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poptod · 4 years ago

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The Breeding Kings pt. 2, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Creeping closer.

Notes: can you tell how much im geeking out on the pyramid section of this. can you. now i want you to guess how long i researched it for a scene that was only supposed to be a few paragraphs and some dialogue. WC: 8.9k (sorry)

The way back to your house was a slow crawl, but a necessary evil. After the incident in which your clothes were ruined, Ahkmen offered to clean your clothes for you, a task you knew little about and usually didn't have to do in the first place. You accepted, though there was an issue––you didn't own any other clothes.

Rushlights in your tiny bedroom dimly reflected off the hanging silks and shawls, bathing the room and your skin in deep purples and reds darkened by both the evening and the smoke of incense.

Cloth rustled in the other room, making your shoulders seize up. The funny little Egyptian man who had taken up most of your evening with laughter was not someone you could fully trust, but few were, and you could still enjoy his companionship for the remaining minutes of the evening. He would leave soon––with your clothes––and you would not be able to leave your home until he returned with them. Nudity was fine in Egypt, but you weren't Egyptian. It was an uncommon practice to you.

You could physically feel your face flush with embarrassment, your chest tightening when he said your name in a soft voice. Unable to respond, you continued to strip yourself of the muddy garments, setting them carefully in a pile on a part of the floor that didn't have any carpet.

"Yogi?" He asked again. You whipped around to the curtain separating you from him, but found it vacant as always.

"Give me time," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you attempted to pull your pants off your hopping feet. "Taking off mud is hard."

"Oh, I know," he said, suddenly much closer to you, but still not breaching the curtain. "I'm a little less drunk right now so I wanted to try and pronounce your name, so... what was it again? Sorry."

"It is okay," you chuckled. "My name is Yogasundari.”

"Ah, right. Yogatsundera?"

"Yoga-soon-dahry."

"Yogasundari?"

"There you go," you said with a smile, happy to hear your full name from someone else after a long while of dealing with a horrid nickname.

With that, you pulled off the last of your clothes, removing the jewelry that had belonged to your family. Those you placed on your desk, but the clothes you folded best you could before timidly approaching the curtain leading to the funny Egyptian man. You couldn't quite remember his name, making your next actions all the more embarrassing, reaching forward to pull away the fabric.

"I finish this," you said, poking your head out, your extended hand beneath you.

Ahk moved to grab the pile, but stopped when he noticed your silhouette, now clear against the rushlight behind you. His breathing halted, caught in his chest. When he met your eye, he remembered himself, keeping his gaze above your shoulders as he took the clothes.

"You do return quick, yes?" You asked pointedly.

"I'll be back here tomorrow."

"Good. I have a work in the morning."

He held the clothes away from his body, but a giddiness ran through him that brought him to a quiet carelessness. His feet worked faster, an intrinsic smile on his face, and his home, the palace, fast approaching.

The whole of the evening accompanied him as he walked. In less than 12 hours he'd gotten the necklace back, 'beat' Panya in a drinking contest, flirted (albeit drunkenly) with an incredibly pretty brewer, and possibly even made friends with someone with entirely different life experiences from himself. The only drawback was that you were clearly not a fan of the royal family despite your liking of Egypt.

What had been his cover name?

Ak'anpu, if he recalled correctly through his drunken haze of a night. His name, and then Anubis', as Piye had called him.

Oh, Piye's gonna fucking love this, he thought as a grin spread across his face, his speed hastening as he approached the palace steps.

By morning the servants had finished washing your clothes, leaving them to hang in the laundry room till they were picked up. Ahkmen didn't notice it, as he was awakened by his servant Naguib, and his first waking thoughts were of unpleasantries against the bright morning sun.

Naguib pulled open the drapes shielding Ahk's room from the outside, leaving the long, intricate arches to cast the sun's glow directly onto Ahkmen's bed. He groaned, flipping over onto his stomach as he twisted in his sheets.

"Good morning, my Prince. You have school at Osiris' temple today, but nothing else. The Pharaoh instructed me to tell you that he is having dinner with the emissaries from Ebla when they arrive within the week. He wants you to attend," Naguib said as he opened Ahkmen's closet, pulling out the Prince's usual daily clothes.

"Is it optional?"

"Ask your father."

Once Ahkmen was safe and back in his clothes, he ran down to the laundry rooms, fetching your clothes and stopping by the kitchens for a tiger roll. He barely stopped to talk to any of the servants, moving on his way at a fast pace that sent him skipping down the stone pathways of Memphis. Ahkmen wasn't small by any means, but he had a way of moving about crowds, slinking through groups and keeping quick on his feet.

Piye managed to find him a couple turns before the temple, grabbing the crook of his arm and interrupting the Prince's stride.

"Ahk," they said as they turned him round.

"Piye!"

"How did it go last night?" They asked, picking back up into a walk.

"Wonderful. I think I remember most of it, too! I got my mother's necklace back, so I'll be gifting her that this evening, and I got to acquaint myself with that friend of yours, Yogi," he said with an animated expression, bright eyes and all smiles. "They're quite interesting."

"I see you have their clothes, too," Piye said, their eyes falling to the folded cloth in Ahkmen's hands. "What the hell did you two do last night?"

"Oh. Oh, no, I – they slipped in the mud and they don't really have access to good cleaning materials, and since it was technically my fault, I offered to have them cleaned," he explained.

"Awful nice of you."

"It's only right."

With help from his friend, Ahkmen made it over the boxes marking the entrance to your home without dirtying your clothes. Piye followed soon after, and the both of them entered your little tent, searching for a hard surface to knock on.

"Yogasundari?" Ahkmen called, feeling his face flush as he prayed he pronounced it right. "I've got your clothes."

"You have my cloths??" You said from behind one of the walls that Ahkmen remembered seeing you through.

"Right here," he said, reaching through the curtain to hand you the stack.

Weight was lifted off his hand and he withdrew, waiting a moment as you eagerly dressed yourself.

"Thank you many times!" You said, appearing with a wide smile that crinkled the flushed skin of your cheeks.

"Of course. We have to go now. I'll stop by soon!" He said as he turned to leave.

"Thank you," you said with a bow.

This time, he and Piye entered the temple through the correct door, walking through the long courtyard and observing the workers. They had been working on the garden for a while now, planting rows of seeds every day that would be fertilized with water, the Nile's silt, and of course, feces at times. At least the flowers everywhere blocked out the scent.

In the trees that towered above even the temple, birds cawed and sung at one another, pecking at the dates that fell on unfortunate people's heads. Piye managed to miss most of them, but Ahkmen was assaulted by one landing on his shoulder.

"Come now, can't be late two days in a row," Piye said, rushing Ahkmen along as the bell began to toll.

"And in the beginning of the year," Ahkmen added shakily as he began to run, coerced by Piye's long strides.

The two burst through the vacant doorframe before the eighth note, rushing to sit on the floor with the other two students. The priest entered moments later, eyeing both of them suspiciously, but remaining silent on the subject. Ahkmen let out a breath he didn't know he was hiding, reaching for the limestone tablets the class would be practicing on today.

Several minutes in he was already staring out the open door, watching the birds that pecked on the dried fruits littering the garden, fallen from the tops of trees and the undergrowth of bushes. However, it wasn't until several hours in that he caught sight of something that actually earned his attention.

You were near unrecognizable without your striking clothes, without the dim lighting he had already gotten so used to seeing you in. Reds, golds, and purples were replaced with the common warm white of servant skirts, allowing him to see the whole of your stomach and chest, as well as your legs that no longer hid within pants. Ahkmen hardly understood your insistence on wearing such warm clothes in Egyptian weather, and his ideas on the matter were only enforced when he felt blood rushing to his cheeks in a fiery blush.

For a long while you didn't notice him, and since consequences weren't part of the equation, Ahkmen stared free of guilt. You were positioned on your knees, rags and sponges in hand as you scrubbed the perfect marble floor of the outer temple halls. His jaw began to fall open, his eyes enraptured in the sunlight that shone off your dark skin, and was only dragged away by Piye manually shutting his mouth.

"Stop drooling. They won't come over just to clean your spit off the floor," Piye whispered in his ear as the priest's backs were turned.

"What?" Ahk whispered back, but went silent as his teachers turned back to the class.

"Now, what are the ways our Pharaoh's names written and how does the type of name change with the way it's written?"

"The Horus name is written in the box with the falcon on the edge?" One of the younger boys asked, his hand raised hesitantly in the air.

"No," said the priest with a tut.

An hour or so later he and his classmates were released for the midday break, rushing out of the enclosed classroom and into the long, stretching gardens of the temple's courtyard. Though the days were growing steadily cooler, flowers still bloomed with abandon in their ponds and bushes.

Piye began to part from Ahk as they approached the kitchens, causing Ahkmen to halt and grab their arm.

"Where are you going?"

"My father wants me to study runes in bones and teeth, so... I won't be back for the rest of the day. Tonight, though, I might have something planned for us," they said, shaking off his grip with a teasing wink.

Ahkmen watched as they jogged out of the temple, disappearing down the more common streets of Memphis. He frowned. Most of the other students his age were either too scared of him or didn't like him based purely off his status and his father's rule. It was things like that that had Ahk swearing up and down he would not be like his father––he would not be the reason his children couldn't make friends.

After gathering more food than he actually needed, he snuck out of the kitchens, speed-walking around as his eyes searched for the familiar stature of his new 'friend,' if he could call you that. How perfect it was that you worked here as well, and that he discovered that fact on a day of Piye's absence.

