use!» He growled, picking you up to turn you around. You barely had time to respond as he pushed you down towards his crotch.

Eagerness and desire seemed to take over as you quickly worked open his pants and belt, pulling his impressive member out. «Good girl», Nevada growled, pulling your panties to the side to lick broad stripes up your cunt. «Mmmm you do know how to run that tongue don’t you?» you moaned before wrapping your lips around his cock.

You had never felt so aroused before, not that you could remember at least. The way he worked his tongue against your folds, dipping it in or teasing your clit. «Such a good little cock sucker! Taking me so well!» he moaned, pressing one and then another finger into your dripping core.

If your mouth wasn’t so full you would be replying with some quick remark, but all you could do was moan, shooting vibrations through Nevada’s cock, which got him dangerously close to cuming. «Dirty little slut!» he growled, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers picked up speed.

You were now painfully aware how close you were to your own orgasm. Pulling off his cock with a pop you continued stroking it while tilting your head to the side to look. What met you was your undoing. Nevada pulling your bottom half down to his face, probably trying to choke himself on your cunt. «So needy for my cunt huh? Can’t get enough of the delicious taste?» you teased, your free hand playing with his balls as the hand around his cock picked up speed. «Fuck! Dirty little slut! Get your mouth back on me and finish me off! Let me cum in that mouth of yours!» The way he swore would have made you laugh if it came from anyone else, but from Nevada, it just seemed natural. «Gonna make me cum on your face? Gonna lick up that juice?!» You purred, rubbing your clit against his stubbled chin, «Oh fuck!»

It didn’t take long before you both came, screams and moans falling from your mouths as you rode each others releases out.

You were both spent as you rolled off him, wiping you chin of any drool and cum that might have escaped your mouth. «Fuck mami, I should have know that mouth was good, since you run it so often», Nevada commented, patting your hip. «Right back at you Ramirez», you purred. There was no way you could get enough of him. How his body seemed to be responding to yours. And boy did you know, you would be coming back for more.

taglist: @sweetcannolicarisi @rafaheadcanons@rafivadafreddy@detective-giggles @mrsrafaelbarba @storiesofsvu@stardust-fray@beccabarba @teamsladsandgents @tropes-and-tales@kriegsverlobte @prurientpuddlejumper @meri-dawn @caked-crusader @itsjustmyfantasyroom @dianilaws

#nevada ramirez x reader #nevada ramirez imagine #nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez smut #nevada ramirez one shot #thatesqcrush kinktober 2020 #thatesqcrush kink bingo

42 notes · View notes

miss-choco-chips · 4 years ago

Text

The worst enemy

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

He needs to find out who their rat is. Ra’s hasn’t yet, and it’s hurting their position on this war. The enemy has eyes inside their castle, and Tim is left to fend off the plots his faceless opponent comes up with with that intel. It’s tiring, he feels strung along, and there’s little he can do about that.

Warning: There are some possibly triggering subjects being discussed. Nothing too explicit, but just to be sure, I’ll be adding the warnings deep into the tags. Those who think they might be triggered can read the tags, and those who don’t want to risk being spoiled can just avoid it.

Thanks @iphoenixrising and @the-quiet-carrotcake for giving some parts a read for me. Also tagging @animemangasoul cause you told me you wanted to read this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Despite his careful consideration and analysis, he couldn't quite put his finger into what bothered him so much, to the point of losing focus. Homesickness, maybe? There was something in the walls, surely. Too clean, no mold or blood splatters in sight. His old home at the Wayne Castle had been cared for, but not even an army of maids could compete with hundreds of years of violent legacy.

As everytime he thought of his life before, pain throbbed behind his eyes. It was momentary, come then gone, but it was enough to make him groan a bit under his breath, the sound echoing in the open (too open, no corners to hide if an assassin came… which was kind of ironic here, he supposes) hallway. He knew there were eyes on him, though. His guard, for one, always two feet behind and one to the side. And he was sure he wasn’t the only one sent to (observe his every move) protect him.

Damn, the headache was getting worse. It was too long until tea time.

“I’ll visit my husband”, he decides out loud, for his shadow’s benefit. A kindness they would never expect from a superior, but that he was sure they appreciated.

The only response came from just behind him. A cut out sound that he couldn't identify, but must have been some sort of laugh. Either that or a pained groan.

Smiling, he twisted to look, hands behind his back as he walked in that fashion.

-What? It’s not gross that a man wishes to meet his beloved. It’s a rare day when we meet outside of dinner or council meetings. I’m not a sap; if anything I’m a paragon of patience.

The man doesn’t raise to the bait, as he rarely does, but he tilts his head a bit.

“Yer Highness, please mind your step and watch where y’er going. It’ll be my head on the chopping block if you fall and scrape your dainty white hands.”

He rolls his eyes at the jab, but heeds his warning and turns again to look up front. It’s not without truth, after all.

The part of him dying if Tim were to get hurt, of course. Not about the hands.

He looks down at them as they walk, a little confused. When did they become so though, so calloused? Sure, he must have learned some sort of self defense back when he was young, but he can barely recall it. His shouldn’t be the hands of someone used to the heat of combat, not sheltered as he had been from his birth to his marriage, and yet…

Nothing good comes from thinking that far back, anyway, he decides, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying thoughts pestering him like flies. He’d only end up giving himself a headache, and then Ra’s would send him back to bed with soup and an army of servants to observe his progress. A small smile tugs at his lips; he sure was lucky to get such a loving, protective partner. It was a wise decision, on his Father’s/

“Yer Highness”, calls the voice from behind, dragging him back from his musings rather forcefully. “We’re here.”

Any thought that’s not his husband completely vanishes from his mind. Smiling automatically, he springs into the room, straight to his husband’s open arms. The green and gold cape closes around them, and everything is okay, certain. He doesn’t feel confused, or worried, or observed. Because he’s with Ra’s right now. How could there be anything bad involved in that?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“It’s tea time, y’er Highness.”

“Ah, thanks A. I’ll be going then, my Lord. Will I see you at dinner?”

“Of course, Beloved. I just have to deal with those pesky documents and then I’m all yours.”

Tim’s laughter is like bells. It doesn’t feel actually natural, but he’s not forcing it either. It’s weird, how his voice works sometimes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s a day like any other, when Damian comes to visit. He hasn’t seen his family in quite some time, so when a nameless ninja, covered from head to toe, detaches herself (herself? He’s sure its a her but why?) from the wall and informs him of it, he gathers his royal blue and gold kaftan in a fist so he doesn’t trip and speeds towards the throne room.

So good it’s Damian. He can barely remember Dick’s face, and the Jason from his memories is little more than a broad back, firm shoulders that would carry him all through the palace. Of his sister, he only knows she exists, and that they got along amazingly.

But that’s what loves makes to someone, he supposes. It was bound to happen, more than half a year without seeing them and devoting all his time to think about Ra’s.

But Damian… Damian, he remembers very clearly. Maybe because he can see some of Ra’s in his features, maybe because it was thanks to him that he could actually marry his beloved King…

(He thinks of ancient portraits hanging from the walls, the eyes of Kings and Consorts of old following one’s steps, as the shadows hidden in passageways behind them take note of his every action)

“Your Highness, you can’t pass”, a figure stops him just before the room where his brother and husband are probably already talking. He accepts this for only a moment, so he can catch his breath, kinda surprised by how easy it is to compose himself again; it hadn’t been a short run.

“Step aside”, he orders, back straight and looking into the man’s mask. Ra’s country wasn’t very keen on knights, not like King Clark's Aupuni La. Even Gotham, while not as honorable, had its fair share of white horseman riding to war with honor on their shoulders (although it still maintained its fair share of ninja-like warriors, their elite and probably the only thing in common with his current home). But Alqatala had only a handful (his own A among them), found more use in the shadows that kept well out of their Master’s view while still blocking anything annoying from reaching him when they could, and fiercely obeying His commands on how to defeat them when they couldn't.

It was reassuring, knowing the entirety of the Kingdom’s fighters would lay down their lives (and anyone else’s) for their King’s sake. That meant Ra’s would be always safe… even if all their subjects had to die for it…

Distractedly, he scratched at the back of his head. Maybe the new hair ornaments were irritating the skin there.

“Your Highness, I’m under strict orders to forbid anyone from/”

“Unless your orders explicitly include me, then you should already know I’m the exception to the rule. Step aside. I won’t ask again.”

This time, the man bows deep and moves. Disobeying his Master could have dire consequences; upsetting his Consort most certainly would. And if he did transgress because of His Highness’s orders, then the King might be forgiving.

Head held on high, Tim motioned for A to wait outside the room as he entered.

It was an open space, with long drapes of cloth flowing down the walls like waterfalls of red and gold. Golden torches, shining brightly with their perpetually lit fire, reflected the yellow and orange of their flames in whatever bit of wall left uncovered, making the cream colored stones look as if they were also burning down.

The ground, dark and polished, looked under the fierce light like onix. Maybe it was, Tim had never asked. The flush red carpet, going from the double doors to the steps leading to the throne, completed the feeling of entering some warm, cozy place.

A had told him once it was like setting foot into Hell. Tim liked to think differently, though he could admittedly see what his guard meant.

Looking up, his gaze landed automatically in his husband, raised above the rest of the room in his throne made of gold and rubies. The opulence suited him, and Tim loved seeing him high and mighty like this.

Agh, his head… He would need to ask A for more tea the moment this meeting was over. Maybe he could share some with Damian?

Suddenly remembering his reason to be there, he drags his eyes away from Ra’s. Jade green ones found his almost immediately, and familiar warmth takes residence in his chest.

“Brother!” he greets, happily, steps quickening until he reaches the young man. Damian has grown a lot in the past six months, as far as he remembers. Taller than Tim, shoulders twice as broad and chiseled jaw, his little sibling was now more a man than a boy, although he’d always be the latter in his eyes.

They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding; when Tim accepted Ra’s suit and became his husband, in exchange of him letting Damian return to his Father, to be Gotham’s Heir. Since he left behind his gold and ruby crown, for the onyx and sapphire one he wore now, black and blue jewels enhacing the paleness of his skin and the shine in his love-ridden eyes.

Damian completely ignores the offered hand, arms instead circling around his slimer frame and crushing him towards his chest.

“You’re okay”, he whispers. A swallow, then. Like he wanted to keep going but forced himself into silence.

A little confused, Tim returns the hug, eyes going to his husband over Damian’s shoulder.

The King watches from above, cold, calculating eyes glued to them. Dread pools in his stomach in automatic response, and he shoves his brother away as careful as possible.

“Where are my manners! Brother, you made me forget myself”, a small smile, as apology, and then Tim makes his way up the steps until he reaches his husband. “ My Lord”, he greets, bowing a bit and then quickly grabbing for his arm. Ra’s allows the touch graciously, the almost hostile look in his eyes nowhere to be seen now.

“Beloved. I’m sure we can forgive your small loss of decorum, in this circumstances. Right, Grandson?”

From beneath them, Damian stays with his back to them (in the exact same place where he hugged Tim) for a beat longer. Then, he turns to face the King and his Consort, and offers them both a bow.

