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kaypeace21 · 4 years ago

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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

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tobiosmilktea · 5 years ago

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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

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drjingujisclinic · 4 years ago

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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

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the-athena-mysteries-castle · 3 years ago

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Welcome to the Bloody Castle!

WHAT IS THE ATHENA MYSTERIES CASTLE?

The Athena Mysteries Castle (TAMC) is the home to all things vampiric, gothic, artistic and of course mysterious. The castle belongs to 2 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!👢

#goth academia #dark acamedia #victorian aesthetic #goth #demonology #occult #tamc #⌚

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just-the-mage · 3 years ago

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[ 👶 ] 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!

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amoretheiwa · 4 years ago

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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

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adarafaelbarba · 5 years ago

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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

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miss-choco-chips · 5 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.

87 notes · View notes

alottanothing · 5 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

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jasonspetertodds · 4 years ago

Text

character study #2

warnings: swearing

Jason narrowed his eyes under his hood, watching from his position tucked up onto a ledge and wrapped in the darkest of shadows. He didn’t know how to describe it, but he could taste magic in the air. It tickled the back of his throat, coating it in a sickly, unnaturally sweet tasting air. He grunted, firing his grappling hook and swinging to the next rooftop. He fired again and eventually formed a sort of steady rhythm, enjoying the nice steady clink of his hook as it landed on the various buildings he was swinging from as he tried to investigate. It was rare for a magic user to be in Gotham, which made it almost that much more troubling especially since it’s seems as though Batman wasn’t aware of it.

This city really did prefer rejected doctorate holders who took too many theatre classes in college instead of magic. It was part of the reason why Jason loved it so much. It was so much easier to apprehend the goons of the more dramatic villains (which is everyone but the crime families and drug runners) when they were wearing cheap replicas of their boss’ face. Jason dropped down on one of the old church steeples in Crime Alley, immediately shifting his weight forward so he wouldn’t fall backward and tucking his grapple gun away. The taste was almost overwhelming when he had landed on the rooftop; hell even when he had gotten within six feet of it he felt like throwing up.

He didn’t really know what had made him so sensitive to magic, if he was being honest with himself, which he very rarely ever was. The Lazarus Pit certainly helped, but he suspected it had more to do with Ducra and his All-Caste training. Jason had forgotten how sensitive he was to magic and magic users since his time back in Gotham after reconciling with his family. He had noticed it when he had spent the better part of a year hunting immortal zombies with Kori and Roy but nothing like this. Which, to put it lightly, concerned him. Jason skirted around one of the old gargoyles, careful not to make much noise in part so he didn’t give himself away but also so he didn’t disturb any of the crows that had nested up there. He really didn’t feel like earning the retribution of the smartest birds in the city.

Jason peered down into the belly of the church through one of the broken windows, looking for any sort of movement or life. The church had seemed abandoned, but Jason knew better than anyone that that wasn’t always true in Crime Alley. Just because something looked abandoned didn’t mean it was devoid of people. Jason also didn’t know if churches could be abandoned. As in, he didn’t know if they could “go out of business” for a lack of a better term. He guessed they could if they weren’t getting enough from tithe, but also weren’t churches normally funded outside factors? He shook his head, he was overthinking churches. Frustrated that he didn’t see anything, Jason moved to climb to the top of the steeple, knowing he could probably drop down inside from the bell tower.

Sure enough, there was a small single paned arched window on each wall surrounding the bells. All he had to do was gently pull on them and they opened up enough for Jason to shimmy his way into the tower. He crouched on one of the supporting beams around the bell shaft, peering into the darkness below before flicking on his night vision in his helmet. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just rat droppings, a severe coating of dust and a few cobwebs. He sat back on his heels for a second, trying to figure out the best way to get down.

His grapple gun was going to be too loud and he didn’t want to lose his edge of surprise. He jumped from one beam to one below, flinching as it creaked below him and feeling very betrayed. Gross. Jason moved slower from this beam to the next, taking extra care in applying his weight on the joint slowly so it wouldn’t make any noise. He was close enough to the floor that he leaped off, landing in a low crouch. The floor didn’t creak like the joist did. He slowly stood up to his full height, looking around at the main worship area. There wasn’t much light on the main floor with the windows being boarded up, but the magic had gotten stronger the closer he had managed to get to the ground, but he still didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It was making Jason edgy as hell, feeling the slow feeling of dread pool and settle in his stomach while the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

He decided to wait, just for a couple of seconds, straining his ears to hear anything outside of his own breathing. He paused for a beat. He could hear the wind outside and he could smell a faint trace of smoke. Jason narrowed his eyes for the second time that night. He gently touched the side of his helmet, engaging his comm. If something went haywire, at least Oracle would know. He heard the line buzz to life even if only quietly. There must be a basement to this place, he mused.

Jason did a quick sweep of the ground floor, looking under the pews to see if there was an entrance to the basement that was hidden in the floorboards. He frowned. Smoke rose and it had to be coming out of somewhere for him to be able to smell it. Jason did another pass through, trying to find where the smoke was strongest before crouching by the altar. He ran his fingers over the edges of the woodwork, gently pressing until he heard a soft click. He pressed it further inward and watched as it slide backwards, revealing a small spiral staircase. Jason really, really wanted to throw up.

He took a deep breath to center himself, checking his guns and tapping on a few of his knives. When he knew everything was in order, he drew both of his guns and cautiously made his descent. It lead to a small wine cellar with two chambers off of the main hallway, each sealed by a massive, ornate oak door.

Eenie, meenie, miney, moe.

Jason went for the right.

He immediately lowered his guns, but didn’t holster them completely, quickly shutting the door behind him. Strung up before him were two young girls, probably just barely turned eighteen, chained to the wall and gagged. Jason prayed they wouldn’t scream. Their eyes were as wide as saucers and they flinched away from him when he got too close. He silently swore to himself. He holstered one gun and kept the other one pointed firmly at the door that he had just come through. He kept his voice low when talking to them as he tried to soothe, “Hey, I’m here to help, okay? I’m not trying to hurt you.”

One of them was a dark skinned girl with her hair tied up into two cute afro puffs while the other one was white with her strawberry blond hair pleated into one long braid. They relaxed a little bit, but they were both still tense as hell and eyeing him suspiciously, which, Jason could admit was probably fair. It did hurt him a little bit though, he didn’t hurt women or children. He pushed that aside though and went to work. Jason moved next to one of them, holstering his other gun before producing a lock pick from somewhere about his person before he started to work on freeing them from the ancient looking shackles.