He searched the entirety of the temple's courtyard, classrooms, and worker rooms and couldn't find you. There was much of the temple left––about half unexplored––but those areas were blocked off. It was then he recalled you weren't from Memphis, and you might not understand the rules of priest-ly areas and citizen areas. He paused mid step, dread dropping his heart into his feet. Priests and oracles were not kind to those who disobeyed their direct rules of the holy.

Even with his royal status, he had to adhere to the same rules when it came to Gods. Sometimes even the Pharaoh was given such commands. But respect had never looked his way, and his desire to see you overcame his reluctance, stewing ideas in his head.

For a good few minutes he waited outside the entrance to the God's gardens, watching to see if anyone would try to stop him. In that time he pretended to eat, and after earning no strange looks, he ducked into the long hallway that would soon lead to the home of Osiris. Today, the massive oak doors were shut tight.

On either side of the hallway were gardens––to his left, a water garden, rife with lotus and reeds. To his right, a garden of date trees, lentils, lettuce, grapes, and pomegranates. The tall arches allowed him to easily see in, and the absence of a roof had sunlight raining down on the golden and green plants. What little light made it through the arches fell on his tanned skin, warming up the cool temple air, that had in times left him shivering.

Unfortunately, you weren't in either garden. He checked for a while, too, worried that he might've overlooked you behind tall plants or thick brush, but to no avail. All that remained was Osiris' home––the inner temple.

He had been in there before––rather recently, as well––but that did not mean he didn't fear it. He was quite clearly not where he was supposed to be, and his break wouldn't last much longer, as he'd spent much of the time making sure he wouldn't be caught. However, if he didn't find you, then it would be for nothing, and with that thought he continued forward.

To his surprise, when he just barely cracked open the doors, no one was inside. Not even the High Priest. The towering statue of Osiris stared blankly forward, the softest of smiles pulling at his perfect lips. Entirely still and cold.

He shut the doors slowly as he left, returning down the thin hallway with a furrowed brow. Perhaps you had left?

As he made to reenter the hall of gardens, a quiet hum reached his ears. He perked up almost immediately, eyes widening as he turned, staring at the temple's door as though it had spoke. He didn't dare move, but the song continued.

With steps of the utmost carefulness, he returned down the hall to the door. Pressing his ear against the wood, he heard nothing, and stood with yet another frown.

The voice had to be coming from somewhere. Further towards the courtyard it grew quieter, so it originated from within the holy ground, but where?

Ahkmen closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he listened attentively to the hum. Centering in on it, he began to follow, paying close attention to the volume. He reached with his hands as he walked blind, and came to a doorway he had never seen before when he opened his eyes. It was barely more than a crack in the meticulously painted wall, but large enough for a person to walk through. How he'd never noticed it before escaped him.

Echoes filled the massive room, entirely unlit with a stone roof above it. Ahkmen had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust, but when they did, he jumped back.

The room had to be larger than the whole of the courtyard, with walls that stretched too far to see the end of them. Pillars of a massive size filled the room, positioned with a graphed precision revered by other nations, each one too large for even Piye to wrap their arms around. And without fail, every single one of them was painted in hieroglyphs small as his fingernails paired to scenes of gory victory.

Music reverberated in his bones, painting the empty air that now thrummed with a thousand voices singing one after the other, yet still faint enough for Ahkmen to be unable to make out the words.

Without being able to track the volume of the humming, finding you would be much harder. This was, undoubtedly, you––your voice, speaking in words you knew well instead of the jargon of Egyptian. He tried his best, and in the end he found you scrubbing the floor mindlessly, staring up at the paintings above you as you murmured songs to yourself.

Hunger of cannibals...

those black-eyed pigs.

"Yogasundari?" Ahkmen said quietly from behind, hoping he wouldn't startle you.

You did jump a little, but you turned around with expectant, not fearful, eyes. Upon recognizing him, you smiled.

"Aganu!"

He thought to correct you, but realized it meant little considering it wasn't his real name anyway.

"Good to see you, as well," he chuckled. "What are you doing in here?"

"They ask me to clean, I clean, and it is quiet, this room. I like it here," you said, leaning back on your haunches as you returned to staring at the high pillar in front of you.

"They let you in here?"

"It is not hard to get in. You got in."

"No, I mean –" he took a moment to think of his words, "– they usually have one of the priests clean the holy places. They let a citizen clean in here?"

You paused, glancing away. "I did not ask," you admitted.

Ahkmen's eyes widened, reaching for you and pulling you to your feet.

"Then we need to get out of here before they punish both of us," he said, not pausing to let you gather your cleaning things before pulling you along.

"My cleans!"

He didn't stop running till he found the crack of an entrance, sneaking himself and you through to the slightly-less-illegal area of the holy gardens. Bright sunlight blinded him, and he squinted his eyes, shying away from the sudden stimulation. He kept the both of you moving though, till you reached the entrance of the hallway to the courtyard.

"You cannot go in such places," he said once he felt as though he had the peace of mind to address your stupidity. "I don't know what you've been taught, but when a priest tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked."

"That is not a good thing," you said, frowning.

"It doesn't matter if it's good or bad. That's just how it is, and you and I are powerless to stop that. It's easiest to just listen," he said, growing softer as he noted your confusion.

"I..." you trailed off without ever having started.

"I'm sorry. I wish it could be different," he murmured, tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

"Why make all that beautiful if no one can see it?"

"It's for the Gods."

"I saw no Gods in that."

Ahkmen sighed.

"Just – do you understand me?" He asked, resting his hands on your shoulders to force you to look him in the eye.

"I think so," you said quietly.

"Thank you," he said in a rush of relief. "What were you singing in there?"

"A song," you said with a shrug, eyes falling to the ground. "My mother had sing to me. And.. one I heard, in the market."

"You have a very nice voice," he said, carefully watching for your reaction.

"Yes, she was nice," you nodded.

"That's not... never-mind. Here, I brought some food for you," he said as he handed you one of the sweetbreads.

Instantly your face lit up, a toothy grin matching your bright eyes.

"Thank you!" You said, taking and eagerly biting into it. "You are very good."

He chuckled, mumbling a thank-you through his own small smile.

"You know, you didn't tell me you work here. I go to school here," he said, pointing behind his shoulder to the classroom he would soon be returning to.

"That is funny," you said through a mouthful of food.

Your hunger reminded him of his own, and he returned to his own loaf.

"I'm glad you're here. Usually I only talk to Piye, and they can get rather busy sometimes. Do you come every day?"

"Most days. There are days they tell me not to work, no one is here but priests. But I am told to leave at a 'midday'. So I will leave soon, I think," you said, already finishing up your bread. "I go to my house and do my work."

"Your beers and such?"

"Yes!" You said. "My brews, they give me food like the priest. But from market adults."

"Do you –"

Ahkmen had begun to say something, but was interrupted by the tolling of a bell that called him back to class. He sighed, his shoulders falling as responsibility once more came to the forefront of his mind.

"I must go. Can I come visit later today?" He asked, already beginning to walk away.

"Of course! Come buy lots of beer!" You called with a singing laugh.

By eveningtime, Ahkmen's fantasies of you had reached an all-time high, daydreaming about how you would react if he had no qualms of anxiety holding him back. What you would do if he had the courage to pull you into him and kiss you, dipping you as your songs echoed in the silent, might halls of pillars reaching for the clouds.

Nothing the priests said was retained by his fog-heavy mind. The bell rang, startling the Prince, making him move for the first time in hours. He shoved his materials away haphazardly, leaving before any of his classmates and heading straight for your alley.

The sun was at its' low height above the western mountains, casting the shadows of tall graves past the river and onto the shore of the living. Red and gold bathed the land, painted his skin into a bronze, which deepened with a blush as he scaled the wooden crates. Already your hidden home had turned to a sort of oasis, entirely separate from his city.

Myrrh, which was the priest's incense of choice during the midday ceremonies, once again met his senses, swirling round his head as he entered the tent.

"Yogasundari?"

"Wait a bit, I am there in a bit of time," you said from behind one of the walls.

Clattering followed by two voices then came, but Ahkmen recalled that this was your business, and left you to it for the time being.

A few minutes later, you called him into the backroom without coming to see him.

"... are you sure?" He asked. To his knowledge, your customers hadn't left.

"Yes, it is good," you said, failing to elaborate further.

Ahk bit the inside of his cheek, reaching forward to pull away the cloth walls. Warm light came from a wall further on down, and when he pulled it away, the yellow light of fire burst in the tent, safe in an entirely-stone enclosing. A clearly handmade mechanism allowed you to hang four pots over the fire, two of which you tended to at the current moment.

Beside you, two familiar faces stood against one of the walls, quietly discussing with one another. His stare caught Unas' attention, who motioned to Panya that Ahkmen was behind her. She turned, scowling when she saw him.

"Why are you here?" She asked with crossed arms.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his mood suddenly soured.

"We're here for expertise on an ore I found in the junkyard," Unas explained with a small smile.

He and Unas weren't exactly friends, but they'd always held respect for each other. Ahkmen admired his ingenuity. Junkyards, however, were not the Prince's scene.

"Fun. I'm just here to get drunk," Ahk chuckled, sitting down on the dirt floor with his back pressed against the stone wall.

The number of colorful fabrics in this room were contained to only the entrance, and from the voices surrounding him, he correctly assumed that the 'walls' that made up this room were simply the closely-built walls of many homes all facing away from the one center point. A makeshift wooden roof had been placed above him, mostly blocking out the dying sun's light.