“Of course, your Majesty. Your Highness. The fault lies on myself, as I couldn’t contain my joy, seeing my brother after so long”, he straightens from his courtesy, eyes finding his Grandfather’s in what could both pass as a familial gesture, or a blatant show of disrespect; Tim had to give it to him, the plausible deniability was exquisite. ”So long, in fact, our Lord Father was getting worried some ill fate had befallen him.”

Tim stills. He can’t ignore the sudden coldness in the room. Almost on instinct, he shifts a bit, so his shoulder is slightly in front of Ra’s, covering him. Unneeded, since there must be a hundred eyes on them now, their shadows ready to jump in and take any hit for their Master.

The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by his husband, though. He reaches down slightly, hand catching Tim’s. Something in him relaxes.

Damian’s eyes tracked the movement, but didn’t comment in it. Not when his last remark had yet to be answered.

“The joy of those recently joined in marriage can be blinding, Grandson. I’m sure your Oldest Brother would be able to tell you as much, with how many times he himself was wed. Timothy and myself just found it hard to part with one another for hours at a time, let alone a week long trip back to his old Kingdom.”

The mention of Dick brought color to Damian’s face; the red of rage. Tim himself felt a bit uneasy, the mention forcing his mind to come up with the face that had become quiet blurry in his memory. Richard. They had gotten along marvelously, hadn’t them? It was quiet weird they hadn’t met lately.

“I would have loved to see Dick”, he interjects, attempting to force them to look his way instead of each other. His smile is wobbly, and Ra’s hand tightens around his, but he maintains steady eye contact until Damian huffs.

“There have been some issues back home”, he informs Tim; and it’s quiet notable, the way he said the last word, as if reminding Tim that his roots laid elsewhere. Not that he cared where he was born, all that mattered to him was where he had bloomed, and that could only be at Ra’s side. “Father required his help. That’s also why I’m here.”

Something moves behind him, but by the time he turns to look at his husband, there’s nothing amiss. Ra’s seems to be deep in thought for a second, before he smiles beatifically at his grandson.

“We can talk more about this at dinner, you must be exhausted from your travels”, he decides, raising a hand. As if on cue, two shadows appear in the room. Only because he had been looking for them, Tim knows they came from under the red drapes hanging from the walls. How many more were there hidden in that place? Well, he thinks, it’s not like he cares to know either way…” Take the guest to his rooms, make sure to attend to his every need. Come now, husband”, Ra’s directs his eyes to Tim, whose insides flip automatically and smiles in thoughtless response, “we might as well spend the afternoon together.”

They descend the steps, hand in hand. Damian still hasn’t moved, head bowed in respect of the monarchs, waiting for them to leave first. The fist he has over his chest shakes a bit.

“Tea in the gardens? Should I ask for refreshments?” he asks, a little dubiously, following without complains. That’s how he usually spends the hours before dinner time…

Ra’s smile changes slightly, from gentle to hunting. He refuses to answer.

From his face alone, one would guess his husband’s motives were far from chaste; but given that his contract marriage specified Tim was to be untouched until his twenty first birthday, he wasn’t sure why Ra’s was now acting as though he’d ever forgone that particular condition.

They are passing by his brother now, and it's because of that cercany that he can see his knuckles turning white as he hunches even further into himself, a barely refrained gasp. Then he understands.

Before he can stop and ask Damian if he’s okay, reassure him that his Father's orders were being obeyed (in regards of his third son’s marriage treaty, at least), Ra’s is tugging him out of the throne room and towards his own bedchambers. Tim is helpless to his husband’s touch, so he doesn’t resist, but can’t help but turn to him, curious, just before they reach the room.

“Was Damian…?”

“Childish jealousy, I’m sure”, the King dismisses, opening the door for him and closing after they are both inside his anter-chambers. His hand goes to unclasp the brooch keeping his cape steady, removing the garment and taking seat in the low couch in front of the small tea table. “I all but stole you from your family, Beloved. Little siblings tend to yearn after their elders are wed away. I was merely teasing my grandson.”

Tim can’t help but smile in the tea cup a servant hands him, once he’s sat opposite the King. His knight, A, hadn’t followed them inside, but Tim caught flashes of him as Ra’s guided him through the halls, so he knows the man is close by. He relaxes in the knowledge, sweetening his tea a bit before his mind catches up to him.

Why, oh why would he think of A now? He’s with his husband, perfectly safe. Why is the notion of his personal guard being near reassuring him?

Damn this stupid headache. It’s hard to think, and A is not in the room to provide with the painkiller he usually takes at this hour. Unwilling to interrupt his time with his husband by calling his servant, he powers through the pain, smiling at the intense focus being bestowed upon him.

“Damian has grown a lot”, he comments, desperate to distract himself from the throbbing just behind his eyes, “but he’s still a child. Merely sixteen.”

“You are twenty, Beloved”, Ra’s points out, relaxing back into his seat, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Tim’s face. “Although I guess you were always the most mature of your brod. The only one worthy enough to stand by my side.”

“My Lord”, he chides softly, looking at him over his cup. Just because it’s hard to remember his family, it doesn’t mean he wishes to hear them spoken down to by his spouse.

“I speak the truth. Are you denying me?”

The question might sound brusc, almost confrontative, but he’s used to those kinds of inquiries by now. As a response, he bows his head a bit, submissive and elegant, neck in display and crown steady over his temple.

“I’d never betray my husband like that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dinner goes without a hitch, until the moment Damian mentions their family one too many times and Tim has to excuse himself from the table. Juggling his husband’s mood and keeping his brother from being outright aggressive to such an important monarch was a tiresome duty, one he couldn’t wait to shed. Before dessert was served, he decided to retire for the evening.

A, loyal and wonderful, had the tea set ready by the time he reached his rooms. The little brown pill carefully placed on a napkin by his cup was even more enticing than the cakes and sweets the chefs must have served Ra’s and Damian.

“How did you know I was hurting?”, he wonders, sitting down in the chair by his balcony, letting the late afternoon breeze comb his hair away from his face.

“You have that look, yer Highness”, answers the man, carefully dropping the pill inside the cup before handing it to his Master. “Is there anything else I can do for ya?”

The question sounds… charged, somehow. Tim sips his drink. What else would he need right n/?

“Oh”, he blinks, once, twice, then tilts his head up to face his guard. Meeting his eyes over the edge of his facemask, he smiles-. The afternoon feels quite lovely, I’d like to share this moment of peace with my brother. I’m sure he must have long left the dinner table by now, so go extend him my invitation to have tea together.

He can’t be sure, but somehow he just knows A smiled.

He’s careful to pace the drink as he waits. He’s not alone for long.

Damian takes the seat opposite to his, and A is careful to close the balcony doors before the room gets too chilly. The creamy green curtains, white walls and gold ornaments make the entire atmosphere bright, something Gothamites born and raised would despise for it’s unfamiliarity; a wonder that those were the colors painting the room of a noble hailing from those lands. The three of them stay in silence for a while, as the King Consort finishes his cup.

Tim smiles. Damian watches him for a second, before his own smile appears, relieved and more than a bit happy.

“I’m glad to see you doing so well, brother. You had us all worried, back home.”

A soft, almost primly, scoff, “Please. I know how to handle myself, and I’m well protected here. You know I’m never alone.”

Damian dips his head in acknowledgement, but he still doesn’t remove his eyes from him.

“Conflict is brewing”, he goes straight to the point, almost desperate; unsure of how longer will they be able to speak privately. “Father is not willing to look past his transgressions any longer.”

“It won’t reach the Castle.”

“Brother!”

Tim shushes him, letting A refill his cup. No more medicine added, though.

“Damian. Ra’s might be a little… “he doesn’t quite know what to say,” as he is, but he’s by no means dumb. He won’t allow any kind of rebellion to arise in his lands. There will be no war in Alqatala.

Damian falls silent for a minute. A places a plate of delicious looking cookies in the table, on Timothy’s side. Neither brother makes any move to touch them.

“I’ll confront Grandfather about it, tomorrow”, the tone is almost warning. Tim’s eyes narrow.

“Do remember, brother, which side I’m on.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches in silence as Tim takes a cookie and bits softly into it, maintaining steady eye contact with the younger Prince.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then”, he adds, letting the rest of the desert back on his plate, by his empty cup.” I hate to cut our time together so short, after such a long time apart, but I need to rest now; it’s been such a long day. We’ll see each other soon, I promise. And don’t worry about me, silly little brother”, Tim’s smile came back, a little groggy this time.

Damian left after a shallow bow, escorted by A.

In the dimness of the falling night, Tim placed a careful hand on the glass door leading to the balcony.

...The callouses in his hand were still a mystery. Maybe he should ask his husband, tomorrow. He would know.

Ra’s knew everything about Tim. He had too, after all. And if he didn’t, Tim would tell him.

That’s what made them such an harmonious pair, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s called to his husband’s study room the following afternoon, long after Damian’s entourage parted from their Castle.

He quickly removes his sleeping camisole (he’d been bedridden all morning, stroke down by a vicious headache) and dones a green and gold Farasha, simple sandals and his crown, no other accessories needed; as the maids helping him dress often tell him, he needs no outer help to enhance his beauty.

A walks him all the way to where Ra’s is waiting, then bows and swears to wait for him in the hallway. Not exactly his usual behaviour, but Tim can’t waste any brainpower in figuring out his guard, not when he needs to be sharp to attend to Ra’s now.

“My Lord?”, he calls, once inside. The older man is waiting, back to the door, as he watches from the window his Kingdom, buzzing with activity.

“Beloved”, he greets, without turning.” There’s a letter in the desk.”

Tim walks closer, picking the indicated piece of paper curiously.

It’s from Bruce (Father… Dad).

It’s a complaint, a description of the fate that would befell him if Ra’s were to continue on his current path. A demand of retribution, for all the damage already done. A threat, if a veiled one.

The only mention of Tim on the letter, was to inform Ra’s that having his third son inside the Castle wouldn’t prevent him from seeking to burn it to the ground, would Ra’s ignore his generous warning.

Tim’s insides were cold. His mind screaming at him, ‘he wants to hurt our husband’. A small, almost meek part of him wants to ask about King Wayne’s accusations, but the bigger, devoted side squashes this voice ruthlessly; no threat to his husband would be allowed, not even a justified one.

“Are we going to war?”, he asks, tone dry, hands carefully loose on the paper as to not crass it. Confused. He had tea with Damian the day before, he should have noticed something from him, an indication of the dangers coming. And why hadn’t his brother warned him?

His head hurts.

It’s then that his husband turns to examine him. For a few minutes, he does nothing else than to look at Tim, deeply. He returns the look fiercely, protectively; nothing but desire to help shining through. Cold fire burning in icy eyes.

Ra’s smiles.

“It won’t be much of a war, not with one as you on my side, Beloved. Let’s get to planning, shall we?”

There it is, the reason Ra’s married him in the first place. His strategic abilities, his absolute dominance over any battlefield, overturning the board with a simple swipe of his hand. Winning wars without stepping a foot in any battle.