It reminded him of something Ra’s would keep. He rolled his eyes under his hood. Every fucking villain in this city relied on cheap dramatics. Not that Jason could really talk. He was a little surprised that the girls didn’t try to slip them, considering they both seemed to be alert and the cuffs weren’t bound that tightly. Within a couple of seconds he had managed to get one hand free and moved to work on the other while she tugged the cloth down off of her mouth. He managed to get the other hand free in less time and she dropped down to the ground gratefully before he went to work on the other girl, who seemed to relax significantly when she saw Jason didn’t attack her partner.

“What’re your names?” He asked, really trying to make his voice sound as comforting as possible with the voice modulator and his personality. He wanted to make it clear he wasn’t going to hurt them.

“Nadine,” The girl Jason had just freed responded, tugging at a baby hair and wrapping it around her finger a couple of times as she bit her lip anxiously, her brown eyes still as wide as ever.

“Clara.” Responded the red head, who had just tugged down her gag. Jason knew she was scared as well, her chest heaving even if she was desperately trying to get it under control. He didn’t know if it was because of him or someone else.

“What happened?” Jason asked as Clara dropped down. He drew both of his guns again, moving towards the door, but very consciously didn’t point them at the girls. His voice was still low, trying to hear if someone was approaching.

They both seemed hesitant to tell him, shifting uncomfortably and hiding their faces in their shoulders. Jason decided to take the long route and slowly try and coax the information out of them. He felt his face soften under his mask, he was being too harsh on two young, scared girls. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” They both responded immediately. He could hear the Gotham street accent in both of their voices, but Clara’s seemed to dip more into the nasally accent of The Narrows. Jason nodded once, turning his head toward the door. It was a trick he used with Damian a lot, knowing that the kid would talk if he didn’t think Jason was listening. “Where were you going?” “A warehouse party over in the Slaughterhouse district.” Clara supplied, her rubbing her arms to comfort herself. Jason nodded again, that was a hop, skip and a jump away from Crime Alley, but what was mildly concerning was that these girls were walking around in Crime Alley, a place notorious for its muggings and crime rate, alone, at night.

Nadine pipped up, “We don’t know who took us, they just sort of grabbed us, forcing us into an alley and then they pulled bags over our heads so we wouldn’t see anything. They said a human sacrifice was needed for them to summon something. We heard them leave a little bit ago, but we don’t know where they went or why.” Jason perked up, hearing the front doors of the church swing open. He motioned for the girls to back up against the wall and be quiet with a flick of his hand while he moved to the side of the door, waiting. He vaguely wished he had more time. He hated feeling like this, not knowing even the bare minimum about the people he was fighting, let alone what their motive was. He didn’t know what the fuck they were trying to summon or why and it was making him restless. They were going to know he was down there, he doubted the altar moved on it’s own to hide the staircase— he hadn’t seen any way to get back out if it closed behind them on his way down.

He heard the soft footfalls of someone approaching, talking in a hushed tone. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, even straining his ears. He heard the other door being pushed open across the hall and Jason felt trapped. He didn’t want to let the girls go, for fear of not everyone being down in the basement and them getting hurt and he wanted to make sure they both got safely home. He didn’t want to leave them down here with him, though. It was going to get rough pretty quickly.

He decided the best route would to sneak over to the ritual room? Jason assumed that was what it was anyway, close the door and spare the girls from having to see anymore violence then they needed. While they were from the poorest, roughest parts of Gotham and probably saw worse on the daily, Jason still didn’t want them to see more than they had to. They deserved a break, even if only for a little. Nadine and Clara were already shaken up, too. He sighed.

“Stay here.” He ordered, softly before adding, “And yell if something happens. I’ll be back.”

He gently nudged open the door with the tip of his boot before stepping out into the dimly lit hallway. He didn’t hear anyone milling around upstairs, which he supposed was a good thing, but he still didn’t like not knowing every exit and entrance of the church nor who was behind this. He closed the door silently behind him, waiting. He titled his head, hearing at least three voices behind the second door. Jason took a deep breath, checking his guns one more time before acting.

His guns automatically leveled with the threat without him having so much as looked, before his head titled to the side in confusion. There were three people, dressed in the ceremonial black, shapeless hooded robs. That wasn’t what struck him as odd though, in the millisecond that had transpired, it was the fact that one of the hooded members was John Constantine. The older man took advantage of the distraction provided by Jason and pulled out a short dagger out of his robes. Jason noted it was probably his moonblade, since it was a new moon night. He should’ve known it was Constantine and he was angry at himself for not knowing sooner. John was, after all, one of the most powerful sorcerers he had ever come across. Jason rolled his eyes under his hood. Fucking Constantine.

“Sorry, I’m late. I thought the cult meeting started at eleven.” His voice harsh, but he made no other movement. The two other minions stood motionless for a second, before drawing their blades and rushing Jason. Jason snarled under his hood, immediately not wanting to shoot in such a tight space and risk hitting Constantine, but to be fair, it wasn’t like the man couldn’t use his magic to protect himself. Jason instead kicked the legs out from underneath one, a tall lanky pasty looking man, shooting into his hand. The man screamed in agony, dropping the dagger and falling onto his knees before him, which didn’t leave Jason very impressed. He shot the other clean in the kneecap before pistol whipping one into dreamland while Constantine made quick work of knocking the other unconscious. Jason was dully surprised the older man didn’t kill them. He wasn’t under the same contract he was with Batman.

He eyed the Brit, not lowering his guns before asking rather bluntly, “What the fuck, John?”

The man snarled back at Jason, hissing, “What the fuck me? What the fuck you! I’ve been investigating these guys for weeks and you just barge in here, guns blazing, fucking up my entire operation!”

“I didn’t know you were in Gotham!” Jason growled, defensive, “Something fucky was happening in Crime Alley, my turf, and you expect me not to come poking around to deal with it? You could’ve at least given me a heads up, Constantine! For fuck’s sake it’s not like we don’t know each other! Does Batman even know you’re here?”

“No! Because I didn’t want any of you bastard Bats interfering!”

That made sense, Jason allowed. B did have a pension for worming his way into other people’s business, doubly so when it had to do with Gotham. But Jason didn’t do that shit! He trusted Constantine to deal with whatever business had called him to Gotham and get the hell out.

“Well, it’s a little too late for that, innit?”

Jason really didn’t have a problem with Constantine. Yeah, he could be a moody son of a bitch, but so could Jason. They both operated on, base level, the same moral compass. They had worked well together when Jason joined up with Zantana and he to stop a few demons from taking over the continent, he was just frustrated with the lack of communication. He was being an ass, but the sorcerer deserved it.

Jason sighed, holstering one of his guns and keeping the other trained on John. The other two weren’t going to be roused anytime soon. He repeated his question, “What the fuck?”

The blonde scrubbed a hand down his face, “They were trying to summon a Djinn, make a deal with them, get ultimate power, take over the world. You know the drill.”