"I work with many rocks," you murmured, concentrated entirely on the stone in your hand, "but this is not rock. It is too pure. You found this in a.. a... what did you name it?"

"Junkyard?"

"Yes, that," you said, snapping your fingers. "This is very different. Others can come looking for it."

"So it's worth something?"

"I do not know. It is just pure, and that is not normal," you said as you handed it back to them. "I can try hard to name it, but it could be long of time."

"Hmm," Unas said, looking to Panya to communicate with her silently.

"Keep it," Panya said. "If we need it, we'll come back for it, but just concentrate on figuring out what it is."

"I will find it," you assured them with a small bow.

Panya and Unas left a few minutes later after having been served an older batch of beer that had sat to ferment. The boiling pots of beer hung over the fire were not yet ready, even if they smelled good, so Ahkmen settled on one of your specialties; a more alcoholic, sweeter beer.

Most of the beer Ahkmen had in his lifetime was for simple nutrition, thick and quite clearly tasting of sweetbread. At rare times, the Pharaoh would bring in more alcoholic beer, an event saved mainly for festivals where beer was cheaper than distributing wine.

Your brew, though––the sweet flavor of wine, an alcoholic content higher than both, for the price of a regular mug of beer. Ahkmen returned to one of the carpeted rooms, finding himself more comfortable surrounded by your purple silks, pillows and blankets cast beneath his feet. There he sat at your table, content to sip at his drink.

A moment or two later you returned to him, straightening out your long clothes before taking a seat across from him. You folded your hands neatly on the table.

"How long have you been working at Osiris' temple?" Ahkmen asked, setting his cup down on the table.

"I found it not long ago. My work is not much known, so I get little money, little food. So more work lets me eat, keep safe in the city," you explained, eyes cast to the side as you thought through your translations.

"Do you like working there?"

"I do not like the clothes they give me," you said, lips twisting into a pout. "They are not enough."

Ahkmen chuckled, though he hadn't meant to, and sighed to calm the delight in his chest.

"As long as you listen to the priests, you'll be alright," he said as he took another swallow from his cup.

"Have you something eaten today?" You asked, moving to stand.

"Yes. Haven't had dinner, if that's relevant," he said.

"I have slow night this night. Come and make food with me," you said as you offered your hand.

He glanced to his cup, and then to your outstretched hand. There was no option.

Ahkmen found himself in your kitchen, where he had been several minutes earlier, except now the brews of the day had been set to cool in their jars, leaving the fire open for other uses. Your choice ingredients weren't unfamiliar to him, but your method of cooking them was.

In most kitchens Ahkmen visited, pans of vegetables were fried over smaller flames, different oils and spices flavoring them. Slabs or slices of meat were cooked in a similar fashion. Your style consisted mainly of throwing every ingredient into your largest pot and letting it cook in its' own stew. You poured a sort of gravy over it, mixing the vegetables, meats, and other such things.

"You like bread in soup?" You asked, pulling a large knife out of its' storage on your counter.

"Sounds good," he said with a shrug. He'd never tried, but it couldn't be that different from beer.

You took a loaf out from underneath a white square of cloth, setting it on a board as you began to cut into it.

"May I help?" He asked upon realizing this was a task he actually could complete.

"Uh," you looked to him, then back to the bread and knife, "okay. Make in small, good?"

"Of course," he said, taking the knife and positioning it.

He did his very best, concentrating far more than was actually necessary, which you giggled from. You tried to hide it, and though he did spot it he appreciated the effort.

You went to chopping more vegetables, cutting lettuce in long slices that acted like noodles as you poured them in from your cutting board. When Ahk's board got overcrowded with cubes of bread, he set the loaf to the side, sliding the pieces in. He looked to you, stared at you as you worked diligently. The slip-up nearly cost his left middle finger.

His hands shook when he realized his mistake, but he couldn't stop smiling. Not till the both of you finished, and you returned to your spot in front of the fire, slowly mixing the concoction.

"You must do this a lot," Ahkmen said as he sat down on the cold floor.

"What do you say?"

"You do this a lot. Mixing pots over fire."

"Oh. Yes, I... I do. My potions, my beer, and my food can all be in this pot," you said, clanking the edge of it with your spoon. "I think... it is good. I like this moving. I can get tired, but it is one thing I know. We eat now."

It took a moment for his brain to process what you'd said, but he soon jumped to his feet, bringing down two bowls from a higher shelf. You thanked him quietly, asking him to hold them as you filled them up. The warm steam of stew drifted up towards his face, causing his mouth to water before he could even eat.

The two of you returned to the carpeted rooms, seating yourselves on the floor near to one another.

"Have you given mother your necklace?" You asked as you waited for the soup to cool to a bearable temperature.

"Not yet. I said I'd do it this evening, so I'll do it once I leave," he said, attempting to sip at his bowl, only to be burned.

"You eat fast then! You were very drunk for her," you laughed, rocking backwards in your seat.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Ahk said, grinning pleased when you giggle in response.

"I see you that night, Aganu. You were sick drunk."

"If I acted strangely it was only because you're incredibly pretty," he said, blowing on the bowl of stew before sipping it this time. It helped, however minute.

"I get you drunk again, put you out on streets to walk alone," you threatened with a raised brow. "You still be strangely."

"Don't forget stupid."

"Haha," you leaned forward, pinching his cheek, "funny Egyptian man."

The sun disappeared earlier than usual, as was customary for the cooler months, and the darkness that followed left Ahkmen enraptured in your games. Thought of his mother, of Piye, and of his father faded into you, paying close attention as you described the rules of your drinking games, with which you had unwittingly kept Ahkmen in your home.

His vision had already started to go hazy, blurred by what beer he had drank for fun hours ago. Through that fuzz he saw two large cups and two smaller ones, the smaller filled with beer, and the larger empty. Two thin sticks were balanced in a row on each large cup.

"Now – now put cup on – on cup," you said, your hands swaying as you went to grab the smaller glass. "Veerryyyyy... kavanyamehka."

Ahkmen did his best to copy, and with great concentration, succeeded.

"We do this talk," you said as you curled your fingers into fists, setting them on the edge of the table. "Do this bang-bang. And.. then, it falls, in big cup. We do again and again an' again and... again. Good?"

"Okay," said Ahkmen, who had a very weak grasp on what you just explained.

He copied your fists, and when you spoke, he followed in loud mumbles, caught in the adrenaline you'd suddenly built. In time with your garbled speech, you banged your fists against the table, and the cups began to tremble on the two twigs.

"Enka kapo ai'il kuttika ventu nam, muta'lilvila matten'atai, en tontaiyl uravem en tanllyial entovuetem, nan 'rrakemen viri naiuta ventaum!"

The louder you got, the more incomprehensible you grew, till Ahkmen was assured you weren't even speaking coherently in your home language. Ever dutiful, he matched your energy till his heart pounded and his cup fell into the larger cup. You then let out a shout, throwing your hands into the air.

"You fail!" You laughed. "Funny man."

"We," he reached into his cup and pulled the smaller cup out, "are doing – going again. I actually understand it this time! So you are finished."

You went a second time, speaking in tongues and yelling raucously when you lost, your own laugh fading into the background as Ahkmen spoke.

"I told you!" He snorted, falling back in his cushioned seat.

Three more rounds, in which there were varied successes and losses, and you paused for the best part––drinking the strange mix of different types of beers and alcohols made from the fallen cups. You linked arms, shooting back your drinks as quick as you could.

The flavors you created for your beers mixed wonderfully together, but Ahkmen was too far gone to notice any of his senses except the ones that related to you. His sight, never leaving you, the sound of your voice, the sensation of your uncommon touch. His heart pounded furiously even without him shouting.

There were few people he could legitimately claim he enjoyed getting drunk with, which made his fondness for you all the more special. Already he knew you would be a fantastic drinking buddy.

Hours that felt like minutes passed, and with both of you hidden away from the sky, you had no way of knowing it was far past midnight by the time exhaustion trickled into your body. Before you knew it, you were lying down on your back next to Ahkmen, staring silently at the detailed ceiling, your hands folded neatly on your stomach.

"I think I have not made me better because I am scared I will become a person who is not the person that my parents knew," you said in a voice that croaked.

"There will always be a part of you that is that person who knew your parents," Ahkmen said softly, turning to face you as you stared up. "And you'll always have them with you in your memories."

"But I change, and if my parents are in me, they change too? Then, they are not my parents. They are changed to someone else. I changed them."

"Everything changes. If they were alive, they would have changed over the years eventually. That's one of life's simple natures," he said.

You fell silent.

"I miss them."

Your cat meowed softly as it jumped up to your seats, walking up over your chest to face you directly. You raised a tired hand, petting the hairless skin, still staring at the ceiling.

"How long have they been gone?"

"Years," you said as you raised up your fingers to indicate 'two'. "I do not know they are dead... but I see no words from them."

This time Ahkmen went quiet.

"Do you like learning about things?" He asked when an idea popped into his head.

"Why have you ask this?"

"I like learning about things. It's a distraction, of sorts," he said, fidgeting with his fingers.

"... alright. Better than sitting," you said, grunting as you attempted to rise to your feet.

Ahkmen stood before you did, chuckling as he noted you quietly trying to convince your cat to get off you.

"You do not sleeping forever," you cooed, bopping her nose gently with your fingertip. "I will come back."

Eventually, the warm lights of your home made way for the evening chill, bathing you in darkness halted only by the presence of a half-full moon. This late into the night––or early in the morning––near no one was awake, and if they were, they were contained mainly to their bedrooms within the walls of their homes. It left the streets and walkways vacant as you wandered aimlessly at Ahkmen's side.