He never thought he’d be using it against his own Father. But Tim knew where his loyalties laid.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim suggested they sent an ambush as soon as possible, before Damian could leave their lands. To kidnap him, and use as leverage to bring Bruce to heel. With his eldest son refusing the crown, the second lost as far as anyone knew and the third, himself, married away (and to an enemy, now, to boot), Damian was his last heir; he could not afford to lose him.

Ra’s also pointed out the Gotham King’s sentimentalism. Tim, tired and with his head throbbing, couldn’t say if that was truly the case, so he submitted to his husband’s intel and left the study to return to his quarters. Ra’s would assemble his own team to send post haste to retrieve the young Prince before he could cross the Alqatala border.

“Tea, yer Highness?”

“Thank you, yes.”

A few sips, before Tim tilts his head to the side.

“A? You know this young guard who switches places with you during the night, when you rest?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do call her, please. I need her to fetch something for me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I have bad news, Beloved.”

That wasn’t what he expected to hear, the second he saw his husband. Weary, he sat in front of Ra’s desk, the cushioned back of the opulent chair helping soothe his uneasiness.

“What happened?”

“My Grandson has apparently grown some brains the last few months; he switched routes, and exited Alqatala by the eastern woods, instead of through the southwestern river he used to come.”

“That trip is twice as hard, why would he choose it?”, the second he spoke, he knew the answer. ”It’s harder to track someone there, than by water. You can see a ship from a long distance, but there’s multiple hiding spots between the trees.”

“That’s what I thought, as well. I sent some of my best trackers to follow, but I have no true expectations of them succeeding; Damian was raised to know those woods like the palm of his hand. Such a rich education, wasted in that boy”, Ra’s laments. Tim moves on instinct walking to stand behind his chair and placing his hands on the older man’s shoulders.

“Damian would not actually expect us to move so soon”, he rationalized, “nor would he know where our people was waiting to ambush him. His change of tracks is more than a little too well timed.

“Are you suggesting we have a rat, Beloved?”

Tim shrugs a little, helplessly ”I think I would remember Damian being wary. We had tea before he left, but I didn’t notice anything unusual. He must have not suspected us of being capable of that, back then. Someone must have alerted him to our intentions.”

Ra’s looks to be deep in thought. He turns a little to face Tim, who returns his look of seriousness with one of his own.

“I’ll weed out this traitor, My Lord. I can’t allow those kinds of pests around you.”

His husband smirks a little.

“I will be the one doing that, Beloved. You focus on forming a new strategy, and we’ll discuss it at dinner tonight. Show me I made the right choice, taking you as mine.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The vase crashed against the wall, and a waterfall of flowers and porcelain fell over the carpet. A maid rushed to clean up, but Timothy paid her no mind, despite the small thread of guilt twisting in his stomach.

The reports over his table spoke for themselves. Territory battles won by the smallest margin, spies derailed from their targets by very convenient distractions, specialized assassins caught and jailed before completing their tasks.

Someone good was working against them.

Tim knew, intellectually, that Bruce was a smart man. But not this kind of smart, not this quickly. There was a new player on the board, and it wasn’t on his side.

“A”, he called, almost growling. The man stepped out of the shadows enclosing the corners of the room, “bring me parchment and paper. I have suspicions on their next move, and I have to alert our troops against them.”

The man hesitated a bit.

“Yer Highness you… don’t look well. Should I bring you tea?”

Tim waved a hand, “After I send this missive. There’s no time to delay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Their next strike was more successful than all their previous attempts. Ra’s had been incredibly pleased, seating Tim on his lap during dinner and feeding him carefully crafted delicacies and praising his Consort’s flawless strategy. They had managed to capture one of King Wayne’s favored warriors, General Brown. Her troops had been slim, and most of them fled at the overpowered sight of Ra’s people, so only she and few loyal soldiers had been caught. They would rott the dungeons until Ra’s needed to negotiate, or decided to execute them as an example for those who thought of going against him. Tim was pretty sure it’d be the first case, though. Brown was too valuable to just off.

The small victory tasted all the sweeter to him when no reports came from this mysterious figure trumping all his previous attempts. Hopefully, this meant they were all the more closer to winning this war without any big loses, as they’ve managed to do until now.

Later, he’s in his rooms and A brings his tea, but no food. It’s okay, Timothy is not hungry. He just drowns the entire cup before springing to his feet, gathering some documents and hiding them under his white shirt, tucked into his slim, open sided, black harem pants.

“Take me to the dungeons”, he demands, hastily throwing on a cape, “I believe it’s time I interrogate the prisoners.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ra’s is lounging in cushions and silk when Tim finds him, a few hours later. He beckons him in, a single finger crooked and a side smile.

Slowly, almost reluctant, Tim sits, his back to Ra’s, and rests his weight on the man. He can feel the strong arms going around his waist, but can’t see his face.

“Is everything alright, Beloved?”

Tim sags against him, hiding his face in the man’s shoulder. He, in turn, rests his chin above his hair, moving the crown around to make space. Tim can feel him smelling his hair and shivers a little. Ra’s hands tighten in response.

“Yeah”, he whispers. Wetting his lips a bit, he tries again, “Yes, I just came from the dungeons. General Brown… I went to see her. Try to get some information.”

The arms stiffen a bit, half a second, before the man relaxes again.

“And?”

“She seemed willing to talk, at first. I think it was the shock of seeing a familiar face”, he touches his own cheek a bit, then lets his hand fall over Ra’s wrist, carefully tracing his pulse point. “I think we were quiet close, back then.”

“Not anymore?”

A delicate shrug, “Not since I married you, My Lord. I choose my side, and so did she. As soon as she remembered we’re in different fronts on this war, she became quite tight lipped.”

Ra’s hums, hand reaching for the tray set by his side. Picking up a chocolate covered something, he offered it to the boy in his arms, smiling when he felt the soft lips closing around the food, almost kissing Ra’s palm where it laid.

“I believe she’ll start to rethink her decision, once a few more of her friends join her in the dungeons. I trust your preparations are going well?”

Timothy relaxed even further in his arms.

“Yes, My Lord. I’ve written some instructions for our people rounding on Sargeant Gordon and his daughter”, he explains, taking the mentioned papers out of his white sleeve” I’ll send the letter tomorrow after checking in some details, and by afternoon, if it all goes according to plan we’ll have two more guests joining General Brown. That means I won’t be accompanying you for lunch, My Lord.”

Ra’s reads the information carefully, and can’t help but squeeze his pretty little genius closer to his chest. Stealing him from his Father had been the wisest of his choices. Giving up his grandson in exchange was by all means a perfectly acceptable loss.

“Do tell your servant to fetch you something to eat, my dear. It won’t do to have my best strategist fall to his own ambitions and starve.”

Looking up at his husband, with the chocolate covered fruit still dancing around his closed mouth, Tim smiled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Over the course of the next few weeks, Timothy’s life became a whirlwind of reading reports, scheming strategies and meeting his husband to inform him of any progress- or loss.

They managed to capture young General Duke Thomas, Sargent Kane and General Gordon. Sergeant Gordon, the woman’s father, had escaped unscathed though, by a well timed counter attack that Tim was still unsure how they enemies had devised.

His new sworn enemy, Wayne’s strategist, was no doubt behind any little rock in his path. Any setback, any mistake. This mysterious person seemed to be always one step ahead, and even Tim’s hard won victories sometimes seemed like they were a gift, an allowance. Ra’s didn’t seem to mind, more than happy with their slowly growing dungeons and Tim’s efforts, so he was reluctant to inform him of his fears; least the King started to regret marrying him in the first place.

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How are our guests faring?”

“Still haven’t as much as pipped, yer Highness.”

“I trust you’ve been exploring all your options while asking.”

“I’m...being very thorough. Maybe if yer Highness went…”

“I don’t know, A… Between the planning and these damn headaches that keep getting worse…”

“Should I bring the medicine?”

“Yes, do that…”

He scribbles orders for his men in parchment, gets so lost in the action he barely notices his servant’s return, merely accepting the cup with the sweet beverage when it’s offered to him.

“I’m not making any real progress like this… You are right, I do need to interrogate them myself. We’re going to the dungeons.”

“Yes, yer Highness.”

“And… be sure it doesn’t reach my husband’s ears. That place is so grim and dirty, and I wouldn't want to… worry him.”

“Yes, yer Highness. This way.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Ra’s orders Tim’s secondary guard to bring him to the throne room in the middle of the night, he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Sleep has been a luxury he can’t quite gift himself with, and his plans don’t seem to be achieving anything. Maybe… Maybe his husband was cross with him. Maybe he meant to… dispose of him.

What he’s not expecting, is seeing A’s kneeling form, bruised and curling into himself, in the ground in front of Ra’s throne steps.

“What is the meaning of this? My lord? Why is my servant here?”, he worries, rushing to the man’s side. A might have been taking care of him under orders, but he had done it wonderfully, and Tim really appreciated his willingness to run back and forth fetching him medicine, tea and food when the pain got too unbearable, or just keeping him company as he raged at his mysterious strategic enemy.

“Don’t”, comes the order from above, cold and final, just when his hand is hovering over a obviously dislocated shoulder. Tim looks at his husband with hundreds of questions in his eyes, but the man answers just one. “Rats shouldn’t be blessed by the touch of the Royal Consort, Beloved.”

Tim shakes his head minutely, taking an automatic step away from A’s form. The guard, his knight, doesn’t even raise his head to look back at him. Tim wishes he did, so he could read the truth in his keppel colored eyes.

But his husband has already told him, hasn’t he? A’s testimony is of no worth, when the King himself is condemning him of treason.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s hours later, when Tim decides to go down to the dungeons once more. He picks Ra’s discarded cape from the ground by the bed and wraps it around him, gathering strength from his husband’s scent.

This... had been their first night together, and Tim laments it was under such painful circumstances. Betrayed by his closest aide, the one who had stayed by his side from the second Tim had married into the Al Ghul’s family, he had all but fallen into Ra’s arms while he watched the guards drag A away, to be questioned at a later date. Down to the dungeons, with every other enemy he had caught.

He hadn’t caught A, though. He had somehow completely missed the man sneaking information out, when said man was always a mere step away from Tim’s own shadow.

Ra’s had been perfect, in the face of his Consort’s distress. He had half escorted half carried Tim out of the room and into his own chambers. Plied him with wine (the same bottle Tim had gifted him what seemed like a lifetime away, but was just the previous night; still closed, but fresh), sharing a cup at first and then exchanging the liquid from mouth to mouth. He had gathered him into his arms, carried him to bed, and made him forget. Making him yield his body as well as his mind to his whims, dominating every inch of him; their pre nuptial contract all but forgotten in the face of such passion. Who would tell Bruce, anyway? And, even if his father knew, they were at war with the man.

Tim had sobbed, after it was all done with. His husband was obviously a gifted lover, and during their shared passion, he had made him drop any thought of his friend; but the second he went to sleep by his side, Tim’s eyes started to water by their own accord.

A had betrayed him.

This stung worse than he could have expected. He needed to see A again, before Ra’s interrogated and later executed him. He… he needed to ask why.