“God, can’t any potential villain get some new fucking material?” Jason grumbled.

“Right?”

“The girls?” Jason asked, nodding his head toward the direction of the other door, careful not to knock over the candles that they scattered on the floor for the ceremony.

Constantine’s face was grim, “Human sacrifices; I was going to kill the others before it got to that point; as far as I know this is an isolated incident. I was concerned it had to do with something... else”

Jason nodded again before glancing down at the two people at his feet. Not caring that Constantine wasn’t saying anything more than he needed to. He was a shady bastard after all, a man after Jason’s own heart. As far as he could tell, they weren’t strong, in combat or magic. Jason’s head snapped toward the doorway, he heard something shift. Constantine must’ve felt the change in energy too, moving beside Jason and crouching in a more defensive position, his blade pointed in front of him. Jason was afraid to ask, “How far into the ritual did they get?”

“Not far enough to warrant an appearance,” The sorcerer growled, stalking forward into the hall, Jason close behind. He really had the audacity to think this was going to be a quiet night. The younger man gently put a hand on the Brit’s shoulder, nodding toward the door where the two others were still unconscious. They needed to do something about that before going headfirst into battle against an angry Djinn. It could’ve been drawn here by the magic force both of them were omitting. Jason couldn’t imagine what it would feel like combined, but if he was about to throw up with just Constantine, then maybe he would’ve just imploded. John flicked his hand and Jason heard the door lock behind him. That would work, he supposed. Jason holstered his gun, opting instead for his All-Blades. If it was indeed a Djinn, he was guns were going to be rendered useless. He held off on summoning them, yet. He didn’t want to wear on his soul anymore than he needed to.

The Brit eyed him curiously through the corner of his eye before heading up the stairs. Jason followed quietly after, throwing a glance back to where the girls were, silently hoping they would stay put until he returned to walk them home. As they ascended, the more Jason felt uneasy. He had gotten used to the effect Constantine had on him, but there was no denying that whatever was going to meet them at the top of the staircase was powerful. Too bad so were he and Constantine.

John exited the staircase, crouching behind the wood altar, his eyes peering just above it as he tried to pinpoint where the thing was. Jason stayed behind, waiting. He didn’t want to give his position away just yet, instead opting for an element of surprise or at least hoping for one. He crouched down, keeping close to the wall. Half of what made a good assassin was patience. A skill Jason had mastered with his time with Talia. He could be patient, but that was normally thrown out the window when someone was in danger. Constantine crept out from the altar, making a quick sweep of the place. Not long after, Jason heard a grunt and a soft thud. He heard a rough, British voice swear. From what little Jason knew about Djinn’s, he knew they weren’t strictly good or evil, like Fair Folk, they just were. It depended on their mood. But if they were the first one to attack, it meant that they were pissed. Jason figured he might be pissed too if he didn’t get the human sacrifices he was promised.

Jason moved to the top of the stairs, peering around the side of it, knowing he would get at least somewhat of a more hidden vantage point. He willed his swords to him the second he saw the shadowy thing had their back to him. He slid over the hunk of wood, charging down the aisle between the pews before slashing it in the back. They cried out when the flames of his sword licked their skin, quickly turning on him. Jason knew it would give Constantine enough time to summon some more magic to deal with them. In the meantime, Jason rolled, coming up behind the side of a pew, trying to draw their attention. It took a more human form, but Jason could still see the tendrils of shadows curling from their being, their eyes glowing an unholy color. Much like how his looked right after he was bathed in the Lazarus Pit.

“A Child Of The All-Caste.”

Jason felt a shiver run down his spine. The Djinn wasn’t talking. Or they weren’t talking in a way most humans would-- instead willing its voice into Jason’s head and confounding his thoughts. He snarled in response, taking a running lead before he rotated in the air to kick the thing. He landed another swipe of his sword down their chest, ripping the suit they were wearing. He moved to parry, but Constantine hurled a fireball at their chest, knocking them backward. Jason leapt into action once more, keeping with the distraction so the thing could be banished. He came very close to decapitating the Djinn. It stumbled back once more, tripping into a trap Constantine must’ve set while Jason was keeping them busy. It wasn’t a long fight, but with the use of his swords draining his soul, he still felt tired. He looked at Constantine, before the older man nodded at him.

“I got it from here.” Liverpool accent thick on the vowels.

Jason made his way back to the girls still in the basement, body aching as he called back, “Call if you need anything. I’m going to take care of the girls.”

Constantine grunted in response, focusing on the Djinn as Jason coaxed the Nadine and Clara out. He said he was going to escort them home, with a brief lecture about safety and walking basically alone at night when they were two young girls, before leading them out to the front of the church. Constantine nodded in acknowledgment when he passed, pressing a cigarette into Jason’s gloved hand and smirking the tiniest bit. Jason appreciated the gesture.

Twenty minutes later, he was smoking it back on his way to his bike.

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therodrigator6 · 4 years ago

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Well, hello there fellers.

You can ignore this text post if you want, it comes straight from me, completely outside of Drawings or Proyect updates.

I just really felt as though I needed to take the time to write up my thoughts into a, very possibly, LOOOOOOOOOOOONG post, since I have a LOT on my head right about now.

So, my melancholy, rather depressing, but perhaps amusing, musings, under the cut.

Right, so my whole string of thought was sort of just... proppeled out of me reminiscing about the past... 2 years, maybe year and a half.

I got thinking hard about She-Ra again, LMAO. and I know, I KNOW, why am I even thinking about that damned show again.

BUT, I was really thinking hard about how much I went through, positively I mean, how much growth I had (Around my art and my vocation obviously) with She-Ra.

And really, if you were to scour through my blog, if you went back all the way to... maybe it was late 2018, early 2019, when I posted my first fanarts around She-Ra, you’ll see how far back I was, skill-wise. I mean I wasn’t exactly a beginner, but I weren’t no Grade A artist neither.

And PRIOR to all of that I had more or less drawn fanart intermitently.

Anyone who followed me back when I made RWBY stuff, specifically Whiterose fanart could attest to that. I wasn’t consistent at all, and I experimented more often than not with every single drawing I was making. And don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed drawing stuff for RWBY, I sort of miss it now LMAO.

But I can certainly see just HOW POWERFULLY drawn I was to She-Ra, because my output of content and the growth of my skill as an artist was EXPONENTIAL. I suppose in a way I owe it really to MY sudden... obsession? Fixation? on that show.

VERY HONESTLY, at this point in time, I feel like I could REALLY speak on what things drew me to She-Ra, and precisely what things KEPT me there. IDK I think it used to be a very special little show.

On one hand? I really had just decided to watch it because I was starting to fall out of love with RWBY.