Though most everywhere was quiet and unoccupied, there were houses in which lights had been lit, visible through windows that allowed it to pour out onto the ground outside. Those little spots of light illuminated your path, allowing you to skip over rocks that you would've otherwise tripped over.

"Are you religious, Yogasundari?" Ahkmen asked, his hands folded behind his back as he strolled with you.

"A what?"

"Do you believe in Gods, in a life after death," he clarified.

"My family is," you said, kicking a pebble. "They talk to this god, Shiva Pashupati. I am – my name, it is from the Bandha, which – it is to sit in a way as He makes."

"Shiva..."

"Pashupati."

"Right. What do you ask of him? If you do ask anything," he said, glancing between you and the path ahead.

"Food, no danger, you know," you said with a shrug. "I do not know a lot. My parents did not speak about my home a lot. I know... there is more Gods, but I know no names."

"We have many Gods as well. They lead us into a happy afterlife. Has anyone ever told you about who we worship?"

"No, but I want to know."

"For starters, that temple you work at––it's the home of Osiris, who is the ruler of the underworld, where we go when we die. He is a God of power, righteousness, and death. People here are allowed to choose which Gods they want to worship at any given time, but many choose favorites. For example, I am a devotee of Khonsu and Ptah."

The river before you grew nearer till you stood at the bank's edge, the edge of your toes just barely touching the water. You hardly noticed where the both of you were walking, but you recognized this spot, and identified it as the place Ahkmen had washed up the other day.

"Khonsu... and Ptah," you said in deep concentration as Ahkmen pulled you up onto the wooden docks. "What do they do?"

"Khonsu is a God of the moon, of time, and can extend or shorten the lifespans of anyone he meets. Ptah is a creator-god, so he creates many things, like you do," he said, his hand falling from yours as he stopped at the edge of the dock. "He is a blacksmith of sorts."

Ahkmen bent down, kneeling with one knee on the wood and the other raised to his chest. From there he pulled at the rope keeping a canoe in place, reaching forward to steady the boat when it came loose, now slave to the soft currents of the river.

No words were exchanged as he once more took your hand, helping you into the canoe. You grabbed the oars so as to balance yourself, even though it didn't help in the slightest, and took your seat on the bow of the small boat. Ahkmen soon followed, sitting down across from you. He took the oars and began to row slowly away from the shore.

"The Nile is a beautiful thing that brings to us life through the power of the God Hapi, who controls the floods that entail both death and revitalization. But, if you sail straight across, we find our earthly version of the underworld," he said, and the few words you could understand seemed to only confuse you.

"I am not sure I –"

"The Eastern bank is for the living," he said, gesturing to the city behind him. "The Western is where the dead lie forever. It is where the sun casts its' final rays before dying."

"Ohhh," you said with a wide jaw, looking out over his shoulder to the banks ahead of you.

You had, for a time, wondered why the other shore seemed deserted while the one you occupied was so lively. You had also wondered why there were massive pyramids shining a stark white against the warm sand and blossoming trees, their heights a monument of human achievement, jutting out of the desert to remind all who watched that there was greater power than they will ever behold.

"The pyramids out there," Ahk paused to look behind him before returning to you and rowing, "they're tombs. Resting places of great Pharaohs who came before us."

"Those are for one person?!" You asked with wide, shocked eyes.

"Each one is built for one person, yes," he chuckled. "Generally we're not allowed to go here unless it is for prayer, but I don't think anyone will ask questions this late at night."

Crickets and frogs croaked from the safety of bog-like swarms of lilypads, welcoming you loudly to the land of the dead within the land of the living. Ahkmen jumped out of the boat, sullying his sandals and skirt in muddy water as he traipsed through the undergrowth, bringing the stern of the ship to rest fully on the unmoving shore.

Once he finished that, he took your hand, helping you out of the canoe and onto dry land. You thanked him quietly, and in turn led him out of the water.

The distant pyramids had been a wonder to you, but you never gave them much thought. You didn't know what they were used for, if anything, and you had no idea why, or even how, they were built. Now the alabaster pikes remained shadows against a star-lit sky, a painting of a million stars illuminating nothing more than a silhouette of the once glittering pyramids. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up. They were much taller than you'd originally thought.

"A good long while ago, there was a Pharaoh by the name of Djoser, and he was the first to build any sort of pyramid. Before him, the graves of Pharaohs remained simple mastabas. I look up to Djoser quite a lot... him and his vizier, of course. Imhotep. He was the one who did the most work," Ahkmen rambled as the two of you continued forward, nearing the monuments.

"... how did you.. make these?" You asked in an awestruck voice, murmuring in the presence of great beasts.

"Many years," he said, continuing on. "And much devotion."

Ahkmen went on to explain in great detail what the pyramids contained––their history, their wealth in both understanding the ancestors, as well as the wealth of treasure hidden beneath what seemed like miles of stone. He told you of the different rooms within, where offerings were still placed to this day.

Given the overwhelming size of the pyramids, it took longer than you imagined to get to the end of the long line, where the step pyramid sat. Ahkmen began to approach the tomb, but halted when he noticed you weren't at his side. Turning round, he found you stuck in place, your hands raised anxiously to your chest as you stared at the pyramid.

"Yogi?"

Nothing.

"Yogasundari, are you alright?" He tried, this time returning to you and gently pulling your hands apart, hoping to stop your straining fidgets.

"This is... a King," you said in a quiet voice, the glaze in your eyes slowly disappearing as you came to focus on him.

"Well, yes," he said with a frown. "We do have those, you know."

"Sorry, I... sorry," you murmured, and as Ahk's grip on you fell, you walked on past him towards the tomb.

"Wait," he reached for your wrist, turning you around, "are you alright?"

He had not asked you to apologize for any behavior––he had asked you if you felt okay, and that was the answer he sought.

"I am good," you assured him with a chuckle. "I am thinking on Kings and my family. I do not want to... make dirty of your Kings, but it is hard to think of Kings and to not think of family."

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, taking your hands once more. "We're actually going to be desecrating holy ground so it's alright to say fuck you to some Kings."

Out of the two options he gave you, you decided to enter the tomb, opposed to scaling the sheen surface of polished limestone. Moonlight from a half-moon reflected off that clear stone, a light that faded away as Ahkmen led you into the earth.

Staircases upon hallways upon staircases led deep into the ground, lined with stray dust and paintings of stories Ahkmen hardly understood, let alone you. The darkness soon came to a high, leaving you in a pitch-black darkness too thick to even see each other. You stumbled forward, bumping your head on Ahk's shoulder, and letting out a small cry.

"You alright?" He said, offering his hand before remembering you would not be able to see.

"I am okay," you said, dirt and sand shuffling as you made your way back to your feet. "We need light."

"We'll find a torch soon, we can take that," Ahkmen said.

As predicted, a few steps forward with his hand running along the wall, and he found the end of a burnt out torch. At the next crossroads there would be a vat of oil, with which he could relight it.

"When the Pharaoh, Djoser, built this place," Ahkmen said as he lit the torch, holding it up to see the hieroglyphs above your heads, "he built it with temples outside, courtyards... gardens and houses. It was a city all for his death. And none of it was used until he died. All his life he built this pyramid, and never reaped the benefits."

"Why?" You asked, looking up from Djoser to him.

"It's a purpose in life. At least, that's how I see it," he said, his voice growing quieter. "I think that it is our purpose to leave this world better than when we came into it. This was simply his way of doing it."

"How will you doing it?"

"... I don't know," he murmured after a moment of silence.

His eyes fell to you, meeting your gaze as you simultaneously looked up with a special sort of adoration in the reflection of your eyes. Time paused; his heartbeat, his breath, the flame in his hand. You still waited expectantly.

"I will find my purpose someday," he said. "I'm still young."

"You will say that to the day you die."

The long hallways were much more entertaining with your sight returning, allowing you to scan and absorb the art painted on every surface. It was hard to tell who was who, but those in power were always clearly marked, and those below them would always tremble by their might. You bit the inside of your cheek, tearing your eyes away from the gory scene and following Ahkmen onwards.

"Here we reach the blue chambers," Ahkmen said, his echoing voice calling your attention away from the dark hallway walls.

You looked ahead to him, past him, to the blue strokes of paint shrouding the ceiling in midnight and stars. Your mouth fell open as you looked straight up.

A woman's body was stretched across the center plane of the room, her toes at the door and hands at the opposite end. Her skin was a deep blue, peppered with yellow, five-pointed stars. Massive jars and pots neatly filled the corners of the room, half-buried in dust, the paint still remaining on the surface. Besides that, the room remained empty, cobwebs filling the space, and dissipating wherever Ahkmen held his torch.

From here, there were two directions to choose from; left and right. Painted reeds lined the entrances, captioned by the hieroglyphs far above your head.

"Down that way is the burial vault," Ahkmen said, pointing down to the left, "and down that way is the King's apartment."

"Why would you need a apartment in a death home?"

Ahk snorted, "a tomb, you mean. It's to be used in death. Everything you are buried with comes with you in the afterlife, so those with great riches build homes they want, treasures they want to carry forever. It's a portable home."

"Hmm," you said in a detached tone, wide eyes turning back to the painted walls. "There is so much turns. I do not know how we get out."

"Ah, the layout of the pyramids remains a mystery to all but me," he said with a wide, cocky grin, throwing his arm over your shoulders. "I will lead us safely onwards."