The hallways seemed too deserted, tonight. He could usually catch a glimpse of a shadow sneaking just by the edge of his vision, something moving too fast to properly identify, but slow enough to be sure of its presence. There was none of that. No silent footsteps, no servant hurrying along in a chore, no visiting noble straying from his room in search of a nocturnal thirst with a maid. No eyes following from the portraits on the walls.

It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes one step lightly and breath as shallowly as possible, to keep from making any noise that would disturb it, draw attention to it. The kind that made him signal his guard to walk closer to his back, so the barely noticeable warmth of her presence could sooth his already frayed nerves.

The stairs to the dungeon were barely better. The sounds of chains shaking and rats scurrying around brought a light frown to his face. He suddenly wished to be back by his husband’s side, in the comfortable bed, protected by his arm around his waist.

But he needed to power through. A was just a few cells over, and he wouldn't be able to sleep without his answers.

The man is chained down, both at his ankles and wrists, as per the costum when one of their own goes rouge. Their training too intensive, too dangerous, to leave them to roam freely, even within a cell.

He’s awake, through, despite his wounds. And he’s sitting in the middle of his ‘room’, facing the door. Facing Tim, when he came into sight.

...had he been awaiting him?

“Hey, Timmy.”

The uncharacteristic, carefree call snaps him out of it. Suddenly outraged (both at this man, so calm in his dishonored state, and at himself for being so affected by the situation; he was a King’s Consort, he needed to get it together!), he gathered himself to his full height and did his best to look down at the seated man, fists gathering Ra’s cape tighter around his shoulders, trying to pass it as some sort of royal garment, to get the extra confidence boost.

“It seems your short time in captivity has already started playing tricks on your mind, to make you believe you can address me this way. Or perhaps the certainty of your execution has made your tongue looser. It would not help your situation, but if you prove yourself useful a last time, I might consider appealing to my husband’s mercy.”

A tilted his head. Tim couldn't see his face, half hidden by the mask, half by his hair, but he knew him well enough to read the curiosity in his posture.

“Whose orders are you obeying?”

The young knight stared at him in silence for a bit, before shrugging.

“Yours, yer Highness.”

Tim couldn't help but scoff, crossing his arms and thus allowing the cape around him to part in the front.

“I certainly didn’t command you to betray my trust.”

If A had a response to that, it was halted by the sight of the King’s Consort still in his sleep camisole, hastily thrown over before heading there. The thin fabric did little to hide his neck, where the marks of tonight’s love encounter with his husband were painfully obvious, skin too pale to hide the almost purple signs of ownership.

“I’m sorry you went through that, yer Highness”, he whispered, shoulders slumping and head tilted down for the first time during their conversation.

It was cold in the dungeons, and that’s why Tim closed the cape around him again. Not to hide his marks and sudden vulnerability.

He thought, distractedly, that they must be giving an amusing show to the other captives, for them to be so quiet.

“I can assure you”, he answers dryly, ”that being loved by my husband is no hardship at all. Not like the ones you have coming for you.”

“I would disagree”, his voice sounds deeply pained, and resigned.

A throb behind his eyes made him squeeze them shut. He felt more than heard his silent shadow stepping closer, one hand supporting his arm as the other offered the small pill Ra’s had gotten for him to help his headaches, as well as a flask of something to down it with.

He held both the pill and the silver container in his hands, eyes never leaving A’s figure, suddenly a hundred times more attentive.

“You gonna take it, yer Highness?”

He hums, rolling the brownish pellet between thumb and forefinger.

“I always seem to have a muddled mind, after I do. And I think I want to remember this conversation, A. If that’s really your name.”

“’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me what it really is? Or what “A” stands for?”

“I’m a gothamite”, replied the man, who was suddenly a lot more talkative. Maybe afraid Tim would take his medicine and go sleep it off, taking with him his only chance of getting a more merciful judgement, “born and raised. But unlike all those whinny, dumb witted lords you’ve probably met, I hail from the streets. The darkest parts of the city, where only the most crooked and twisted reside. Where the monsters hide, ‘cause what’s on the street ‘s a thousand times more scary than ‘em. The slums of Arkham spit me out, half chewed and poisonous but still alive despite it all. And from there, I took my name. So I’d never forget, while I’m here, where do I came from.”

“And you still became a knight, a pawn, under the command of someone smart enough to fool even me?”, he scoffs, hand tightening and almost crushing the pain relief- They would only use you and discard you. No, not even that, since we will be the ones doing the job. If you tell me who gave you your orders I… I can give you leniency.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even if…” he hates saying this, shouldn’t be promising it without talking it out with his husband first, but if there was a chance of catching this slippery strategist… “I spare your life?”

A only shook his head. Tim felt unsteady on his feet.

Who would even care, he thinks, before letting himself fall, sitting on the other side of the bars keeping A locked. The prisoners’ opinions weren’t important, and his shadow would not tell anyone else of Tim’s momentary weakness.

(How was he so sure of her loyalty? Why was he so despairing of A’s, his traitorous Arkham Knight, betrayal?)

“You look to be in pain, yer Highness. The medicine…”

Tim threw the goddamned pill as far away as he could, fierce eyes boring into the man.

“Why do you act as though you care for my well being? You surely didn’t when you sold me out to my enemy.”

A sighed, “The only enemy here, ‘s the man whose cape ye’r using to fend off the cold.”

“That man…!”, he stops himself, gathering his composure like one might sand between their fingers, hoping it’d be enough to get a hold of himself. He tried again. “That man is my Lord and Husband.”

“Oh Lord above, I’m so sick of this”, moaned A, leaning back into his hands and looking at his cell’s ceiling. “Yer Highess… Tim. What about we make a deal?”

“With a traitor?”

“With the only viable informant you have.”

He didn’t answer. Curious, despite himself, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of inquiry.

A didn’t seem to mind and straightened his back before crawling towards the bars, until he was pressed flush against them, chains clattering when they collided with the cold metal of his cage.

“If you can figure out who my master is from the clues you have, I’ll… help you fight your enemy.”

“If I could figure that out by myself, don’t you think I would have already?”, he frowns, but there’s no deceit in A’s eyes. Not that it would do he any favors; helpful or not, the only thing Tim had to lose here was time. Unsure, he decided to focus on this puzzle he had at hand.

“Think about yer hands. Think about your home, your true home, not this pit of snakes and lies. Think ‘bout… family. Why are you here?”

He didn’t want to. Those were the kind of questions that always brought forth the headache. But, he supposes, he is already in pain. What is a little more?

He turns the silver flask (that he almost forgot he still had) in his hands, thumbing the engravings on it as his mind wandered.

He was here because Ra’s had wanted to marry him, because he fell in love with Tim when/

...When?

No, that wasn’t right. Tim had made the choice, because… Ra’s had Damian captive. He had sent a letter offering an exchange…

No. Damian’s mother, Crown Princess Talia. She had asked Father… Bruce, for help. But… she had been the one who helped Ra’s take Damian in the first place…

Why had Tim offered marriage? There must have been multiple alternatives, more than one way to get his brother back.

He loved Ra’s, that was why. Or so he thought.

He remembers… denials. Shouts. And a calm, detached voice explaining itself. Explaining…

As a lightning striking a tree and bruning it to ashes, all came flooding back into his mind.

His hands. His home, his family.

The night before his wedding.

A cup of wine, left by Ra’s servants so he could settle his nerves before the next day’s ceremony, held tightly and steadily in his hands.

He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t in love.

A cloaked figure in the darkness of his rooms, ice blue eyes staring deeply into his.

“I’m your worst enemy”, it said, cold like the iron of his Father’s blade, and twice as sharp.

Tim recognized it then, who it was.

The bane of Ra’s existence. The mysterious strategist. A’s master.

A young man, eyes burning blue fire, standing among shadows in front of a mirror.

The fog raised from his mind, as did his hand when he took a long sip of his flask. The sweetness of the beverage brought a grin to his face, as the headache faded into oblivion. No pill needed, after all.

Still shaky but feeling finally in control, he climbed back to his feet. A, on the other side of the cell, did the same, face unsure and searching.

Cassandra, his shadow, reappeared from within them. Taking one quick look at his face, her now unmasked one brightened. She held a number of keys among her swift fingers, stolen from the no doubt unconscious guards upstairs.

“...Yer Highness?”

Tim laughed, unbridled. A devious smirk played on his lips as he watched Cass set to work.

“Formalities don’t suit you, brother.”

Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, before savage glee lightened them. He held his hands before himself, patiently waiting for their sister to open his cell and free him.

“About damn time, Timmy.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim had told Damian not to worry, a long time ago. No bloodshed would flood the streets where he grew up, no hard working servant or innocent peasant would see themselves tangled in the throes of war.

There’d be no war in Alqatala. Because they were going to take it from the inside.

The walk back to Ra’s rooms was done in half the time it took before. Movement all around him as all the prisoners, his people, were set free to take care of whatever of Ra’s soldiers remained in the castle after Tim sent the majority of them to fight an empty battle. He saw Stephanie’s men subduing the less strong warriors, as she and Cass took the better trained ones. Jason was carrying Barbara in his arms, probably headed to wherever Dick and his troops were waiting, somewhere just outside the castle, to act as reinforcements. Duke, Kate and their soldiers, helping the wounded and escorting the enemies to the dungeons that not too long ago housed them.

Tim didn’t focus on any of them, though. He had another matter to attend to.

When he reached the Royal chambers, he saw exactly what he expected; Ra’s, fully dressed, standing at his balcony and observing the figures dancing below. His enemy’s troops taking hold of his kingdom as peacefully as a coup could ever be.

The wine had been chosen primarily because it’s sleepy quality was one he had gotten resistant against, after months of Jason providing him with it. So that Ra’s would be affected and sleep the night away, while Tim got his memories back and could take the last step of his carefully organized plan.

The second, less pressing (but almost more rewarding) reason was spite: the first dose of the drug Ra’s has plighted him with, all those months ago, had been in the wine he was served before their wedding.

But it wouldn't keep a man like his husband, old and well versed in trickery, down for long. Tim had only hoped for enough time to free his allies.

And he had gotten it.

“Beloved. I imagined you halfway through the land, eager to be back in your people’s arms.”

“Don’t insult either of us like this. You know I need to see this done, and I don’t trust anyone else with this particular task.”

“To take me down?”

“To properly gloat, more like it.”

“Now you are the one taking us both for fools. You don’t gloat. It’s unbecoming.”

Tim shrugs, cape flowing behind him as he steps out by Ra’s side, looking down as well.

For weal or woe, those were their subjects.

“You don’t think I deserve it?”

Ra’s does the elegant, royal version of a snort.

“More than anyone, dear one. It was masterfully played, I have to admit. I could find no cracks in your acting.”

Tim turns, back to the balcony edge. The venomous green eyes meet his, then. King and Consort, truly face to face for maybe the first time in months.

They should, by all means, be fighting. But Tim is under no delusions; he knows Ra’s physical strength is greater. His aim is to entertain him long enough for reinforcements to reach them.