RWBY WAS a show I’d also loved, and which also meant a lot to me, but the things that MEANT a lot to me, were just not given the story I would’ve been interested in. That AND the small fandom space I’d carved out for myself was getting even smaller. Smaller AND very... toxic? Uncomfortable? I felt as though... my efforts and my involvement in that fandom were neither welcome nor appreciated at one point, let alone the fact that on the SHIPPING side of things, it stopped being fun.

So there I was, starting She-Ra up. I’d known about it for some time before, and I’d *Heard* that it was a fun good show, and most specially... *With an active, HUNGRY fandom, raging about a very popular Ship*. So I thought to myself, YAY, I’ll watch this show and I’m REALLY gonna do my best to go for everything popular.

I was tired of unwelcoming fandoms, tired of enjoying the very little measly, *Unpopular* things about shows, this was all about having a GOOD time. And maybe finally getting my works out, really finding a motivation to create stuff.

I mean in hindsight, now I know I fucked myself over MANY times.

You see because, as soon as I started watching She-Ra, I TRIED to do something different about the way I consumed shows.

In the past I used to be VERY ship-centered about my show experiences, to the point were FANON-Ship-centric relationships with shows would make the stories I was watching really boring and bleak in comparison. I had been afraid at the time, that THIS would also ruin She-Ra for me. So I really thought about... NOT tainting my vision and perception of the show with... Fandom stuff, Fanon or Ship-centric views, NOT EVEN CREATOR INTERACTIONS. I really tried to watch it blind and enjoy it for what it was.

Fool I was, I should’ve done the opposite.

It’s a tired old story, and a really redundant thing for ME to talk about. But I really felt a DEEP disappointment with She-Ra. Akin to LOSS almost.

Cuz you see, for a year and a half I ended up CENTERING myself on She-Ra, on more than one level.

On one hand, I TRULY believed She-Ra was a show with a story that I loved, there were plenty of characters that REALLY spoke to me. Characters like Glimmer? for example? And her storyline? for me are *one in a million*.

Of course I’m... REALLY compacting my She-Ra experience. I had come to appreciate MANY things about it. It’s world, it’s story, the characters, the comedy, the animation, the people who loved it and grew because of it, etc.

Furthermore, once my initial *doubt* about the show had passed, I really immersed myself in the fandom side of things. And I gotta say, I really enjoyed it for as long as it lasted. I think I experienced a new level of feeling like I *belonged* in a community, and a feeling that people LIKED what I did for it, and that people wanted MORE of ME in it.

Alongside that, and going back to animation. Geez, She-Ra came at the best *or worst* (depends on how you wanna look at it in hindsight now, LMAO), time of my life.

Literally on the verge of me finishing up with Prepschool and having to chose a career for University.

Prior to She-Ra, I really was trying to pinpoint my vocation, and animation had been in my mind for a LONG time, since Steven Universe really.

AND... Idk, AGAIN, THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT SHE-RA... which told me... “This is important”. Animation is important, being able to tell tales for people is important. Telling tales for people who need it, or people who don’t often get to tell tales is important. This medium is BEAUTIFUL, I MEAN, LOOK AT EVERYTHING IT CAN SPAWN OUT OF PEOPLE.

So it helped me make THAT decision.

Also alongside these things well... I go back to all of that about “Belonging”, and “community”.

Boy I met some of the most amazing friends I ever have in my life. People whom I respect, people who I admire, people who thought like me, liked ME, enjoyed this show, etc.

OF COURSE, at the time, and I really should’ve known better. We met out of our mutual LOVE for Glimmadora, LMAO.

ME? FALLING IN LOVE WITH AN UNPOPULAR SHIP? Who’da thought.

AND I DID SO, *DAMN NEAR DIVORCED FROM FANDOM* LMAOOOOO, you can see how my “I’ll learn to love whichever aspects of this show I’m *gonna* love, outside of fandom influence” policy really just fucked me in the ass.

AND GOD, DID I *LET IT* BE A PART OF ME.

That comunity, those friends, that ship, that show, those creators. It was all I thought about, and it DROVE me. so much so I put up with so much shit from my University. I put up with so many bad things in my life that were going on because of that show.

And I see now that many of those friends I mentioned did too. GOD, how I wish... we just hadn’t.

I think... for most of us things had already been pretty shit, not gonna lie.

There was the pandemic, for a start. Prior to May the 15th I had an uncle of mine die of COVID, which shook me to *my* core, but dear old She-Ra and the Glimmadora fandom gang were there to cheer me on. (This was around the time really horrid people in the She-Ra fandom, whom LOATHED Glimmadora with a passion were making “Glimmadora shippers must have Covid, since a symptom of Covid is a lack of taste” Jokes btw.)

And I think of my friends also, who have always spoken to me about their problems and their lives. For all accounts I think, they’d always had it harder than me, and they found themselves a WILL and a DRIVE to go on... through this, through She-Ra, and our friendship.

Then May the 15th came and it’s all been going downhill from there HSEBRGJKSEHRBGKJSERHGBJK.

I mean... I understand NOW, just how DAMAGING for myself it was to... cling so much to that show, to all of it. NEVER should’ve connected the drive of my vocation to it.

Cuz yanno... even if I HAVE continued to grow and get better the past few months, some things haven’t changed for the better.

For instance, I basically LOST my entire space here, in fandoms, in ejoying shows. I LITERALLY ONLY CREATE NOW... Either out of spite, or for my friends.

There is a VERY DEEP loathing now within me about stuff like... Catradora for example. I hate it, it makes me feel disgusting, simple as that. And THAT kind of feeling isn’t welcome here, also simple as that. So I’m out of a space and that hurts.

PFFT, basically all the pieces I produce now, which I still do with a She-Ra theme. Nobody’s gonna wanna consume MY content anymore, and they don’t. I made sure they couldn’t because I knew, I wasn’t going to be able to stomache this She-Ra fandom anymore.

That’s been another thing too. I don’t like being a contrarian, I don’t like being the guy who thinks the thing everybody loves is bad or wrong, and if I could SO HELP ME GOD, I’d change my entire view of it all. I don’t really care about being right or wrong anymore, I just want that peace of mind back.

HELL, there were people I knew since 2016 almost, who kinda just told me...

Shut the fuck up or leave.

On some cases I shut my mouth, on others I just left.

And yanno... I do feel miserable about it. But it also makes it all the harder when I think of my friends?

GOD DAMN, EVERYTHING THAT *COULD* GO WRONG, WENT WRONG FOR THEM.

ALWAYS, for all of my friends. And even through the hurt, I sit here and think, well I think I still have hope! I think I still have a drive to go on and persue animation and tell good stories.

But I understand now... that *I* have a priviledge over my friends. The priviledge of support. I’m not REALLY alone, there’s people helping ME.