You giggled, covering your mouth as you did. It disappointed him slightly not to see your smile, but he kept to his word, and led you down to the Pharaoh's 'apartments'. He rehearsed the correct path to the living areas, and by the time he came to the split path he recalled which turn to take.

He moved to continue quickly on, but you paused, his arm falling from your shoulders as you stood in place. That quickly caught his attention, and he returned to you.

You were staring at the wall with a furrowed brow, eyes searching the large blue tiles.

"Faience," he told you, sneaking up from behind. You jumped slightly, relaxing when you realized it was him.

"It is beautiful."

"It's meant to look like the palace," he said, easily recalling much of his studies on Imhotep's pyramid. "Mimicks the reed mats and such."

Several passageways and long, detailed hallways later, the two of you arrived in a room stacked with dark, elegant cabinets filled with everything from clothes to chairs. Red and reed carpets covered the floor, broken after their long-lived lives. As with many of the rooms and halls you'd already seen, the room was filled with vases and jars of all sizes, containing everything from honey to bits of unprocessed stone.

Being a home of sorts for the royal family from years ago, it contained a number of comfortable chairs, as well as detailed carpets both hung and set on the ground. Spiderwebs had grown over the edges, crowding the corners of the room with dusty string.

"As long as you know the paths of the pyramids, they can be a good place to find solitude. Sometimes I enjoy studying here," he said, craning his neck to look at the hieroglyphs carved onto the ceiling.

"You do work a lot, I think," you said, your shuffling feet slowly moving to the end of the room.

"Perhaps so. But you cannot claim that without acknowledging you work quite a lot, as well," he said with a smile. His amusement grew when you just nodded, pretending to understand what he had just said.

For the remainder of the evening, Ahkmen set to what he had been planning all along––distracting you from your dissipating drunken haze, as well as from the thought of your parents. Studying and researching had always done well to keep his own mind off things, so he offered the same opportunity for you.

A chart of the night sky hung above the frame of a bed, numerous blankets and pillows cast haphazardly aside upon it. You were reluctant to put any more weight on it, but Ahkmen assured you it would be fine, and pushed you to lie down, staring up at the ceiling.

"Do you see the brightest star?" He asked, climbing over you to sit on your hips, his hands on your waist.

"To that way?" You asked in return, gesturing to the right with your chin.

"Mhm. Her name is Sopdet. When she rises in the night sky in the summer, she brings with her the floods of the Nile," he said softly, creeping closer still, "and the fertility of the land. She is married to Sah, who holds yet another place in the sky. When Pharaohs die... that is where they go."

"What does Sah do?"

"He is one of the largest constellations," he said, a grin forming across his face. Ahkmen began to creep up your body, using his fingers like claws as he gripped you. "He is eaten in the morning and spit out at night––and he rises into the sky to protect his wife."

You giggled, blushing from the intense overacting of the man pinning you to the old bed.

"He is a God who sails the skies. He navigates the stars in a papyrus skiff, and the old Pharaoh's souls go with him. It is a death I yearn for," Ahkmen said, his energy suddenly cooling, his hands less grasping you and more holding you.

"I like to see the stars now. You show where they are, yes?" You asked, searching his eyes as you looked up.

Behind the faint halo of his face, the soft skin reflecting the dying light of the torch, stars painted in gold on a midnight canvas surrounded him. It was him, the life in his eyes against the eternity of the sky––distant, and far enough to only be found in the heart.

"Of course," he said with a smile, crinkling and blushing around his grey eyes.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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fragileizywriting · 4 years ago

Text

midnight

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He’ll never admit it— not to her face, anyway, but he loves sweets.

He doesn’t have to, of course— she’s noticed how excited he gets.

Chat Noir, the demon that took down the sun, or however the myths and legends told to little children go, is absolutely smitten and docile when it comes to a solid piece of honeycomb. Does she use that knowledge to her advantage? Oh, sure. She keeps them in a large jar, airtight and sealed away so that no bugs can get in, but it’s not exactly hidden in the kitchen. She knows that Chat Noir, with his sensitive nose, would be able to smell it even if it was kilometers away, so it’s no secret as to where she keeps the treats.

Does she sometimes coerce him to help her read some textbooks for her while she’s making spells, just for a piece of honeycomb? Yes. Chat usually rolls his eyes at the prospect of reading latin to the point where his eyes roll in his head subconsciously, but at the cost of one sweet treat he’s willing to read the entire tomb for her.

What is surprising, throughout this, is how he doesn’t get carried away with eating it. He graciously accepts any piece he gives her, thanks her to high heaven with that huge Cheshire’s grin of his, and never makes a fuss when they have to ration out the rest instead of giving him more. After all, unless he wants to go pick a fight with a beehive, it’s not likely that they’ll find more honeycomb unless they buy it. They’re low on money as it is.

He does try taking bites out of her honeycomb, sometimes, when she’s taken a bigger piece for herself than for him. The honey is sticky between their fingers whenever they eat it, giggling to each other like fools, and she finds it funny to watch Chat struggle to lick it off his face when he’s missed a spot.

Chat follows her out into the kitchen.

He’s still the little cat she’s fallen asleep with, she can hear his little paws against the floorboard as they walk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. The cottage is divided into small rooms, aside from the large living room that she’s converted into a brewing station since she hasn’t gotten any word back on the renovations being done to their shop inside of town. For now, she’s hauled the most important ingredients from their shop back into the house so she can continue to work on many of their spells, such as the fortune charms— and elixirs that will provide luck. The cottage is slightly cramped from so many new things added into it, but it’s warm, and it’s cozy for the two of them. Besides, Chat does just fine navigating the somewhat tight quarters whenever he’s in his cat form. She’s under the impression that he enjoys the mess.

The candles on the kitchen table light with green fire when Chat jumps on top of it so he can loaf and watch her with giant green eyes. He sits, silently, in the middle of the table as she pulls open the jar. It’s quiet between them, other than the noise of rain, but it’s not like Chat can talk in this form anyway.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” She whispers, more to herself. She wipes at her eyes, taking a deep breath, staring into Chat’s unblinking gaze. “I have to keep going, don’t I? I just have to keep trying?”

Chat tilts his head in silent question.

She sighs. He doesn’t understand what she means. She doesn’t expect him to understand it, since she’s never told him outright. She’s never told him about the secrets she’s kept— about the pain she’s suffered for Adrien. The long nights where she’d sneak in through his window and watch his hands get weaker and weaker in hers. He used to have such an animated face before the disease. His voice would get quieter, and quieter… and then…

“Does it ever bother you that I cry this much?” She puts down the led of the jar and reaches in. The honeycomb is as dry as it’ll ever be, but luckily it doesn’t fall apart in her hand when she picks it out. There’s a clean dish in the cupboard, so she pulls it out to give him a place to eat his honeycomb without making a mess. She can’t see him overly well, just the round green electric eyes that seem to glow in the dark, but she’s capable of figuring out what the quietness in the kitchen means.

It’s a yes.

“I’m sorry,” She sits down on a stool, smoothing out her shift. She holds her own honey comb with both of her hands, watching him out of the corner of her eyes as he chews through the wax. It’s a little curious to watch him eat as a cat, since he doesn’t have hands to hold his food down, but he does all right. Almost natural— almost like a real cat— and if it weren’t for the recognition that sparks in his eyes whenever they make eye contact. She’s never taken care of a real cat before, so she’s not sure, but she’s been told that cats normally can understand humans a lot more than people realize— and it obviously helps that he’s not real— but still. It’s unnerving to see such intellect shining in those hypnotic green eyes of his.

He hunches over his plate at he eats, the cute little thing, a blackened void that blends into the shadows that creep along his sides, so quiet and so serene that it’s like looking into a painting.

She chews on her own. It’s gooey, and oozes slightly between her fingers when she crunches down on the wax. She likes the sweetness of the honey, the way she feels like a child again in her mom and dad’s bakery, eating away at spare pieces of sweets that weren’t good enough to be sold. She stole many treats out of the reject pile, back when her mama used to convince her baba to keep a couple of them in a basket for their only child to take while she studied more fortune spells. More fortune spells to help Adrien.

The melancholy thoughts resurface in her head. She tries banishing them with a bigger bite of honey, looking back up to Chat who continues to eat and chew.

She wants to pet him, to feel all of the individual bones in his spine like she usually does, but her fingers are sticky and sweet— and he’s just taken a bath— it would be pointless. Even if she hand washed him, took another wet rag and wiped at his fur like she no doubt will have to do soon if he continues to get beads of honey sticking to the side of his whiskers without realizing, the honey would probably be an uncomfortable mess on his back. He wouldn’t be able to reach it or get it off— so he’d probably have to sleep for one of the few rare nights in his normal form and— and that most definitely won’t do.

He’s too big for the both of them to fit in the cot together, yes, but there is the whole fact that it’s improper. They’re not in a relationship with each other— not like that, at least— and she already gets away with it in her head by just chalking it up to her familiar wanting to sleep next to her.

It’s hard to convince herself that he’s her familiar when he’s a huge wall of heat behind her, a blackened and clawed hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her in so closely and so safely that she can just fall asleep wonderfully without any more cares in the world and just listen to his purr rumble deep into his chest that burns with their demonic seal, binding the two of them together, almost like they’re married to each other— oh how the thought makes her weak—

Marinette nearly slips off her stool in surprise when Chat meow at her. He eyes the piece of honeycomb in her hands, then back up to her face, trying to beg in his silent cat-like way. She nearly squeaks in embarrassment, her face steaming in the dark. What’s with her today? What’s gotten her so daydreamy? She’s not normally like this— she’s always so calm and collected and focused— why today? She rubs at one of her ear lobes with a thumb. Why has today been so difficult on her like this? Why can’t she stop imagining his hand in hers?