Why Ra’s decided to humour him, he wasn’t sure.

“There was no act, Ra’s. Not truly.”

“As much as the thought warms my heart, Beloved, I don’t think you love me. Not like the drug intended. How, pray tell, did you manage to avoid it? I’ve seen you eating food coated in it. Sometimes, by my own hand.”

Tim just raises his flask to him.

“Your only mistakes were taking Damian prisoner, and kidnapping our people to serve under your crown.”

If he was annoyed by Tim derailing his answer, he didn’t show it. Seemingly content to play along, Ra’s gave his words proper thought.

“The first brought you into my castle, taking a vital player from the enemy’s board, the latter gave me the opportunity I needed to go to war with your father. I don’t see anything to regret there.”

Tim took another sip of the tea, now cold, that Cass had filled the bottle with.

“And your greatest overview”, he continued, “what you should have suspected from the first moment, was this:”- the drink inside the flask sloshed when he raised it-” I despise tea.

“I fail to see how this all ties together. Indulge me, dear one? Our time with each other is coming to an end, after all.”

Tim was all for gaining time. And maybe a little part of himself wanted to boast a bit, too.

“When Talia came back to her senses, after the drug you used on her to make her take Damian to you wore out, she came seeking for help to set him free.”

A yell, somewhere far away. Clash of metal and fire in the distance; Ra’s troops were back from their empty mission, straight into Harper and Cullen’s awaiting forces.

“Barbara is most likely the best alchemist out there. With Lady Thompkins’ help, she made an antidote”, another sip. “It goes perfect with tea, disgusting as it is. And Jason, taken for dead and rescued by Talia all those years ago, who nursed him back to health under your own roof without you being the wiser, already had a perfect cover built here. He just needed to say he’d been on a mission to explain the time he’d spent between leaving Talia’s care and me coming here, and then volunteer to care for me. And my sister’s presence can only be noticed by those she wants to; your men had no chance to spot the two enemies among their ranks.”

Under them, the innocents in Alqatala were hanging white bed sheets and clothes out of their windows. A beg to be spared, and show of surrender. From up there, it looked like dots of victory splashed in the canvas of a won over Kingdom.

“I could never act like I was in love with you, for months, and be perfectly convincing. And the only way you’d let me even smell the ink on your important documents was if you believed me completely besotted. So I’d take your drugs each breakfast, and break out of their power with my afternoon tea. Give out orders, converge with my spies, and then eat your food again so I’d be in perfect condition for dinner. If I could help it, each moment spent in your presence had to be drugged stupid. As a side effect of taking the drug is memory loss, every proof of my treasonous acts were hidden from my stupid, submissive, deeply-in-love other self. Truly, it was perfect. Except the headaches from taking so many corrosive substances, so often. Those were a pain to deal with.”

That wasn’t, of course, the only consequence of mixing powerful drugs. His colds were harsher and more recurrent than ever, and he feared the approaching winter with genuine horror, but that was information his enemy didn’t need to have.

Ra’s threw his head back and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, from deep within his chest and charged with unexpected affection. Tim tilted his head, and was taken back when his husband stretched his hands to pull the cape closed over his chest, fastening it with an emerald and gold pin.

“I do have a question”, he forces himself to say, unwilling to blush when Ra’s hands accidentally (or maybe not so much) bumped into one of the marks still fresh in his neck.

“You’ve answered mine, Beloved, so go ahead. Marriage is a give and take, after all.”

The irony wasn’t lost.

“When things started to go wrong in this war, when attacks didn’t reach and our troops failed by a hair… you are not stupid. You must have known the enemy under your roof, the one planning your strategies, was the most likely cause. Why not kill me?”

Ra’s laughed again. Something in Tim’s stomach twitched.

He had won here. So why did it feel like Ra’s had been the one to take the treasure?

“We both agreed to this game, when you accepted my suit and we got married.”

“I was the one who suggested/”

“Shh, dear one. You could have backed out, told your family you regretted your choice, and no one would have blamed you. But you took the drugged wine that night, fully aware of the dangers it contained. You blushed during our wedding, and shed a tear when I took your hand and sat you on my throne to receive your crown. The stakes were high, higher than anything any of us could imagine, and you still decided to risk it. Had I discovered your siblings and drove them out, there’d been no one left to fed you the antidote that allowed this entire operation to begin with. Or I could have chosen to dismiss you to an abandoned wing of the palace, happy enough after taking you from your family and thus removing their most dangerous player, without the risk of giving you power.”

Tim’s throat felt dry. Ra’s thumb pressed in the mark one last time, before he drew his hands away and clasped them behind his back. His eyes as he watched Tim were warm on the surface, but there was an underlying of want under them that made him nervous. The intensity rivaled the one he had felt when they shared bed and love just hours ago.

“You played the game beautifully, played by the rules, and still won. Killing you without proof, with only my suppositions, right as they might have been, would have been like admitting defeat.”

“You still lost”, he bites out, hand unclasping the pin keeping the cape tight and letting it fall to the ground behind him, green and gold silk against dark stone.

Ra’s smile became wicked. No warmth left.

“Had I killed you when I first suspected you”, he whispers, stepping closer, and this sudden intimacy makes Tim shiver, but not from pleasure. “I would have missed the opportunity you gave me tonight. And I got a taste of the full extent of your power, Beloved.”

He closed the distance between them, hands on his shoulders to keep him still. Too shocked to even try to get away, Tim almost forgot to blink.

He had expected rage. He had expected disdain. He had expected a sword to the gut.

He hadn’t expected respect, admiration and desire, hot and piercing like a knife still red from the forge.

Ra’s breath, sweet from the wine and warm against the cold of the night, brushed his cheek as his husband bent closer.

“How marvelous it was, to witness you fight against yourself. Are you the only foe you consider worthy of your attention? Can anyone else come close to even challenge your cunning mind?”

Too late, Tim heard the footsteps approaching their location. His brothers, most likely, here to help him take care of Ra’s.

The beautiful dagger sliding into his body felt almost sensual, intimate. Like he was being touched by a lover, instead of steel. He shivered all the same, the gasp escaping his mouth making Ra’s draw a deeper breath.

His laugh, this time, was low. Private, just between them.

“Do make sure you don’t die from this. I’ll come for you one day, and I expect a proper confrontation then. No more masks between us, dear one. Next time it’ll be just you and me, your force against mine, and my price for trouncing one as enthralling as yourself will be to properly own you, from that day and all the ones that’ll follow.”

When Ra’s hands left him, Tim fell to his knees. He heard the door slamming against the wall and his brothers’ voices, their shouts and curses as they rushed to his aid.

“Until then, my Consort.”

He saw him jumping down, to a certain death if it were anyone else, but could not make a move to follow. The knife had pierced something, he could tell, and the blood soaked his white nightgown and the green cape, still on the floor under him.

It was Dick (Oh gods, Dick, how had he missed his oldest brother, how painful had it been to forget his smile, scent and fierce protection) who gathered him in his arms, his desperate calls that made him snap out of the pain. He barely caught sight of Jason and Damian running to the balcony edge and looking down, then yelling orders to the men that had followed them into the room.

Ra’s had escaped.

But he would not stay away for long, he knew. His last words were both a threat and declaration of intent. It was a new war, one where Tim wouldn’t be fighting for him and against himself. Now, he would depend only on his wits and resources. There’d be no master plan carefully laid and enveloped in deceit. It’d be an all out war, two predators hunting each other, where losing meant death for Ra’s, and for Tim...something even worse.

Ra’s was coming.

Well, Tim thought, closing his fingers around the silver hilt of the dagger, his brothers worried voices fading into nothing as consciousness began to waver, let him come.

I’ll be waiting, my husband.

85 notes · View notes

alottanothing · 4 years ago

Text

Left to Ruin: Chapter Nineteen

Summary: Nouke shares concerns with Kahmunrah’s freedom. Ahk learns of potential enemies and finds comfort from the woman he loves.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 7360

Warnings: Little angsty, little smutty but not terribly explicit--18+ only just to be safe

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @theultraviolencefan, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine, @flipper-kisses, @ivy-miranda-2390, @txmel, @sunkissedmikky, @concentratedsassandcandy, @babyalienfairy, @edteche2 (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Long chapter this week! And it’s spicy towards the end! That doesn’t mean there’s no plot, there’s defiantly a shift in our dear pharaoh’s world that will carry through to the end, so YAY for that. This is also were I took some major historical liberties for the sake of my plot; so forgive me on that... Thank you to all of you who left comments or gifs or fun tags last week, you guys are the best. Hopefully the tags work on this chapter, I went through and readded them, if not, I’ll just reblog it again with the tags. Sorry tumblr doesn’t seem to want to cooperate with me. (There’s also a chance this will get flagged because of my choice of photos in my moodboard, hopefully not...but we will see). Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

The mid-afternoon sun was high overhead, beating against the sands with sweltering golden rays that—even with the breeze—were beginning to slip into an acutely unbearable heat. Ahkmenrah, however, didn’t mind it.

The ardor of Ra’s rays upon his tan skin tingled with an effervescence that made him feel alive. Most of his days were spent confined in the halls of his great palace, shielded from the warmth as he went about his responsibilities as king. His childhood was rich with memories under the sun and against the capricious desert winds; and every day the pharaoh counted the hours until he could bathe in that luminous golden glow—even if it was only for an hour or two.

That afternoon had been auspicious; in that, the usual noise and obligations of his daily routine stood at a plateau. There were so few civic duties to see to in the throne room that just as Ahkmenrah had made himself comfortable in the garish chair, there were no other appointments to see to.

It was a relief Ahk chose not to take for granted. The previous six months were riddled with visitors—noble men and women—who came from near and far to shower their new prince with pleasantries and gifts. Each was a well crafted, almost wholesome, pantomime: a show of allegiance with the hope to somehow gain the infant's favor. It seemed ridiculous, but the king and queen played host as they were expected to for them all.

The last of the guests had left that morning on their boat or in caravans, traveling back to their home along the Nile. It felt good to be rid of them. All that remained for Ahk to see to with his kingly persona was the council meeting; even that would be simpler than hosting nobles. He looked forward to an easy briefing.

With the promise of a simple meeting on the horizon and a lax morning behind him, Ahkmenrah took to the grandest of the palace gardens (the very same he’d entertained droves of guests the night Nouke became his queen). The significantly quieter grounds offered a pleasant backdrop as he strolled leisurely along the sandstone footpaths with Kahmunrah at his side. Ahk preferred the serenity to the chaos.

Sharing walks with Kahmunrah had become something of a routine when their busy schedules would allow such a liberty. Each venture lent a catharsis that embodied all the evenings they shared together in the cells, and the lack of bars only seemed to amplify the abreaction of their conversations. Even when most of the topics they spoke of were political matters, the words they exchanged were meditative.

Often, Merenkahre joined them, adding his two cents where he felt was necessary, but mostly he seemed content to simply enjoy the jovial company of his sons. Although the former pharaoh never said it outright, Meren's demeanor was filled to the brim with joy, made evident by his immovable smirk. It thrilled him to see Kah free of his anger just as much as it thrilled Ahk.