My friends don’t have that, and I can’t give them that, how I wish I could.

And it does just HURT only being able to tell my friends, “HEY! Have hope things’ll be better!” And then we all turn to the only beacons of hope we shared, and seeing them all dull and out of light. No Glimmer of hope.

Like, how do you tell people to hold out, to keep fighting, to keep trying to STILL CHASE THEIR DREAMS... When you can’t even help them keep their heads high when they’re trying yo get a damned job. When no matter how much THEY try they keep getting knocked down.

When there’s no longer a space were they feel confortable sharing their creations, because everyone they had ONCE tried to please with them? suddenly decided they were of no value.

So here we are.

I’m starting up a new semester in a couple of days, hopefully building myself up more to chase MY dreams... whilst all my friends suffer and can’t chase theirs.

Shit’s fucked. I wish I could do more.

PFFT, I guess, long story short:

Life unfair, Me Sad.

Me Angery, Me Bitter

Me Lost, They Won

Boohoo I guess.

SO ANYWAYS... I really just... needed to put these thoughts out in words. Scream to the void as it were.

I can’t wait to go back into discord or twitter or tumblr and see how my friends can’t catch a fucking break.

And how things will continue to get worse before they get better.

God I hope they get better, for all of us, if not atleast for them. They’ve already gone through enough.

#Just some personal stuff #Take care everybody

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bloodstonechunk · 4 years ago

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URL muse playlist

B: Bringin’ Home the Rain - The Builders and the Butchers This is such an intensely Allie song. It’s the first one on her playlist.

L: Lost in the Shadows - Lou Gramm Dravyn ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

O: Oh My My - Ruelle Koenn doesn’t gloat often, but when he’s smug about something this is absolutely the vibe.

O: O Death - Jen Titus Another one for Allie. With a southern gothic-leaning aesthetic and a track record of surviving things she really shouldn’t have, this fits right in.

D: Demons - Hayley Kiyoko Katarina has ghosts in her blood rather than actual demons, but close enough!

S: The Silver Key - Dark Moor Soon as I heard this song I slammed it on Fendel’s playlist. The subject matter and genre are perfect OOC and ICly.

T: Time Stands Still (At the Iron Hill) - Blind Guardian Roland is big paladin aesthetic. I like Tolkien. I like symphonic metal. This song fucks.

O: One Piece at a Time - Johnny Cash If Vonryn managed to stay at a legitimate job long enough to pull off this scheme, he absolutely would.

N: Not Human - elegant slims Very very Dravyn, for Bloodborne or any vampire-related ‘verse. That moment when he fully realizes he’s something different now and embraces it.

E: esperienza d’oro - Yugo Kanno I started writing Koenn years before watching Joe’s Funky Experience so it was completely accidental that he's so similar to Giorno, okay, it was an accident-- Anyway, he and Giorno are half siblings in his Stand user ‘verse.

C: A Country Boy Can Survive - Hank Williams Jr. Kel’s a sweet kid, but also a country kid. Sometimes country kids just go :/ and start solving practical problems.

H: Hashladûn’s Fall - Destiny 2: Shadowkeep OST The soundtracks for D1 & D2 slap. They’re so cinematic! Even if Roland didn’t have a Destiny ‘verse this would absolutely be on his playlist. It’s a short track but fits A Lot into under three and a half minutes.

U: Ultraviolet - Au/Ra POV: Dravyn has used you for his own ends and you’re realizing it as he’s about to ditch you, leaving you in the middle of his latest mess.

N: Nyarlathotep - The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets Of course Fendel's playlist includes a song about the Crawling Chaos, sung in Middle Egyptian. Lyrics and translation here

K: Kill Everyone - Hollywood Undead DRAVYN. NO.

#dash games

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the--sad--hatter · 6 years ago

Text

Mischief, Meet Your Match - Chapter Sixteen (Loki x Reader)

WARNINGS: Graphic Violence and Gore, Swearing, Smut, Angst, Idiots in Love, Loki

SUMMARY:

Being caught in the cross hairs of The God of Mischief would scare a saner person but not you, you enjoy it. There’s just something about Loki that draws you to him, and you couldn’t help it even if you wanted to. Tricking the Trickster is exhilarating but you quickly find yourself becoming attached to him as you’re unwillingly dragged on the adventure of a lifetime.

While The Avengers race to get you out of Loki’s clutches, you find yourself teaming up with him to try and defeat an enemy who threatens everything you hold dear.

When you’re tangled up with the God of Chaos, there’s no way of winning and it’s anyone’s guess which you’ll lose first, your heart or your life?

Masterlist

Chapter Sixteen - Gladiator

There was a thin stripe of purple through the green of your band, signalling you were set for the Arena. It was what allowed you wander around the Green’s pits without being shoved into one yourself. You’d already explored the living quarters, small windowless rooms that held two beds each and been to a heaving, foul-smelling canteen where had been served some kind of vile, vaguely fish like pule of mulch.

“Why are you here?” A Kree asked you with a frown, studying your band.

“The survivors here will be my competition in the arena, and my fellow soldiers in the wars to come. I’m here to assess them.” You said, standing up straight in what you hoped was a show of respect.

“Tactical thinking, well done.” He praised.

You bowed your head deferentially and he wandered away. Ignoring the rotten feeling it had given you, you walked around the pits, taking note of the fighting techniques. Mostly though, you were watching the different races and how they died or got hurt. Your lack of knowledge about your last opponent would have probably gotten you killed if it weren’t for Gun and you needed to be better prepared next time.

“Runner!” Someone yelled.

You turned around in the direction the shout had come from and watched as a green skinned humanoid reached the top of the stairs, looking around wildly with frantic desperation. There was a glowing red band on his wrist.

“Wonder if they’ll kill it or make an example of it?” Someone muttered behind you.

Judging by the way the guards holstered their guns and pulled out thin metal rods that you could hear the electricity crackling off of, you were betting that they weren’t just going to kill the attempted escapee. If they were willing to throw their soldiers into pits and make them kill each other, what would they be willing to do to someone who crossed them? The runner sprinted forwards, into the crowds of Green’s. turning in all directions until he saw a path that didn’t have any guards.

But he wasn’t thinking straight. That direction would put him up against the wall. If there even was a way to escape from this place, that wasn’t it.

Every cell in your body was screaming at you to help him, to grab him and push him behind you while you fended off the guards. Your instincts were telling you to save him, that you needed to save him.

But a voice in your head that sounded more like Loki than you these days was telling you he was going to die no matter what you did, and unless you did something drastic, he was going to die slowly and painfully.

A voice that sounded like Natasha reminded you that even if you couldn’t save this individual, you could save thousands more like him.