Why can’t she stop thinking about how much she’d love a hug tight enough to squeeze?

Oh, Tikki— why does the thought of a kiss make her face darken with a blush?

Chat meows again.

This time, she really does squeak. “Sorry, oh my goodness. I’m really acting like an airhead tonight, huh?”

He tilts his head, blinking at her so slowly it almost looks like time has stopped in increments. Silent as the grave, her familiar. Maybe she could go for a bit of conversation from him. The chatterbox of a cat demon always keeps her on her toes with his conversations, maybe what she needs is to be distracted.

“Must be because I’m tired,” She sighs out a little laugh. “It must be. Or maybe I’m just too anxious about Henrietta.”

She is, she really is worried about her hen— but why does that taste like a lie in her mouth? Why does she feel like she’s lying to the both of them?

“Chat,” She licks her lips, feeling her mouth dry from honey and slight anxiety. He perks at his name, sitting on his back legs to give her a more appropriate stare. She gathers courage from somewhere in her chest to continue, “Can you detransform for a bit? I want to see you. I want… I want your talkative companionship for just a little while longer, if that’s alright with you. I know it’s far past midnight, so we’ll be tired tomorrow— but— I’ll give you my honeycomb as a trade, if you’re interested.”

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#marichatmay2021 #marichat may 2021 #marichat may #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #fire lily au #witch marinette #demon au #demon chat noir #fragileizyadrienette

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blogmollylane · 5 years ago

Text

Extract from a much larger project

So this is part of something I hope to work into a much longer piece and I am interested to hear what people think. Please be nice, I think the internet has enough negativity already, lets not add to it.

The Tale of Kindred Sprits

Oblique osiria roses, in hues of silver-white and scarlet-red, encased in suspended bird cages above the reflecting pool. Sporadically roses had escaped their pendant confinements. These lucky ones had wound themselves serpentine around their former prisons, climbing the shackles in defiance. Surrounded by vaulted windows admitting in the last evanescent rays of the setting sun, there Tristian sat by the pool’s edge. Basking in the private serenity of the rotunda’s current kenopsia as sparrows’ euphonious serenades kept him company. Such a rare indulgence to savour in.

Exhaling, he let go another lungful of smoke, watching the grey wraiths waltz in obscure patterns before fading away. Only the rich oaky tang of its brief existence lingers in the floral air. Eying the fallen petals drifting on the still waters, he mused if like constellations, they too delivered prophecies. Their positions, giving inklings to the mysteries Providence like the lines on his palms. Perhaps if better skilled in the art of deviation, Fate’s past designs could have been descried ahead of tragedy striking.

Fingers swept back strands of silver hair from his face; he took in the left eye. Once there was a perfect carbon copy of its right-side twin, another bright sapphire iris. Now a pitch-black pit encircled by raw, angry scars stared back.

Enough tears were shed in the bloody aftermath of the mutilation. Ravenous wrath lived within him, binding it’s time for vengeance. Tristian acknowledged its rising presence, but held it back fast, never losing grip. Rage yield, remained patient and sharpened talons in preparation. The perpetrator may be roaming freely in the Diamond’s hall, their leverage sitting pretty for now. What seethed beneath Tristian’s skin, ardent in his veins, volatile in his soul was what drove him. Their eventual ruin would be worthwhile and wrath will have its feast.

Glass doors swung open. Startled birds flew from their perches and footfalls click-clacked on the ivory-ebony chequered floor. Lady Delacroix. Her trembling fists were clenched so horribly tight, her nails left behind miniature crescent scars and gained fresh scarlet specks underneath. Her long eyelashes brim tears yearning to break free, racing to the edge. Head hung low, flaxen curls ragged. Wisps of baby’s breaths woven into her loose braids drooping over.

Most people never took heed of these tiniest details. If they did, they left her in the hollow loneliness to put her self back together. Jagged puzzle pieces that didn’t fit, acting as daggers that pierced her unhealed heart, too alien to recognize shards of their former selves. Walls, meticulously built and exhaustedly rebuilt, in danger of collapsing again. Crumbling bricks already bearing the wear of prior takedowns. Sandcastles had better resistance. Moisture spring from her eyes, but crying was not a healthy release. Crying was a filthy habit and she didn’t want another relapse.

But Tristian caught sight of her a pigment of sorrow, a rosy glow exchange for red splotches. He didn’t know why he did it at that particular moment. Out of sympathy was the original hypothesis. He calls her by name, but not her real name. The name that was her purported birthright, but wasn’t truly hers. Followed by a stupid question.

“Lady Delacroix. Lady Delacroix, are you alright?”

Shoulders sagged, she picks up the pace.

“Erica?”

She halts, surprised. Discreetly wipes away a lone tear that had eluded her defences before gyrating around. Crooked her lips into a small, frail smile accessorized with verdure orbs that have banished their original sparkle.

“Yes, your Highness?”

“Are you alright? You seem upset.”

The automatic lie of “Oh no, I’m fine” slipped out.

Tristian frowned, inhaling fresh nicotine. His right eye, a lone spotlight fixated on her. This acute opia coerced that mastered grin a little too wide, glued two female feet to the floor. Far worse than the blinding journalistic flashlights; they were searching for faults. Erica couldn’t fathom what Tristian was looking for.

He came closer. Too close, far too close. Close enough for her to smell dried ink, ember and mint off him. Fingernails dig deeper. “You sure?”

“I... just needed a breather that’s all. It’s so stifling here this evening.”

Please let me go.

“I imagine that one so used to the wide open spaces that your old home back in Pyrite had to offer, you are still getting use to the confines of the Diamond.”

Actually, I left one cage to enter into another.

“Indeed,” Erica swallowed, “At least, we are safe here up in the clouds. That was your father’s initial intentions when he first drew up plans for its construction after the deaths of his brothers and your grandfather.”

“My father is not a practical man, Erica. He chooses style above substance. The Diamond’s main purpose is to be a personification of his powers first and foremost, a permanent grand exhibition celebrating his glorious eminency second. He did not want the royal residence to share the same ground as the common folk. Safety was not on top of his priorities. Image was.”

“You called me Erica again.”

“I think we can lessen the formalities in private, don’t you?”

Erica found it strange No one really pays attention to what she had to say regardless of content. Her voice was radio silence, background noise, insignificant...

“I should go. The evening star will arrive soon. Apologies for disturbing you.”

“No need to act contrite Erica.” He leaned in, “But if something has-“

“It hasn’t!”

A hard sigh and a mumbled sorry for the snap interruption. Obscure the splinter of the warring tempest below. Guilt rotting inside, its oxidization pricking beneath her unblemished skin. One of the many same old unresolved feelings piling up for years now. She didn’t mean it.

“I’m fine, really, I am.”

“Do I scare you Erica?”

“No.” Lies persisted on tumbling out. He didn’t believe her, of course. Let’s tell a rueful half truth then. “A... little,” she barely whispered, rich teal heels becoming fascinating.

“And what is it that terrifies you?”

“I don’t know what’s in your mind. I get the impression that-“she falter, vacillation halted any finished sentence transpiring, afraid of probable costs, rummaging around for safe words. “That there’s something that aggravates you, pestering at you, gnawing at you. You haven’t found the resolution yet. You believe that you have taken precautions, making a friend of it. But it wants to break free and when it does...”

Sparrows suppress their breath; no sing-song alleviated this silence. Faintest of changes in Erica’s heartbeat, at a higher volume than typical. Tristian contemplated on her words. Billowing cigarette smoke clouded his face, never phasing, masking his cerebral interior. Eyebrows narrowed intently as he gazed back up to the pensile art structure with its florid coils, as if asking it for advice.

“May I ask how you came up with that observation?” he finally said.

“Depends on how you will take it... Tristian.”

“I’m tougher than I look, Erica. Comes with the media saturated territory. I’m interested to hear your findings on me.”

“Well, if you say so,” she paused slightly before resuming, “Whenever we’re in the same room, you seem irate to be there with no proven cause. I don’t know if it’s my doing or just merely my presence that unnerves you.”

Tristian’s feature’s softened. “Erica, I don’t hate you if that is what you are assuming.”

“I wasn’t!” she panicked that he could interpret her thoughts superior to her own translation to his, unpleasant heat rising in her cheeks.

Erica had always preferred the comfort of what the stars pinpointed to, not ellipsism. That’s what terrified her most about Tristian, and to a much larger extent panoptical strangers. Their inauspicious indefiniteness, difficult to decipher unlike the movements of clinquant nocturnal auroras.

This decoding into the conundrum that was Tristian was convoluted even more when a masculine amused chuckle caused her to return her focus on the suedette fabric of her shoes. Perplexment conflated with discomfiture on her face. She stole a peep, purloining a faint smile from the spare, a concise vision far removed from the usual sullen presence.

“What is so funny?”

“Apologies Erica. I didn’t mean to be unkind. I am also sorry to have given you that impression. It was not intentional. Perhaps, we should have gotten better acquainted on our own terms before forming such opinions.”

“Then what do you think of me?”

“Of you?”

“I gave you my thoughts. Only fair if you give me yours.”

Tristian took another deep meditative drag. Erica was looking up at him, a bit braver now, waiting patiently for an answer. He studied her for a prolonged moment.

“You’re made of sunshine Erica. When people try to eclipse that radiance, you somehow find a way to let it shine through. An admirable trait to have.”