In three months of freedom, Kah became a model brother and advisor. The years of over-aggressive solutions gave way to thoughtful guidance that Ahkmenrah knew his brother had always been able to formulate if he were to move past his anger. Only twice had Kahmunrah offered a less than ideal solution to a problem, and each time he caught himself to quickly remedy the blunder with an apology and an appropriate fix. Habits were hard to break and Ahkmenrah chose to be lenient, letting each folly pass with mild scolding.

Somehow, it was working; his brother was finally his brother. How strange it was for the pharaoh to think of all he held: an empire in his hands and a crown on his head. He had his parents—loving and wise—who strove to guide him through every day of his life. He had sisters who loved him, each of whom he loved dearly in return. Kahmunrah now looked upon him with respect. Sekmenrah, his son, was happier and stronger each day. And most of all, Ahkmenrah was blessed to fall into the arms of the woman he had always loved whenever he wanted.

Bliss couldn’t even describe what he felt. Blessed even seemed too rudimentary; though, in his heart, Ahk knew, his life and all he loved was a blessing. They were each of them gifts given to him directly from the gods themselves, and everyday Ahkmenrah prayed his thanks.

Merenkahre elected not to join his sons that particular afternoon, choosing, instead, to spend the hours before duty summoned once more with his wife.

The casual air of the palace fostered a calm that Ahk held on to gladly. With a limited list of duties to see to, there was very little for the pharaoh and his brother to discuss as they strolled through the grand garden, but Ahkmenrah was happy for the quiet company all the same as he thought dreamily of all the gifts his life held.

Their meditative promenade stretched into the early evening, and soon; Ahk's stomach grumbled in protest—tired of the walk and demanding food.

Kah grinned with a slight chuckle at the obnoxious sound and offered to escort his brother to the West Garden where the pharaoh took most of his meals with his queen.

The walk back through the palace was short and spent in amicable silence. Immediately a frown fought to turn Ahk’s lips, missing the sun against his face, but his smile came quickly once they reached the garden he loved and Ra’s golden columns once more warmed his skin.

Nouke was seated in the shade of a towering palm tree as she noshed on a plate of fruits and slices of bread laid upon the table in front of her. Her escort of Medjay and a single maidservant stood reverently nearby; a professional indifference painted on their features. The queen held the tiny prince in her lap, his wispy dark curls dancing in the breeze as he happily gummed his fist, making faint cooing sounds.

The picturesque scene worked through Ahkmenrah with a dizzying surge of glee, causing his lips to part in a radiant smile and his usually mindful gait to fumble as he descended the steps into the garden. Nouke watched his charming blunder with a chuckle and greeted him with a supremely more radiant grin that almost made him stumble again seeing its beauty.

The delight on her face waned however when the queen caught sight of Kahmunrah trailing a step behind her husband. She did her best to mask the sharp distaste, but Ahk caught it anyway.

After three months with no cause for alarm, Ahkmenrah had hoped Nouke would see Kah as the man he’d become rather than the one he used to be. Ahk understood her distrust, it was justifiable. Still, he longed for her to let go of the past, the same way Kah learned to do.

“My love,” Ahk bent to greet his queen with a long kiss before placing a gentle peck to the top of his son’s head, and seated himself across from them at the table.

“Hello, love,” she hummed, once again casting him in the light of her radiant smile, making a point to ignore Kahmunrah completely.

“We missed you,” she mused, gently combing her fingers through Sekmen’s curls adoringly. “Didn’t we, my little prince?”

As if he’d understood, Sek cooed loudly with a chuckle and reached across the table towards his father. Ahkmenrah beamed and reached too, until his son’s tiny hand wrapped around one of his fingers.

“I always miss you both whenever I’m not with you,” Ahk said marveling at his family.

“Well,” Kahmunrah announced and the suddenness made Ahk jump having forgotten his brother was still there. “I will leave the king and queen—as well as the little prince—to their meal. There are a few things that require my attention before the council meeting.”

Ahkmenrah’s brows knit together, wondering what business Kah had that didn’t concern the pharaoh.

“It’s trivial, brother,” Kah answered vaguely, reading the look of puzzlement on Ahk’s face, and waved his hand with a dismissive flair signaling the end of that particular thought.

“Until tonight's meeting,” he bowed to his younger brother, and again as he addressed Nouke. “My queen.”

She turned her head to ignore him until he laid a gentle pat to the top of Sekmen’s head as he spoke, “Nephew.”

Kah bid them all with another bow and made his leave without another word. Nouke’s eyes watched him go with a predatorial intensity—a lioness protecting her cub—as the once relaxed lines of her body suddenly became rigid and fierce.

Ahkmenrah had difficulty quelling the discouraging sigh that escaped him; perhaps not all aspects of his life were without tension.

“I’m sorry,” Nouke said quickly, some of the fire draining from her expression, however her distrust was still palpable.

“You don’t have to apologize," Ahk promised as his eyes fell to the table.

For all the wrong Kahmunrah had done to him; he'd done worse to Nouke. The wounds he inflicted upon her were worse than most, and time may never be enough to heal them. Ahkmenrah longed for peace in his family, but he feared Nouke would never be able to find that peace.

“I wish you would have ordered Medjay to watch him,” she expressed as gently as she could.

“To spy on him, you mean. “ Ahk did his best to swallow the abrupt influx of frustration regarding the topic; he didn’t want it to bleed into his tone and spoil their evening together.

Spies were deceitful, no matter how useful, and he wasn’t going to betray his brother’s trust like that.

“If spies are what it’s going to take to keep you safe—to keep our son safe.” She countered, fire engulfing her tone, making it clear that Ahk had unsuccessfully masked his own ire.

The pharaoh’s eyes rose from the surface of the table to watch the little boy in his wife’s arms; so small and innocent, once more gnawing on his balled fist. Sekmen was blissfully untainted by the evils of the world, and Ahk wanted him to stay that way forever.

Ahkmenrah sighed again, this time in defeat of his own principle; he would gladly become the master of deceit and lies if it meant Sekmenrah and Nouke would be safe.

“I know how long you have wished Kahmunrah to be your brother—that was one of the only things I remember you wanting as a boy.” Nouke’s tone turned soft, and she reached across the table to take his hand with a smile.

“Just promise me, Ahk.”

He met her eyes hearing the urgency and plea in her tone.

“Promise me you won’t let that childhood wish blind you.” There was a glimmer of doubt manifesting in the mist glistening in her eyes, as though she feared he would disavow her request.

Ahk placed his other hand over their joined one, meeting her gaze with a soft intensity he hoped was telling of his vow.

“I promise.”

The mist dissolved in her eyes as relief cast a lightness over her features. All the tension that threatened to sully the air between them drifted away the moment his promise passed his lips.

The remainder of their afternoon progressed quickly with a flurry of tender touches and musings of the youth they shared in the garden in which they sat. By the time duty beckoned the pharaoh back into the halls of the palace, Ahkmenrah’s heart was feather-light and beating with loving fervor as he made his way to the council chamber.

The levity of the evening was snuffed out much too quickly.

Something ominous hung in the air of the council chamber; something thick and rotten and odious. It was a sense that, in all his years, Ahkmenrah had never had the misfortune of experiencing. It clung to his skin like a greasy film, and he could feel its urgency in the abrupt way all the whispers hushed the moment his advisors saw him. Their sudden silence was entirely too loud.

Ahk could see it—whatever it was—in the collective of their dark, unblinking eyes; every pair laden with such dismay, they effectively dissolved all the remaining joy left for the pharaoh to anchor himself to.

Ahkmenrah froze only a few steps over the threshold, finding the dense air to be an invisible web difficult to maneuver under such scrutiny. His father alone seemed immune to the force that plagued the atmosphere, looking more pensive than usual.

“Why do you all look so forlorn?” Ahkmenrah asked in a careful tone he hoped wasn’t telling of his swiftly growing concern.

He wanted a quick answer, one that would rapidly thwart the anxiety brewing in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he was met with a wave of shared glances that swept around the long table, moving from man to man, making it obvious no one wanted to impart the unmistakably bad news.

Their mutual hesitance only made the situation feel more grievous and Ahk tightened his jaw, reinforcing his kingly façade. How fitting it was to have a day of carefree whim close on something portentous.

Finally, after he gauged all the men with an imploring expression, his father spoke.

“Please sit, my king. There is much that needs to be discussed.” Merenkahre’s features were guarded and difficult to make out. The only clue Ahk could derive from his father's face was the deep, ever-ponderous crease on his brow, indicating that something in the realm was, indeed, off.

Without a word, Ahk fixed himself at his usual place at the head of the table and gave a nod and a wave of his hand for them to begin their briefing.

The meeting progressed as it usually did, normal business of the crown that was dealt with every day; examined and discussed thoroughly, before moving on to the next issue. Everything felt tedious with something looming threateningly out of sight. All the new—old—topics brought to attention only delayed whatever lurked in the shadows of the room, and time felt frozen because of it.

By the time the unknown issue was brought to the light, Ahk’s nerves felt keenly exposed and on fire; his fingers all but clawing at the surface of the table.

The man who stood to speak was much older than most who sat on the pharaoh’s council. He was slender and his skin was wrinkled all over. His head held no hair, but his gray eyebrows were long and wiry and telling of his age.

Ahkmenrah had known him since he was a child; Merhet had been the Grand Consul for two pharaohs: Merenkahre, and Merenkahre’s father. When Ahk was crowned, the old man stepped down to allow Meren to take his place to help guide his son. Ahkmenrah repaid his loyalty by granting him the seat as Consul of Thoth; the pharaoh’s procurer of whispers and wisdom to help benefit the whole of Egypt.

How such knowledge came to Merhet; Ahk was unsure: spies—he figured, and the notion made him sigh.

It was rare Merhet had cause to speak, which usually meant all was right in Egypt's corner of the world, and when he stood from his chair, the pharaoh felt his stomach churn uneasily.

“Speak your peace, friend,” Ahkmenrah encouraged kindly when the man met him with a questioning glance.

Merhet bowed respectfully before he spoke. “My king, as your Consul of Thoth, it is my duty to inform you of happenings within your great empire.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, imploring him to go on with an attentive stare.

“I am sorry to bring you a troubling report, but it seems there are whispers of a possible uprising in the nation to our south.”

Ahk swallowed the lump that grew in his throat quickly before it could choke him and kept his sight focused on Merhet.

“The Nehesyw?” he asked calmly.

Merhet nodded. “Yes. As you know, it is from them that we mine our gold and a few other precious resources…”

The pharaoh’s eyes glanced tentatively, suddenly all too aware of the number of riches in only that room.

“…it seems they are tired of most of their land's riches coming to Egypt,” Merhet concluded.

Ahkmenrah’s focus fell to the wood grain of the table as his mind began to flood with thoughts of dread. The only promise to come from revolution was suffering, no matter what outcome was reached; someone would be made to suffer. Of all his duties as ruler, war, and waging it were the ones he feared most.

“These are just rumors,” Merenkahre said sternly, dispelling some anxiety. “My friend, you had us all under the impression that the Nehesyw were already taking up arms against us.”