A voice that was unmistakably Steve’s told you that you would never forgive yourself for what you were about to do.

The dagger you’d pulled from your belt sailed through the air and landed firmly in the back of the runners head, piercing under his skull and killing him instantly. As his body thumped onto the floor, all eyes turned to you.

Outwardly, you maintained a cold demeanour but on the inside you were falling apart. You’d just murdered someone in cold blood. He hadn’t been your opponent, he hadn’t even been armed. You’d killed him.

You couldn’t have saved his life, there was no way you could have saved him. You spared him a painful death.

You didn’t do it to spare him, you did it to further your cause. This wasn’t mercy, it was a calculated act of deception. You sacrificed him for your own gain.

The Kree who had addressed you earlier pulled the dagger from the corpses skull and studied it as he walked back over to you. Then deliberately, he held it out to you with a nod of approval.

“Kit? Just Kit?” He asked, glancing between your band and the screen in his hand.

“Yes Sir.” You affirmed.

“Disloyalty is severely punished here, but loyalty is appreciated. And noticed.” He crooned.

You took the dagger from him and felt a part of your soul die.

“I’m Private Ra-Thrall. I’ll be keeping an eye one you… Kit.” He mused with an intrigued stare.

“Thank you Sir.”

You had achieved what you needed to achieve, but at what cost?

~~~

The space around Earth was still void of any threats, and there had been no more signs from you.

There were militaries all around the world standing at the ready for that to change, thanks to Rhodey, Sam and Bucky’s efforts. The Inhumans had all been warned and some of them had broken the Accords by scattering and going into hiding while others had turned up at military bases, UN offices or the Avengers Tower itself and declared they were ready to fight. The whole world was on edge, waiting for a war.

And yet nothing was happening.

“Captain Rogers you have the entire planet on alert, for what? A rushed warning from a woman who by your own admittance is working with Loki? Do you have any idea the scale of the mess you’ve made? And I’m here for you to tell me that we need to pardon the Inhumans who have broken the Accords?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. They were warned that an alien race might be coming for them, can you blame them for hiding? If you want them to re-appear when this is over I highly recommend you assure them there will be no sanctions or punishment when they do.” Steve said stiffly.

“And what about the ones that don’t re-appear?”

“I would rather have to track down a few rouge Inhumans than watch them be killed. My job, my purpose is to protect people. I’ll do that by any means necessary.” He reminded Ross.

“Do I need to remind you that you have not yet earned back the trust and respect you carelessly threw away when you went rouge?” Ross hissed.

“You pardoned us. You really want to take it back? Just because we’re trying to protect the planet?” Natasha cut in.

“If this is all for nothing…” Ross began.

“If this is all for nothing then we know our girl up there has stopped it and you can thank her when she gets back. Maybe just send a muffin basket though, I don’t think she’ll appreciate an in person visit.” Tony said with a disarmingly charming smirk.

“You’ve demanded a Global response team be at the ready and you have broken more protocols and laws than I can count by directly contacting every Inhuman on the index. If and when your ‘girl’ returns I will be paying her an in person visit and I’ll be bringing the full weight of the United Nations with me. We have a lot of questions for her.”

“Well we’ll call you when she gets home. Until then, do we agree that the Inhumans should not suffer for trying to keep themselves alive?” Sam asked.

“Before you answer that, think about what happens if we do have the fend off another attempted invasion. We’ll want the Inhumans fighting with us, we can’t afford to risk alienating them.” Steve warned.

“For now, we agree. But this is not indefinite.” Ross warned before he gave one last hateful glare at them and stormed out.

“Love that guy, it’s always so much fun when he comes to visit.” Tony said sarcastically.

“We only have a couple more days, three at best before people start questioning if there’s really a threat.” Rhodey sighed.

“If no intergalactic army turns up we’ll look like idiots but I’ll take that over having to fight.” Clint said.

“If the army does come, it means she failed.” Steve reminded them, snapping out the words.

It would mean you were dead.

“This would be easier if she would just come and get us, pick us up in her fancy new ride and take us to the fight.” Tony pointed out.

“And she would have done that, if we could have promised mercy for Loki. But we couldn’t so she threw her lot in with him and who can blame her? Who better to fend of an invasion that they guy who already tried once before.” Sam sighed.

“Ross does have a point. We are resting a lot on her word. Not that I don’t trust her but… are we sure we’re making the right moves here?” Natasha asked, looking at Steve.

“I trust her. So we need to be ready. And if this is all masterminded by Loki, don’t forget that we have a way to take him down now. We’re prepared for either option and any number of things in between.” Steve reminded her.

“Thanks to yours truly, and Gandalf the sassy.” Tony chimed in.

“Speaking of, don’t you need to go?” Sam asked.

Steve nodded.

“Strange is expecting us. Wanda’s getting better at getting inside my head.” He said.

“So we’re ready, for whatever comes next. All we can do now is sit around and wait and hope to hell that Kitten knows what she’s doing.” Sam said.

~~~

You were completely lost. Evening had fallen and someone had told you to get to the Arena and then walked away before you realised you had no idea how to get there. You’d followed a group of people with Green bands but managed to lose sight of them when they turned a corner and now you were just stood in a hallway like an imbecile.

“Little One?” Someone called out behind you.

“Gun?” You called back happily, walking quickly towards his familiar frame, pausing in surprise when you saw the green band on his wrist.

“You’re not the only one who’s moved up a colour.” He chortled.

“Congratulations?” You said as you fell into step beside him and let him guide you through the maze of a fortress.

“And to you little one. You fought well.” He praised.

“And yet I still would have lost, if not for you.” You reminded him.

“I think you may have still won, just not as quickly. You’re skilled, though you fight like someone of your size, not like someone of your strength.” He noted.

“Out of the one’s who trained me, one used to be a lot smaller than he is now and one is of a similar size to me.” You explained vaguely.

“No, no it’s good. Didn’t expect you to be that strong when I saw you fight. You keep switching styles as well. It’s hard to get a grasp on you or what you are going to do.”

“Jack of all trades, master of none.” You said quietly.

Gun cocked his head with a quizzical expression.

“It’s a saying in my world. It means it’s alright to be ok at lots of different things than amazing at just one.” You elaborated.

“What a strange saying but, a wise one.”

“Why are you fighting for honours Gun?” You asked, nodding at his band that was marked with the same line of blue yours was.

“I have my reasons.” He said cryptically.

“You don’t approve of the killing and the blood sport, so your reasons, whatever they are, are curious.” You said softly.

“Those who enter the Arena are not under duress. They are bloodthirsty, egotistical murderers. I feel no guilt in killing them.” He said.

“And everyone you kill in the Arena is one less warrior for the army?” You guessed.