Quite the compliment to receive. Blinking eyes search for mistruths which turned out to be a fruitless endeavour. Mouth slightly tugs at the corners, almost curves upwards. Unsteady heat warms the back of her neck, escalating in her cheeks. Still found it hard to believe. Nonetheless, found her hollow self filled with warmth and flickers of light. She murmured thanks, for that was the polite thing to do, deciding it was best to leave it at that.

Thank you for reading.

#my writing #extract #fiction #romance #fairytale #writers on tumblr #and now for something completely different #kingdom #blushing #falling in love #fantasy #decopunk

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askmicrowaveayem · 7 years ago

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MAYEM: The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place Pt. 6 (END)

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[Archive] [Cast]

Kid covered his face and tried to not laugh.

“I can't believe you're burning your void,” he said.

This is the kind of shit Goop would've scolded Kid for back when he was alive.

“It’s my void, let me burn it if I wanna.” Goop chuckled.

“I was actually a little worried it would hurt the circuitry of the thing but I realized that it never really gets very far before just… vanishing. So I think it’s okay.”

...Kid nodded, not sure what to make of that but…

“...okay. I'm going to admit right now I honestly thought you were always just holding this bubble of coffee inside you until you got outside or something instead of it vanishing and I never really understood it but I wasn't going to question it. So. I'm glad that got cleared up, honestly.”

Goop turned and stared at him. “... You thought I just kept it inside me and then… puked it out or something all this time?”

He seemed both a mix of horrified and incredibly amused.

“Your void hates liquid! I assumed it just… Wouldn't assimilate!” Kid said, throwing his hands up.

“So maybe you kept it in a little pocket, like how you carried your magazines and stuff! It made sense.”

“I mean… yeah I guess that makes sense.” Goop said, still looking pretty amused. “But I don’t… hold it? I just let it go after it goes in my mouth and then it just sorta…”

“...”

“I bet there’s like… a pile of old coffee and potato chips and shit sitting in the void somewhere.” He looked at Kid.

Kid stared at Goop.

“....the final revenge,” he said.

“I’m going to make it my new life’s mission to turn the void into a fucking trash heap.”

“PLEASE DON’T START EATING GARBAGE JUST TO SPITE THE VOID.” Papyrus said with a grimace.

“Let's find the grossest human food and go for it,” Kid said with a straight face.

“AUGH.” Papyrus groaned, “I AM HAVING NO PART IN THIS.”

“i totally am.” Sans grinned, “there’s a really sketchy deli around the block. next time i’m there i’ll grab something gross and bring it back.”

“Excellent.” Goop grinned evilly.

“Family outing,” Kid said, grinning.

A little hopeful.

Family?

Goop grinned and turned to Papyrus.

“...” The tallest skeleton sighed and threw up his hands. “OH FINE.”

“Yaaay.” Goop grinned, standing up.

Kid grinned a little.

Watched them.

…

They’d go shopping eventually. It was easier on Goop when he could touch things. When he could feel things.

Kid handed him fruits and let him weight them in his palms.

…

And then they started buying things for something a little less casual.

The outing was nice. They stopped by the gross deli and Goop ate a really sketchy sandwich, much to his youngest son’s dismay and his eldest’s pleasure, and after that he got to touch fruits and vegetables and bags of cookies. It was simple motions and feelings that most people took for granted that he took the time to enjoy.

That evening they would stay awake with Goop into the night outside, letting him feel the evening air come in. The kids would go to bed eventually, and then he and Kid would go for a walk.

They sat on the front porch of their house as the sun rose, and Goop took Kid’s hand in his and squeezed it, and for the first time since they had been sealed underground so many years ago, he felt the sunrise warm up the air around him.

And he cried.

It wasn’t a heavy cry. Just a few tears. Just overwhelming emotions.

He was finally here, in the moment. He wasn’t just a ghost floating through the world anymore, but rather part of it.

Before they headed back to the house Goop hugged his friend tight, and thanked him.

For everything.

…

It was hard to explain. Knowing his friend had never really felt his hugs before. Knowing that it hadn’t really done anything.

Not until now.

Knowing that now Goop could feel the ground beneath him, and the weight and pressure of Kid’s arms around him, so much stronger than the shallow buzz of two souls being nearby.

Two pathworked, broken souls.

Two souls that had tried to make themselves twins.

…

He didn’t respond to the thanks. He just hugged Goop a little tighter. Rested his head against Goop’s shoulder and asked if he’d like to go up to bed.

...it was finally, finally time to rest.

They would head home and finally rest, and for most of the day they wouldn’t come out. As much as he loved the sensation the new machine brought him, it also tired him out. It was a lot to take in, and a lot to deal with, so for once he actually managed to sleep.

Their room had a mattress now, mostly because Kid could still feel, and they slept curled up on it together. Goop might have held him a little more than usual, as if he let go he wouldn’t feel it anymore.

But he did. He woke up and knew right away that the pressure was Kid and the mattress underneath them and the warmth of the blankets.

It was nice.

…

They made a date for their wedding finally.

Well, ‘wedding’.

They made little invitations and started to jump around to the old haunts that felt like they hadn’t been there in decades.

They went to the smiley Gaster they were going to have the party in and told him even though neither of them were really sure how much he understood. They invited the married couple through the transmitter, and informed them that the danger had passed, although they politely declined.

Understandable, from what little they knew they had been through.

They invited the old Gaster and his grandkids, told Voidkid and the new friend he had traveling with him, the skeleton Gaster who was staying in the dog world, the other version of Goop that Kid had saved, the really fucking tall guy too even though they didn’t think he would come even if he could.

But the offer was what mattered.

They decided on rings. They decided on a cake. They decided on clothes. Actual clothes for once.

Goop decided to wear all white since it was usually the other way around, and it took him a couple of tries to actually be able to walk around comfortable inside something, but he managed it.

Kid thought it was a little funny to watch Goop walk around like he was bloated.

...Really funny, actually.

...he decided to try and match. Once Goop got used to the suit and actually settled in it, at least.

He started going down to the dump of their worlds, gathering shards of glass and other little broken things for the shared drink, which would… be a pretty interesting first drink, what with their unique makeup! But at least they would both be able to feel it.

...he went and picked up some shrapnel from the place his parents had once lived, too. It’d started to be built up again, now. It was being turned into apartments again. Living spaces. Too many monsters in the underground.

...but he was still able to find some old pieces of window glass.

Most monsters would’ve gone to Asgore to melt the glass in Kid’s underground. Kid somewhat wanted to see if Goop’s younger self could do it for them instead. ...he’d’ve asked Goop’s Grillby, if that Grillby were still around.

But he’d see about asking the happy little skeleton instead.

….there were other things to do.

Paper chains covered every corner of the house for a little while. His kids were making flag banners. It was hard to go set up ahead of time, but his Sans and Papyrus had talked with Goop’s in order to head off to the little cave and figure out how to make it work.

The smiley Gaster would live in a colorful, cheerful looking cave for a while before the wedding even took place.

They had a long conversation about marriage customs between them, especially since Goop was mostly drawing on times before monsters were underground, and only from what little he knew of weddings back in his home town. He hadn’t participated in any in the underground.

But he was eager to help with the glass bowl, as was his much younger self when it was given to him.

He was absolutely flattered that Kid had chose him to melt it for them.

Sans and Papyrus worked with their doppelgangers in Kid’s world to help set everything up, jumping from one world to the next to put up streamers and set up tables.

As the day approached the kids scrambled to set up food and cake and bring everyone in that had accepted. The different Gasters, Alphys, their kids.

Kid and Goop were the last to arrive and survey what had been set up for them, and Goop’s eye lit up.

It was the first time he could recall having a party just for the hell of it since he was a little boy.

It was an awful lot of people for a very little cave.

There was a long table with a cloth on it and the cake--taken from aboveground weddings, now. There were streamers and little colorful banners on the cave walls. Someone had strung fairy lights on the ceiling along with the regular crystals, turning the cave’s glow warm and soft. One of their Sanses had brought in a little battery-run CD player and it was playing something under the chatter inside, never letting the room fall silent.

...And there were cards on the table by the cake. A well-wish by the couple who hadn’t come. A formal address from the enormous Gaster, who had sent his two sons as ‘envoys’ in his place--a pair of young skeletons, dressed up to the nines in embroidered suits looking around with wide excited eyes, hesitantly being coerced into playing along with the Grandfather’s young pair and the Dogster, who rolled contently on the floor beside his smiling puddle of a new friend.

The grandfather himself was fussing over Goop’s Sans. The pair of Papyru standing along with the younger version of Goop who was all smiles, feeding the trio’s anxious energy.

...Kid’s own Sans was being introduced to VK’s traveling friend, who looked very out of place, but had also brought a card--he had an orange scarf and wasn’t a skeleton, but he was polite and eager to please and chat, and that went a long way in this crowd.

...Sans stopped talking when he spotted Kid and Goop arriving though.

Headed over to them.

...Gave Kid a nudge in the ribs, and then a hug.

“You ready?”

...Kid laughed a little and hugged him back.

“...Probably more than I’ve ever been.”

Goop’s kids came over too, grinning and hugging their dad before gesturing to the center of the cave, a pedestal with the glass bowl they had made sat on top filled with water instead of any sort of wine or fruit drink, just to go a little easier on both of them. Kid especially.

Then they returned to their spots and eagerly waited.

Goop made a grab for the bowl.

“HEY! YOU HAVE TO SAY SOMETHING ABOUT KID FIRST!!” Papyrus guffed, and Goop stopped to look at him.

“... Really? You’re going to make us do the speech?”

“OF COURSE!”