Ahk’s blinking eyes turned to his father, seeing the calm air of his features and wished he could harness a fraction of that resolve.

“From who was it you heard these rumors?” Ahkmenrah asked, mimicking his father’s steady tone.

Merhet shifted uneasily where he stood, and his eyes scanned over all the men at the table, lingering on Kahmunrah as he thought.

“My—uh—network, your majesty," he said vaguely.

A somewhat irritated simper twisted onto Kah’s features; displeased by the answer.

“Your network? Please, elaborate.” Kah’s tone was harsh, but softened when he added, “Help us to understand.”

The room turned its collective eyes to Merhet for an answer.

“Merchants," he said quickly as though he’d made it up.

“Merchants?" Ahkmenrah repeated, eye's narrowing.

Something else felt off; like there was a piece of his story he was keeping to himself. The idea made the atmosphere even more unsettling, but in a different manner that was equally as foreboding.

“Yes, my king.” The old man nodded, this time sounding more sure. “They are employed to bring goods directly from the Nehesywian markets to the palace. They returned this morning with these whispers.”

Merhet’s eyes looked shamefully away from the pharaoh, clearly, there was more he wanted to say but feared to.

“What else?” Ahk demanded firmly but without aggression.

The Consul of Thoth met the pharaoh’s intense gaze for only a moment before his head fell again, apologetically.

“Forgive me, my king. But the Nehesyw also speak of you. They say the pharaoh is weak, and so must be his nation.”

Weak?

The word screamed in the back of Ahkmenrah’s mind until it grew so loud all his other thoughts were scoured away. Only one other person had ever claimed him to be a weak ruler, and the pharaoh’s eyes settled upon his brother. Suddenly, Nouke’s words and distrust began to scream just as loudly in his mind, and Ahk’s stomach twisted with knots.

Kahmunrah sneered, “Enough of this,” and ordered Merhet to sit back in his seat; coming to his brother’s defense in a timely fashion that deterred a bit of Ahk’s trepidation.

“Kahmunrah is right; I've heard enough,” Merenkahre stated with a finality that split the discomfort of the room.

“These are rumors,” he stressed, engaging every man at the table with intensity. “We will treat them as such, and nothing more.”

He turned to Merhet, kindness softening his eyes as he spoke. “We will look to your wisdom to keep us informed on these whispers—should they grow; we will move forward. Until then, I urge you to gauge them without panic. We could have started a war today over mere speculation.”

“Could we fight them?” Ahk asked, genuine curiosity and a tangible sense of dread driving the question past his lips.

His father’s stormy eyes shifted to him as he considered the answer carefully—the hesitation alone seemed to be the answer. If his reply was more than yes, then the answer had to be no.

“The Nehesyw are a savage people, their armies know no order. Were they civilized, they could take this city in a matter of days. Men, women, and children are all trained to fight, they outnumber the soldiers here at the capital three to one. But, they lack discipline, which is their downfall in the field.”

Ahkmenrah did his best to absorb all the information his father threw at him, unable to articulate a reply as his mind did its best to make sense of everything.

War—the word loomed like a dark cloud in his head making all rational thoughts veiled and difficult to find. The idea of blood on his hands was one that instilled him with such shame and remorse, tears were already threatening to swell in his eyes.

However, on the opposite side of the scale sat his people and his family; potential victims for their potential invaders. For them, Ahkmenrah would fight endlessly to protect all he cared about, no matter the consequences. He would endure a thousand battles, spill rivers and oceans of blood if doing so meant keeping them out of harm's way.

“Perhaps we should shore up our defenses as a precaution?” Kahmunrah suggested.

Before Ahkmenrah could respond, Merenkahre shot down the idea, “No.”

Ahk threw a quizzical look to his father.

Merenkahre had taught him many lessons: how to strategize war, however, was not one of them. Had Ahk been wiser in his youth, he would have urged his father to impart such knowledge to him, but he didn't, and now he felt lost. The pharaoh was at the mercy of those smarter than him.

“It would be unwise to do so,” Meren said, looking to his oldest son. “If word were to travel that the capital is gathering forces—that could be misconstrued as an act of war. It is important to carry on as usual.”

Merenkahre turned his sights to Ahkmenrah, “That is what a wise king would do.”

Ahkmenrah nodded quickly, wholly unfit to argue.

Kah sounded an irritated huff as his face contorted into a familiar guise Ahk could recall much too easily. Again, Nouke’s distrust drifted into the front of his mind, the sudden bout of alarm tightening the knots in his stomach.

He has changed. He is a better man. He is my brother.

Ahkmenrah took a slow breath as his mind repeated the chant in an attempt to alleviate the sour feeling in his gut.

He has changed. He is a better man. He is my brother.

***

The journey back to his chamber was one Ahkmenrah ventured countless times: a brief, pleasurable trek through open breezeways by lush gardens and through artful corridors that, on most days, treated him with a jubilant soulfulness that made all the worldly pressures seem to fade away. However, as his feet moved across the stone floor on that particular trip, he found the scenery did not coddle him as it usually did.

The newfound—dreadfully precarious—weight he carried on his shoulders wilted his regal posture, his head hanging pensively. He knew it was going to take more than a meditative walk to remedy his spirit; a notion itself that added to the burden upon him.

Ahk let his steps fall slower until his pace was more of a tired shuffle than a kingly gait as he fought to compel the tension out of his muscles and the anxiety out of his heart and head. He didn’t want his concern to bleed into the hours he devoted to his family while duty slept—those were joys he was most unwilling to sacrifice.

By the time he found himself at his chamber doors, Ahkmenrah wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse after his lengthened stroll. Or, perhaps, he found himself in limbo: stuck somewhere between the two, which was hardly encouraging.

“Goodnight, my king,” Kamuzu bid him with a bow.

He didn’t turn to leave right away, instead, the king's guardian lingered, watching Ahkmenrah with a parental vigilance that fostered a glimmer of comfort.

“Thank you for another day of loyalty. I bid you rest well, my friend,” Ahk told him with a half-smile to show his gratefulness.

The Medjay bowed once more, and as he left, Ahkmenrah caught the tail end of a similar grin on Kamuzu’s features. The exchange was quick but heartened enough to combat some of the pharaoh’s dismay.

As his hand lingered on the door of his room, Ahk took in a deep breath to help bring him peace and bid both the Medjay standing guard a goodnight as he entered.

The air of the chamber almost instantly drove that peace home. It was like stepping into a dream; the atmosphere was light, not suffocating as the council chamber had been, and Ahkmenrah filled his lungs to compacity over and over until he became lightheaded and high from the clarity.

Only a few of the wall torches were lit, their luminescence casting a calming glow over the space that was warm and inviting, helping the pharaoh relax. He stood soaking in, and savoring every delicate sense until the encumbrance of the past few hours drifted away.

Quietly, Ahk rid himself of his ornate accessories, placing his crown upon the table at the center of the room, leaving the majority of his gold and incrusted garments in a heedless pile. His spirit lightened with every layer he shed until all that remained was his belt and shendyt.

For a moment, he reveled in the freedom—the feeling of being wonderfully human—without the glittering raiment to remind him of the woefully burdened god-king he was.

As he stood, tiny snores caught his ears and prompted his lips to curl into a smile. With a glance, Ahkmenrah found his son fast asleep in his cradle under a protective beam of Khonsu’s light. The sight instilled the pharaoh with eagerness, drawing his feet across the floor in fluid movements until he stood crib-side, utterly captivated by the beautiful boy he and Nouke had created with their love.

Sekmenrah stirred, his chubby arms and legs stretching, but too deep in his slumber to wake even when his father swept an admiring finger over the boy’s soft cheek.

The amount of love in Ahk’s heart for his son was entirely too much to comprehend. He was certain his destined path was not to be pharaoh but to be a father. Being a father meant more to Ahkmenrah than any crown or any empire in the whole world.

A content sigh fell from his lips as the last of his worry dissolved into a tingling warmth that spread throughout his being, soothing his body, mind, and soul. He always found tranquility in the sanctity of his chamber, with his family.

He lingered at his son’s side, watchful and admiring, until a breeze caressed the bare skin of his back and shoulders, bringing with it the faint scent of lily, myrrh, and cinnamon. The fragrance tickled his senses with allure and pulled his smile tighter across his face, recognizing the perfume his wife favored.

Ahkmenrah spun to find her standing on the balcony, gazing out over the city with her back to him. She too had rid herself of the finery that made her a queen, leaving only the colorful linen of her dress, cinched at her waist with a simple gold braided rope. Wind tussled her long, dark hair and the light fabric she wore, causing it to hug each of her curves in such a way that made the pharaoh’s mouth water.

Nouke was radiant under the silvery luminescence of the moon. Each time Ahk gazed upon her, his heart skipped, and he was rendered breathless—dizzy with affection. He glided effortlessly to her, hypnotized by her silent siren call. And when he wove his arms around her, pressing into the strong line of her back, Ahkmenrah was certain he’d never felt more at peace.

With a heartened hum, he nestled and cherished her closeness. At that moment, the world stood still while the edges of reality blurred into a fog until they were the only two beings in the entire universe.

Ahk buried his nose in the hollow of her neck, letting the fragrant smell of her skin, and its softness under the tip of his nose infuse with his senses. His lips came to rest on that nectary hollow, unable to quell the need to kiss her sweet-smelling flesh. He hummed again, profoundly content.

“I missed you,’ he mused pulling her closer as he laid more kisses across her neck and shoulder.

Nouke hummed too as her hands came to rest over his, tilting her head to grant him a wider canvas to paint with his tender lips.

“As have I, my king,” Nouke murmured as one of her hands reached to grasp and tangle in the curls on his head.

Ahk purred, emboldened by the gesture, and the tug she gave caused a pleasurable warmth to shoot through him.

His hips rolled against her rear, an involuntary reaction to the fire pulsing in his veins, but his queen responded with another soft yank to his curls and a wanton sigh that encouraged every movement. Ahk drew his tongue over the taught column of her neck, suckling the skin behind her ear until she sighed again.

“The council kept you from me longer than usual,” she said idly as the undulation of her hips met his until his body froze with the reminder of the reality beyond the fog.

Nouke’s hand left his scalp, falling to cradle his arms wrapped around her.

“Is everything alright?” There was concern in her voice, and for a moment Ahk was too lost in the way her fingertips swept calming patterns over his skin—coaxing him out of the darkness she’d blindly summoned—to answer.

“For the time being," Ahkmenrah decided on, not wanting to ruin the tranquility he felt with Nouke in his arms.

She spun lithely in his grasp, never severing their closeness to look at him with smoldering amber eyes filled to the brim with compassion.

“Ahk…” she said imploringly, resting fingers along his jaw as her eyes searched his for reasoning of the shadow that plagued him. “Tell me.”

As much as he wanted to forget about the situation that threatened Egypt for a while longer, the pharaoh could not keep things from his queen.

“There have been rumors from the south. The Nehesyw talk of rebellion.”

The furrow on her thin brows pressed deeper with concern, and her hands fell open-palmed to his chest as he continued to hold her close.