He looked nervous and you knew you were right. He hadn’t come here with a plan like you had, but he was here to save his world and do as much damage as he could before he died.

He stopped at a large set of doors and pushed them open, waving you in front of him.

It was another holding area, a large circular room filled with people sharpening weapons and gearing themselves up to fight. There was a dark, ominous looking doorless hole on the opposite wall.

Ra-Thrall, the Kree who had taken notice of you earlier in the day spotted you and immediately made his way over.

“If you’re as skilled as I hope you are, you’ll do well here. Impress us and we’ll put you into the main arena.” He said enthusiastically, ignoring Gun.

You weren’t confused as to why he’d taken such a special interest in you, you’d done something awful to ensure he would. But he was thrumming with excitement and you wondered why he was so invested.

“Do well tonight and you will impress Glahn-Betn himself. I’ve marked you down as someone with potential, prove me right and we’ll both rise in rank.” He said with what he must have thought was a conspiratorial grin.

It made your skin crawl.

“I won’t let you down Sir.” You told him respectfully.

“Clegane is getting a lot of attention down here. I’m going to pit you against him. He’s an Epsiloni.”

Were you supposed to know what an Epsiloni was?

“Kill him and you’re certain to be given an enviable rank.” He instructed.

“Yes, Sir, Understood Sir.” You said.

His head bobbled up and down as he nodded excitedly and scarpered back to his post.

“Gun!” You hissed, tugging his sleeve.

“What’s an Epsiloni?” You asked when he looked at you.

He visibly paled.

“Epsiloni are parasites. They drain the life-force of their victims, becoming stronger and stronger. When I was a child, one landed on my home world. Just one. It took a bomb that destroyed an entire city to kill it.” He explained fearfully.

“Oh.” You gulped.

“I doubt this one is as strong. They’re utterly ruthless and despise all organic life forms. If one is in this army, it isn’t here by choice. If it were strong enough it would have turned on it’s captors by now.” He tried to reassure you.

“Then why are they letting it get stronger?” You asked and Gun shrugged.

It didn’t sound like something you’d want in your army. The stronger it got, the more chance of it turning on you. So it was effectively useless because you wouldn’t be able to use it to it’s full potential.

Unless…

“It’s only here so they can find out who’s strong enough to kill it.” You whispered, horrified.

Which meant that every opponent it had already faced were the strongest and most promising, and they’d all failed. Their strength hadn’t been enough and all that power now belonged to the Epsiloni.

“I don’t suppose you have a bomb on you?” Gun asked, only partially joking.

“Only blades.” You groaned.

You were so screwed.

“Are they impervious to damage?” You asked.

“No, but it takes a lot of it to put them down.” He told you.

“Weak spots?” You asked hopefully.

“None that I know of.” He said, shaking his head.

“How do they drain life-force?” You sighed.

“They leech it through prolonged skin contact.” He answered.

“I need a pair of gloves.” You said, looking down at your bare hands.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He responded, looking around before he slipped away.

Despite his noble intentions for being here, he was acting as an ally to you. As far as he was aware, you were one of the monsters he wanted to destroy and yet he couldn’t seem to bring himself to treat you like one. He was a good man, too good.

It wasn’t long before he came back over, subtly slipping a pair of leather gloves into your hand. You pulled them on, noting they weren’t a perfect fit but they would do.

“What did you do?” You sighed, nodding towards the empty sheath on his hip.

There had been a short sword in it a few moments ago.

“Made a trade.” He shrugged.

Aside from Mischief you had an array of daggers on you, and two of them on either side of your hip were longer ones. You unsheathed one and tossed it in the air, shaking your head at Gun and slipping it into his empty sheath. Like the gloves, it wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do.

“Kit! Come.” Ra-Thrall yelled.

“Good luck little one.” Gun whispered.

“See you on the other side Gun.” You whispered back.

Ra-Thrall was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet he was that excited and he quickly ushered you into the tunnel.

“Don’t die.” He warned.

“I’ll try not to let you down Sir.” You promised.

“If you do as well as I hope, Glahn-Betn will be thrilled with me for spotting you. This could mean big things for me. You as well I suppose.” He muttered.

The tunnel was dark and practically vibrating. If this was anything like the gladiators pits of Ancient Rome then you guessed the crowd was above you. All too soon you came to the end and to a metal grate. Through it you could see a large circular arena surrounded by black stone walls.

“Kit of Clarius.” You heard someone yell from the inside and then the grate was rising.

You stepped onto the sands and took it all in. The blood stains on the sand, the cracks and dried blood on the stone walls, the thousands of spectators and on a podium some 30ft above the crowds…

Glahn-Betn.

It had to be him, there was no doubt about it. He was sat forward in his seat, resting his hulking forearms on his knees as he surveyed you. You both assessed each other from a distance and hatred spewed up inside you. This was the man responsible for the atrocities you had witnessed. All this injustice, pain and death, all of it could be laid at his feet. He had taken this planet and who knows how many others, he had ravaged them and taken anything he might have use for, without care for the devastation he was leaving in his wake. He would lay waste to your planet as well if he had the chance.

You wouldn’t let him have the chance. If it weren’t for the towering , curved stone wall, you would have already drove your blade into his chest and carved him up, even if it meant being slaughtered by the revenue of soldiers behind him.

His dark eyes were pulling you in and you break away from his gaze if you wanted to. He’d bespelled you and you could feel the rage and loathing growing inside you until your body just felt to small to contain it. Your rage felt like a living breathing entity inside you, moving under your skin.

Then he looked away, turning to say something to one of his companions and the spell was broken. The world swam back into focus and you wandered when you’d stopped hearing and seeing everything around you as the noises from the crowd drew your attention.

Apparently, they weren’t impressed with you.

“It’s a child.” Someone tittered and there was amused chuckles of agreement.

“1000 Lye on the child.” Someone announced confidentially, loudly.

“I’ll take your bet.” Someone roared back gleefully, but you ignored that one.

At the announcement you had looked up into the crowd, immediately spotting who had bet on you. The woman stood behind the stone barrier, gazing back at you. Her raven hair tumbled over her shoulders as she flipped it back and turned to her betting opponent and you knew who she was straight away. It would take more than blue skin and red eyes for you not to recognise Loki. You’d know that twinkle of mischief in her eyes anywhere.

When she looked at you again you winked at her, tapping your staff subtly and turning back to the arena as Clegane was announced and the grate on the other side of the sands ascended.

Clegane had the basic shape of a human but that’s where the comparison ended. He was pink and hairless, wearing nothing except a sleeveless one-piece jumpsuit that ended at the knees and showcased his long, flat, toeless feet. And when he snarled maliciously at you, you got an eyeful of the long sharp fangs.

Judging by the fact that your adversary’s kept being dentally blessed, the universe was really working overtime in an attempt to get you bitten.