“You gotta say at least something nice!” His younger version added in.

Goop groaned nervously and looked across the pedestal at Kid.

“Uh. Okay.”

“...”

“Do I have to go first?”

Kid stared at him.

“It will absolutely be worse if I go first.”

He was already starting to morph a duck bill.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Goop said, putting a hand over Kid’s face, laughing.

Then he sighed and drummed his fingers along the edge of the pedestal. “Uh…”

“...”

He looked over at everyone at the table sitting and waiting and if he was at all capable of blushing he definitely would have.

“Uh. So.”

“...”

Goop looked back up at Kid. “Thanks. For. Uh. Putting up with me and… I think you’re really great and uh…”

He wanted to melt back into the void right about now.

“... I’m glad I crashed into your lab forever ago, even if I’m sorry for dragging you across the multiverse. Um…”

“... I love you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

He wanted to die.

Kid did too.

He was hiding behind his hands. A lot.

And curling down some.

Oh boy.

Oh god he saw someone say ‘aww’ on the lower level.

“You’re a jerk,” he squeaked.

Goop laughed, his voice cracking a little.

“I try. Your turn, you can’t get out of this shit now.”

Kid shrank and made a pathetic sound, but he did waddle over to where Goop was to do a speech too.

…

He wasn’t any better at this than Goop was. Even if it was a room full of friends.

“...I’ve broken most of my morals for you and I think that probably says a lot about…. That. That’d I’d still probably do it again.”

He covered his face again.

Goop laughed, “That was so fucking awful. Come on, I said more than that! Pat my ego!”

Aaaagh. Kid batted a hand at him.

“I thought I was supposed to be honest?”

“Augh.” Goop groaned, but he was smiling.

Some of the guests laughed.

He reached for the bowl to take a drink of the water, then handed it to Kid.

Kid took it.

“...”

“I really would do anything for you,” Kid said quietly. “...even if I’m kinda shit at saying it out loud.”

…

He held the bowl up to let Goop drink from it.

“...” Goop just smiled.

When they finished taking their drinks, everyone clapped and cheered, and Goop stepped around the pedestal to wrap his arms around his friend and give him a hug.

Kid hugged back. Awkward with happiness and not sure where to go or what to do next--

But that would be okay.

They didn’t need to know much anymore.

Right now, they just had to serve everyone some cake.

There was no time crunch. No looming death. No inevitable destruction.

Just cake and friends.

They served it out to everyone, slices cut for the little kids and set on the ground for the dog and even offered to the very happy slime resting roughly in the middle of the room even if he couldn’t eat it.

They went over to VK and his new friend to be introduced and talked to him awhile to get to know him, to learn a bit about his world.

The younger version of Goop continuously approached Kid to talk about him about… anything and everything he could think of with the same sort of excitement his old friend talked about things, but with a youthful joy that Goop had long since lost.

Sans humored the oldest Gaster’s fussing, cracking jokes and entertaining his grandkids when they weren’t playing with the small children in elaborate, royal clothing. Papyrus was abuzz almost everywhere, asking everyone where they were from and what they did and if they would like another slice of cake.

… It was a fun party, even for a pair of Gasters who had been dragged through hell and were horribly socially anxious.

It helped that this was their party.

It was just… made of them. People they cared about. People they’d talked with before and they trusted. Maybe those people hadn’t ever met each other before, but…. It was also satisfying. Seeing people who had never met before, but come together anyway, and they got along.

And they all came here for them.

...Kid entertained the younger Goop as much as he could before VK intervened, pulling the little kid away to talk with him too. To happily measure himself up with the littler version of his friend.

Kid settled down beside the very smiley void eventually, trying to catch a moment of rest in the bustle.

Goop eventually did too, sitting on the other side of the smiling puddle of void as things started to wind down. His Sans and Papyrus started to take those home who felt like it was time to go back, and they would approach Goop and Kid on their way out to congratulate them one more time and tell them not to be a stranger.

They took the royal kids home shortly after grandpa Gaster and his grandkids left, the dog and his friend was soon to follow, and eventually the younger Goop came to say goodbye as well.

He told Kid that he was very happy to see him again, and that he was always up for a visit.

Eventually even VK would need to get moving on with his new friend in search of their Sans and Papyrus.

They were left with their kids and the smiling void between them.

…

“This was really nice.” Goop said as the cave grew quiet.

Kid hugged the little ones and his younger Goop as they all left.

Promised he’d get the younger one something to talk to him more once they’d figured out the technology for it.

And then Sans and Papyrus took them home. Kid’s own pair were quietly beginning to clean up, Sans yawning and Papyrus stretching up to reach the banners.

“Yeah, it was,” Kid said as he watched.

He was exhausted and drained, but not… in a bad way. In a way like he was ready to happy settle in for a long, warm nap, and knowing the wouldn’t have to worry about when he woke up. It was a strange, smooth but fuzzy feeling inside him.

It was nice.

He looked down at the smiling void.

“You like it too?”

Grinned.

Goop grinned right back at him. “Glad you could make it.”

Even though the guy hadn’t moved at all.

…

“We’ll stop by and visit you more often now. Bring some playing cards. Oh, we got that one set from the couple.” He said, and went to reach into his chest only to hit white fabric.

He gruffed and reached into the pocket that had them instead.

They were a really nice set of playing cards.

“... Man…” He said, sighing and looking over at Kid.

“I can’t believe they beat us getting married though.”

Kid snorted. “We don’t even know when they started!”

Really, it wasn’t a race.

“Yeah! But!”

…

“I wanted to win.”

…

Kid put a hand on Goop’s forehead.

“You win.”

“Is there a prize?”

“A hug.”

“Excellent.”

Then he hugged the void between them.

The void smiled wider but Goop’s hug would be like trying to squish jello.

The void oozed overtop his arms.

Kid just laughed at him.

Goop stuck to his guns and gave the void a nice, long hug before pulling away, completely straight-faced even as bits of the void stayed on his clothes.

“Best prize ever.”

Fortunately for everyone, the void didn’t really stick. It slowly pulled away, stretching back into the smiling void’s mass like over-stretched bubble gum slowly pulling itself back together.

The smiling void seemed very pleased all the same, and if possible, probably also would have been making very pleased sounds as well.

“A very good prize-giver.”

“Agreed.” Goop said, smiling down at the happy puddle.

By then most of the party had been cleaned up, and the kids were just figuring out how to pack away the rest of the cake. Or rather, the Papyru were and both Sanses were throwing pieces of candy at each other, trying to score into their mouths.

“... So… where ya wanna stay for awhile? Your place? Mine? Wanna be alone with your kids for a bit? Up to you.”

Kid didn’t have as much involvement in the daily lives of his kids, so it was up to him. He more or less lived in Goop’s house now.

Maybe once his kids reached the surface Kid would find a more permanent way to go back and forth, but for now, he was just… going to stick with visits and communication pretty often.

“...I’m ready to rest, but shouldn’t we help them clean up?”

Goop turned around to look at them.

“... You mean help the Papyru clean up? Yeah.” He said, standing up to go do that.

Most of the streamers and tablecloths were already in the machine, but the tables and rest of the mess still needed put away.

So that’s what he did, helping them gather up the trash and put it into bags and take with them so as to not mess up cave Gaster’s little home.

After a moment Goop paused and sliced another piece of cake, putting it on a plate.

“... Let’s take a piece to Twitchy.”

At first Kid was about to object. That Gaster wanted little or nothing to do with them, and definitely wouldn’t accept a piece of cake from them--

…

And then he realized which one Goop was talking about.

…

He nodded.

“Yeah. I’m sure he’d like that,” Kid said, putting a hand on Goop’s shoulder gently.

…

“Let’s get the kids home first and get the other stuff out of the machine. I can hold the plate for you.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Goop said, and passed the little plate to Kid while he helped the kids fold up the table and carry it into the machine along with everything else. As they left they gave the smiley Gaster their goodbyes and headed home, dropping off Kid’s Sans and Papyrus first and then his own along with Alphys, and then unpacking everything.

With the machine empty it was time to say hello to an old friend.

…

They went back into it and jumped into a familiar world that would never see light. That would never be warm or full of the Papyrus’ laughter, or Sans’ bad jokes.

To the grave that remembered a skeleton who had sacrificed himself for monsters who hated him.

There were the buds of flowers around the memorial this time. Blue and cut off from the stem. Still somewhat colored. Not fully dry yet.

It seemed some people did still visit. Perhaps a school trip to teach children their history. ...Perhaps someone much older, on their own.

But there were the buds of blue, small flowers.

Kid stood back as Goop went to the grave. Stayed by the machine. To give him some privacy.

…

He’d like to think Twitchy would’ve wanted to come today. He didn’t know Goop’s friend at all.

But he’d like to think so, anyway.

Goop guessed he would have probably loved it. The guy would have made it really, really fun. At least that’s what Goop thought.

…

He approached the grave and set the little paper plate of cake in front of it.

“... Wish you could’ve been there.” He said quietly, and stood there for a few long moments just looking at the engravings on the stone before reaching out to touch it.

“Take care, buddy.”

Then he turned and walked back to his partner.

…

The stone was smooth and cold.

There were little grooves and bumps where the letters were carved. The surface was a little uneven, but only to the touch.

…

Kid reached out for his hand when Goop came back.

“...you ready?”

“Yeah.” Goop said, reaching for Kid’s hand and interlocking his fingers with his.

“Let’s go home.”

#mayem #undertale #RP log #the earth is not a cold dead place #kid #goop #sans #papyrus #the whole cast

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