“Rebellion?” Though she did her best to hide it from him, fear danced like flames behind her eyes.

A pang of anguish bit into Ahk seeing that frightened flash.

“Do not worry, my love,” he assured her in as light of a tone as he could manage, tucking stray locks of hair behind her ear. “For now, they are simply rumors. My men are keeping their ears open for changes should they come.”

A frown turned her lips to match the fear in her eyes, “Is there nothing more being done?”

Ahkmenrah sighed, wishing there was more to put her at ease.

“Kahmunrah suggested we shored up our defenses here in the capital, but my father said doing so may make us appear to be readying for battle, which in turn could provoke them.”

Nouke’s focus grew distant, but her thoughts drifted over her features clear enough to witness in the light of the moon. Finally, she nodded, her fear becoming only a smolder.

“Your father is right.”

“I hope so.” The pharaoh could hear his own uncertainty as he spoke. “He is far more knowledgeable when it comes to matters such as these.”

Ahk paused to consider all that he had learned, and not learned, as Nouke wove herself around him in a tight embrace. Instinctively, his arms enveloped her in return.

“Even my brother understands these matters better than I,” he admitted, suddenly feeling every ounce the weak king his enemies thought him to be, and he tightened his hold on Nouke.

They stayed wrapped in each other’s reassuring arms for a long while until the edges of reality began to blur once more, and the previous levity settled into the atmosphere. Nouke pulled away first, just enough to meet his eyes.

“Speaking of your brother, I have been thinking about what we spoke of earlier.” She took a deep breath to steady herself, as though what she was about to say warranted more effort than normal.

“You know I trust you completely.” She swallowed and took one final breath. “So, if you trust Kahmunrah, then perhaps it is time I learn to trust him as well.”

The look in her eyes betrayed her heartened tone. The air fell thickly silent between them as a knot formed in Ahkmenrah’s stomach. The gaze with which she held him begged for him to let her recant.

Ahkmenrah had so longed to have unity within the whole of his family. Nouke knew that—he knew she knew that. She stood willing to disregard her own prejudice and learn to trust a man she so strongly detested for all he had done to her family, all out of the love she harbored for him—a true testament to that love. It was selfless, which made it undoubtedly greedy for him to let her walk a path she only thought she could weather. It was wiser to continue as they were.

The pharaoh was torn; his words stained his tongue, unable to come out, as his mind was suddenly too overworked to process any more uncertainty.

“Okay,” he whispered finally.

The moment he spoke it; he was only too aware of how weak his one-word reply sounded fumbling from his lips. Even worse was the tangible disappointment in his queen’s eyes when she smiled at him. It was a momentary flicker—a blink, and you’ll miss it moment—but Ahkmenrah caught it, and his heart sank.

“I love you,” she reassured him after a moment of more melancholy quiet.

The smile she held then was genuine and comforting, and Ahk matched it.

“I love you,” he echoed, and she kissed him until all the uncertainty left them both.

The pharaoh drew his queen closer, letting the tips of her fingers press into his chest, drowning himself in every sensation of her until all the wickedness of his day was burned out of his mind. The billow of her breathless cry over his moist lips prompted a chill, encouraging him, and Ahk threaded his fingers through her hair to hold her in place.

He kissed her slowly and without urgency, and Nouke mimicked the lazy give and take; as if to memorize the very essence of the tender moment—the taste, the feel, the passion. Both were completely present for the methodical play of the other’s lips as their dance built to a perfect crescendo.

Nouke leaned into her king like he was the air, and she was gasping, and he was only too willing to grant her everything she desperately needed. The glide of his tongue over her plump lower lip caused her mouth to open with a hungry sound Ahkmenrah muffled with his own. His hands drifted from her scalp to explore every curve—his lips and tongue still drinking languidly from her giving mouth.

Her hips were soft under his fingertips, and they lingered there, pressing possessively, before scaling the ladder of her ribs—each rise and dip subtle under the thin fabric of her gown. Mentally Ahk counted each bone as his hands worked towards her breasts. Eagerly he palmed their new fullness, filling each hand as he stopped to squeeze them gently before continuing on until he found the straps fixated loosely on her shoulders.

His mouth moved to the angle of her jaw, suckling the hinge he cajoled a soft moan from his wife’s lips, and again when he artfully guided the top of her dress from her shoulders. The blissfully wanton sound caused his features to crook into a prideful smirk against her warm flesh as he blazed a trail of kisses down her stately neck.

Nouke’s breath hitched with a shaky whimper as the night air prickled over her chest in a wave of goosebumps upon the sudden exposure. Her body acted of its own volition, arching into him, and the feel of her breasts against his chest made the pharaoh’s cock twitch with anticipation.

He wanted her—he always wanted her. How long had it been since he truly had her? Buried himself deep inside of her until there was nothing but stars left to color both of their vision? It felt like ages.

When her hands found his scalp once more, the tips of her fingers massaging and scratching and pulling, he groaned from deep in his chest as his mind clouded with a lustful need. Ahkmenrah’s hand traveled to find her breasts, pausing only a moment to once again delight in their new fullness, wonderfully unobstructed by the fabric of her dress.

As his lips latched to her collarbone, he pinched the pert peak of her nipple between his second and third finger, grinning as her lewd cry met his ears. Hands tugged firmly in his hair in retaliation and Ahk bit the rise of her clavicle to keep from moaning too loudly.

Heat pooled lower, blood rushing to his center with every soft groan and accompanying gentle friction.

A shiver worked through his queen when the tips of his finger danced up her spine as he guided her backward until they bounced against the wide rail that kept them from falling to the garden below. The moment their eyes met, a lecherous smile pulled at each of their features. Without need for a demand, Nouke wrapped her arms around his neck as he easily lifted her onto the flat, stone wall.

Her legs locked around him, pulling him against her for a searing kiss that found her gasping. When their lips parted, Ahk’s kisses continued in a line down her throat and the center of her chest, sweet but sloppy. His tongue swept at the underside of her breast, trailing over her nipple and all the way to the base of her neck, provoking her to sound a moan that Ahkmenrah felt vibrate through himself.

With his hands and mouth (and no small amount of enthusiasm) he mapped every part of her exposed flesh: from the lobes of her ears to the middle of her abdomen where the rope at her waist kept the rest of her gown from falling away. He knew every sweet spot that never failed to coax a flurry of sinful sounds past her kiss swollen lips; every dip, swell and curve were an instrument he had mastered with avidity and loved more each time he played.

Nouke’s nails scraped over his shoulders, leaving marks he would wear with pride come the morning before trailing to fist the curls on his head once more—pressing his face firmer against her chest.

She arched against him—gasping—when he rounded a nipple with his teeth, before laving it with his tongue. Her nails scratched down his back and against his shoulder, every part of him she could reach. And when his eyes met hers, he found fire: a raw, unguarded lust in them that sent a wave of arousal straight to his groin.

“Ahk…” she breathed into his mouth as she pulled him to her lips again.

The cry of his name wasn’t a question, but a wanton demand that saw him reaching under her dress in search of her sweet center. He beamed with an arrogant delight when he found the skin of her inner thighs slick and coated with arousal.

She was quick to kiss his smirk away with her own pompous simper, her hands working down the lean plates of his body. The hunger of her kiss he matched with equal vigor and desperation. As he drank from her lips, the heat of her skin increased and exhaled a wild, untamed fragrance that was profoundly more intoxicating than any oil or perfume.

They moaned each other's name in a worshipful praise, both craving the inexplicably euphoric closeness of becoming one, yet; neither was willing to cease the pleasurable teasing.

When his hands drifted closer to her heat, her hands swept further down his torso, the slow build causing him to strain the fabric of his shendyt. He could feel Nouke’s fingers working to untie his belt, the involuntary sweep of them against his aching hardness making him hiss and bite his lip. The pharaoh’s entire body was on fire and teeming with anticipation as both their fingers inched closer, ready to offer pleasure and relief.

Then, a fussy cry from inside their chamber sobered both the king and queen almost instantly.

Ahkmenrah’s breath caught on a bereft huff, cursing with a ragged exhale. Nouke sighed too, with a soft, lorn chuckle, drawing her husband's head against her chest to soothe his obvious disappointment.

“I couldn’t get him to nurse before I put him to bed,” she confessed, sounding just as dissatisfied as he felt.

“He’s probably hungry.” Her lips moved against his scalp as she spoke, punctuating each word with a gentle kiss.

“Mmm, I’m hungry too,” Ahk quipped, and he felt her lips smile.

“Later, my love.” Nouke held his face in her hands looking deep into his eyes. “Later.”

Ahkmenrah steadied himself with a long breath, listening to his son’s cries grow louder. It was a few minutes before either of them worked themselves out of the haze well enough to move again.

“I’ll go and get him,” Ahk said, throwing Nouke his most charming smile and kissed her in parting.

Despite the interruption, the pharaoh grinned at his fussy boy, whose tiny arms were flailing and begging for attention. The moment he spoke the boy’s name; big blue eyes stared up at him, wide and inquisitive as his sobs faded into soft whimpers.

“How dare you interrupt your king,” Ahkmenrah scolded gently as he picked up the boy. “A prince should know better.”

Sekmen’s whimpers turned to coos as Ahk sauntered back to the balcony.

“You get that from your mother, you know. Your rebellious spirit.”

Sek smiled at his father’s comment, a tiny chuckle parting his lips, as though he’d understood his father’s teasing.

“When was I ever rebellious?” Nouke retorted with a playful tone.

Ahk bit his bottom lip as he smiled, “I can think of a time or two.”

Nouke rolled her eyes fondly and reached for the bundle in Ahkmenrah’s arms, “Come here, my little prince.”

Sekmen cooed happily as she snuggled him to her breast.

The pharaoh found he could do nothing but watch; lips curled into a dreamy smile, completely overcome with love. Nouke had always taken his breath away, but under the veil of midnight, with their child in her arms, she was the most achingly beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes upon.

“What?” Nouke murmured when she caught him admiring.

His reply didn’t come right away, instead he paused to sweep a delicate touch through his son’s hair.

“I just love you both, so much.” His mind was suddenly fraught with the dreadful outcomes of war.

“The thought of losing either of you…”

“Don’t,” Nouke stopped him firmly, running a finger along his jaw, tilting his chin, so he could share her gaze. “Whatever these rumors or threat grows to be; we will get through it together.”

A glimmer of sadness and fear sparkled in her eyes accompanied with a seriousness he understood.

“Because I can’t lose you either, Ahkmenrah. I simply cannot.”

“You won't."

Once the prince was nestled in his bed, the king and queen made love, and made love again; then after they had made love once more—quiet and passionate and without thought—then, like how the sun sank into the horizon, they fell into a deep slumber free of dread and quandary.

Next Chapter-> Chapter Twenty: Blinded

#Ahkmenrah #Ahkmenrah x Original Character #Ahkmenrah Fanfiction #Night at the Museum #NATM #NATM Fanfiction #Left to Ruin #Rami Malek Character #Rami Malek Character Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Rami Malek

26 notes · View notes