He didn't even wait for anyone to tell him to begin, as soon as he stepped through gates he was rushing for you, his feet barely touched the sands and he leapt nimbly across them. You barely had enough time to lean back, away from his grasp.

His fingers had been millimetres away from you and you were literally bent over backwards to get away from him, so when his legs kicked yours out from under you, you flopped onto the ground uselessly.

It was only hours of sparring with Bucky ‘I’m gonna knock you on your ass’ Barnes that allowed you to use the momentum from your fall to roll onto your front and rise to your knees.

You reached back with one hand, grasping for Mischief while your other arm was busy grabbing onto Clegane’s left wrist to hold him back. His right hand slammed into the side of your face with inhuman strength and the second his skin made contact with yours you went from adrenaline fuelled, blood pumping battle ready to feeling like you were about to faint.

You managed to unsheathe Mischief and get the blade out, sliding it between his ribs. You felt the blade go in, you could feel the blood spurting from the wound and covering your gloved hand, dripping under your sleeve.

Clegane didn’t seem to notice or care, he just kept leeching the life out of you.

You let go of your beloved weapon, dropping it on the ground and grabbed both of his arms and pulled him into you as hard as you could, smashing your head into his face. You heard the sickening crunch of bone as you crushed his nose and felt the sharp sting as his fangs shredded through your flesh but it had been enough to knock his hand away from your face.

You’d never moved so fast in your life as you scrambled away from him, your severely depleted energy making you stumble into the wall. You held yourself upright and straight away, you felt your energy start to come back.

It was like any other injury, you could heal it. And because there was no physical wound, you could heal it fast. The crowd didn’t seem to be aware of that yet because you could hear the mocking laughter and them calling out for Clegane to finish you. Pushing away from the wall you turned around to face him again, standing tall.

He paused in confusion and you could feel the palpable curiosity coming from the crowd as you wiped the blood from your face and smirked. When they realized there was no wound they started cheering for you and Clegane sneered.

You ran at him, unsheathing a long dagger from your hip and throwing it ahead of you. It embedded itself into his chest and he ignored it like it was little more than a buzzing insect landing on him.

You knew that stabbing him would have no effect, that wasn’t why you had done it. You used it as a foothold as you leapt at him, planting your knee into his throat and wrapping your other leg around the back of his neck and used every ounce of your super strength to twist your body around while you squeezed his neck between your legs. His neck snapped in your hold and you pushed away from him, flipping in mid-air and landing upright on the ground behind him.

You executed it perfectly. Natasha would have been so fucking proud.

If it had done a damn thing.

He just half turned around and backhanded you, sending you reeling backwards so you crouched on one knee and slammed your open fist into his sternum, sending him reeling back this time. He curled his fist and swung at your head but you caught it in your hand and held it, blocking his other fist with your forearm. Your muscles trembled with the effort of holding him back, he was that strong.

Maybe you really did need a bomb to win this one.

Or maybe you needed to lose this one. If he was this strong already, how much stronger would he be if he drained your life-force? For a second, you really considered it. You knew you were willing to die for this cause, this was your chance to prove it. Clegane would slaughter the Kree if he had the chance, you could give him that chance. All you had to do was die. All you had to do was give up your life and with it, any chance of seeing Steve again, any chance of begging his forgiveness. All you had to do was give up Loki.

You looked up into the crowd, your eyes searching for the one person in the universe you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt you wanted to spend your life with.

And then you let go, you let Clegane slam you into the sands.

The second your back hit the dirt Clegane was leaning over you and stabbed the sword firmly into the sand, through the palm of your hand. You grit your teeth to contain the grunt of pain as his hand grasped painfully at your jaw, squeezing as he absorbed your lifeforce. As the seconds ticked by you blocked out the sound of the crowds, concentrating only on two things.

The feeling of your life-force leaving you, making you weaker and weaker. And slowly pushing your hand up, wrapping your fingers around the blade and ignoring the bite as it shredded your flesh. You pulled it from the ground and you managed to free it from your hand. With all the strength you had left you grasped the hilt and swung it.

Abruptly, your life-force started returning to you and Clegane’s arm fell uselessly aside, no longer attached to his body. His shock gave you a chance to push him away from you and you shakily pulled yourself to your feet as he stumbled back. He looked dumbly down at the stump where his arm used to be and the blood that was gushing from it. He was surprised but he wasn’t weakened and moving quickly you raced towards him, dropping to your knees and sliding across the sand with the long dagger held out to the side.

As you slid past him you heard his yell of frustration as the blade sliced through the muscle and bone of his leg and you were sprayed with blood as you lopped off yet another limb. You glanced over your shoulder to see him trying to maintain his balance and satisfied, you dropped the dagger onto the ground and stood up.

You calmly walked over to Mischief, like you had all the time in the world and kicked it into the air and catching it before you made your way back over to a seething Clegane. You turned your back on him and looked at the crowds, focusing only on Loki who was looking back at you with pride. Sliding your thumb upwards you released the blade and holding Mischief out in front of you, you spun around.

The blade sliced through Clegane’s neck like butter, the cartilage and muscle providing no challenge for your trusted weapon.

And as his head fell to the sand and rolled away, the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity.

You had done it, you had won. And if you were really as unselfish and heroic as you said you were, you would have let him drain your strength and use it to destroy the army. But he was dead and you were the victor and as what was left of his body hit the sand the crowd surged to their feet and time started moving again.

You raised Mischief into the air and pointed the tip of the blade at Glahn-Betn. It could be seen as a mark of respect, you honouring the General you wanted to fight for.

But it was a silent vow, that he would suffer the same fate as Clegane and everyone else you had to kill to get to him.

He grinned ferally and pushed himself to his feet, roaring.

“You say she is a mere child, but this child is a warrior! Feast your eyes on our new champion!” He yelled.

The crowd was screaming and clapping and stamping their feet and you could feel the beat of your heart thumping in time with it all. It was savage and primal and under all your rage and fear and shame you were terrified to realize you had never felt more alive.

The cheered for you, cheered for ‘the warrior child’, their champion, until someone screamed something and one by one they all picked up on it, gradually building in pace and tone until as one they were all chanting it.

War child.

It took on a life of it’s own, their frenzy increasing until the words blended together and your heart was beating too quickly in your chest. Glahn-Betn raised his hands and an immediate hush fell over the crowd.

In all your time with the Avengers you had yet to receive a superhero moniker. Here, on an alien world with the blood of your victim still drying on your blade, your enemy stared down at you and bestowed your new name on you.

“WarChylde!” He roared.

A/N - Oooft, it was so painful to write a lot of these scenes.

Hopefully it wasn't as painful to read them or you'll have hated this chapter.

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