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#Nile: *concerned chewing*
luminarai · 2 years
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booker bringing the worrying vibes to movie night with the bros
bonus because his expression felt accurate for this too
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1K notes · View notes
multifandommilfs · 1 month
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Our Last Hundred Years
Pairing: Andy x reader
Wc: 2377
Angst, fluff ps sorry Nile
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It had been long since Andy took off to the pharmacy, way too long. It caused worry to brew in your chest. It was usually after a battle that Andy would stay as close as possible to the team to check in on everyone time and time again. Damn it, you buried your face in your palms, paranoia gnawing at the pit of your stomach. What if another wave of army storms in right now? You grit your teeth in frustration, forcing your mind to listen to Nile and Booker's faint conversation. 
 
The door to the old mine creaked open, natural light pouring in. You leapt up instantaneously, giving your teammates an open palm telling them to wait. One step, two steps, you made sure your gait was light as you unsheathed a knife. Yeah, it could very well be Andy, but at this point, you weren't ready to take any risks. 
 
The door to the open space was a narrow flight of stairs and a blind spot just off to the sight where you hid. Thump, thump, thump came in quick succession. In the darkness, your heart sped, the grip on your blade tightened. 
 
The brown coat was what you saw first which was enough to make you launch at her, encasing her in an embrace with relief. She yelped at the blitz attack, body tensing when your arms wrapped around her neck. "Ow shit." She swore softly when your elbows hit her shoulder and you pulled back quickly. Ow? You hadn't heard that since forever. 
 
"Hey, I'm taking Andy out! Just outside!" You hollered while scrutinizing the woman before you. 
 
"Sounds like a bad date!" A round of snickers came from them, and you rolled your eyes. "Says the person who doesn't have a date." 
 
"Ooh! Burnt!" Nile said, but you were dragging Andy upstairs by her arm, hearing her sharp inhalation was more concerning than her absence. Though it might be undetected when it came to others, you had been with her since the birth of everything, you knew her, you could have her tell you what she held back with a look. That's why your glance at her wasn't returned.
 
You chose a shrouded spot where greenery thrived. 
 
"You have something to tell me." You said with arms akimbo, but let your features remain lax, so she wouldn't feel so asphyxiated by your demand. Nevertheless, she chewed on her lower lip, eyes meeting yours momentarily before they darted back to the grassy ground. She couldn't tell you about it. 
 
You let out a breath, dropping your hands from your waist. "Andy..." Your fingers tipped her chin up softly, her gaze remained everywhere but you. "Look at me please?" You manoeuvred into her line of sight, luring her eyes to you. It was then that you noticed a sheen of tears gleaming in her irises, the downcast of her lips. "I'm worried, I have been worried, will you please tell me what's wrong?" 
 
She let out a bitter laugh, brows furrowing as the tears thickened, threatening to fall. You had always been her weakness and her strength, but most importantly, you were the one she trusted to ravage her mind after Qunyh. 
 
She had to tell you but her lower lip wobbled in fear even when she was mentally preparing herself. A glance to the entrance of the old mine and around it proved that there were no traces of eavesdroppers, so her gaze trailed back to you. 
 
"I went to get medicine for my wounds." She winced at how indirect she was being but you were listening intently. 
 
"What are you saying?" 
 
"My wounds, i- they-" She squeezed her eyes shut. How could something she had desired for so long become something so dreadful? "They won't heal." Her voice turned into a whisper because even she couldn't believe the fact. Six thousand years she lived, and suddenly her immortality was stripped away by the stab of a knife. 
 
When she peeled open her eyelids, she was met with a deep furrow cutting in between your brows. "T- that's ridiculous, no, no, that's not supposed to happen, Andy, are you sure you're not misreading it?" 
 
"I'm sure." She saw how tears prickled your eyes, with red rims already forming around your eyes.
 
"Let me see it." You said firmly and scuffed your foot as if you were losing balance. Before she could even reply, you tore the coat off her shoulder, immediately sensing the faint scent of metallic. Your eyes were next to see the damage, red seeping out of the fresh bandage. 
 
"Okay?" She asked, shrugging the coat back up as you staggered back in disbelief. 
 
"No." Your exhale was shaky, and your knees dropped you onto the ground. Six thousand years together and you were left with less than a hundred with her. It was laughable but your mind could only connect to the newest member of the team. Shit has been falling ever since her arrival. 
 
"Is it the girl? Is it Nile? It was yesterday- yesterday when she really accepted herself and today- " Tears gathered in your eyes as you dared a look at her.
 
"I don't know, darling." Her arms wrapped tightly around her midriff. She paused before her eyes drew to you. "We'll figure it out." 
 
"It's her and you know it! Ever since she came, shit's been going down the fucking hill!" Your voice rose, and Andy glanced at the basement door in nervousness. "Stop it!" She hissed.
 
"She's leaving." Your demand made Andy's gaze flit to you in shock. "No, that's- she has nowhere to turn to, y/n!" Her voice turned into a yell because you were slamming the door open to the mine, heading straight for Nile with Andy on your tail, shouting something. But you were mad, heart pounding, seeing red, mad. 
 
In a quick motion, you dragged the girl up by her shoulders, slamming her against the wall and yelling something you couldn't hear yourself say. All you could remember was Andy telling you, "It won't heal," and the look in her eyes: fright. It was enough to kick up your defence. 
 
"You did this! You did this!" The words mustn't be yours, your voice was never that raw.
 
Then you were flying back too fast for your legs to catch up. There was pressure around your shoulders. A sharp pain jabbed the crook of your knee and you kneeled. Andy held you in a vice grip on the ground as you thrashed until you ran out of strength. With wetness on your face, you sobbed as Andy hoisted you into her lap. 
 
"I can't live without you, I don't know how to live without you." You pushed your face into the crook of her neck, breathing raggedly. 
 
"You'll live-" she started softly but you cut her off. "I'll exist! I- I don't live without y- you. I won't have a fucking life, I won't have anything, I can't d-do anything!" Your hands gripped her coat. It was an old coat you got for her, it was one of the first coats that were made, but it was still too new to preserve the memory of Andy when you had thousands of years left to live. 
 
Booker could only comfort Nile and stare at the both of you. He was never really a witness to your emotions, having avoided them after he left his family. But here Andy was whispering something in your ear as you held on as if your life were vanishing before your eyes. 
 
The following weeks were never the same, even after the 'experiment for the greater good fiasco', and Booker's hundred year excommunication. You were pulling Andy out of Nile's proximity in hopes that she'd regain her immortality. Joe and Nicky were well-informed of your feud with Nile. They were all adamant it would blow over, but there came a day when enough was enough. 
 
Today was that day. 
 
"You've got to stop this." Nicky leant against the kitchen counter, a small smile on his lips as you busied yourself with dinner. 
 
You made no sound, moving from the stew to put dirty dishes into the sink. "Am I getting the silent treatment too?" Nicky spun you over by your waist when you passed him so that you couldn't avoid him anymore. 
 
You huffed. "You want me to stop cooking? Fine, you take over." You shoved a ladle in his hands, but he crushed you into a hug. "You shouldn't hurt others because you're hurting." 
 
Your fingers balled up his shirt as your chin adjusted to a more comfortable position. He swayed a little, arms tied around your waist. "It isn't Nile's fault that Andy is now a mortal." 
 
"It is, I think it is. You would do the same if it were Joe." 
 
"For a while, yes, I would presume. But you cannot create an answer to an unanswerable question. Nile is not the answer y/n. There is no answer to why we lose our immortality." 
 
He heard you sniffle. "The stew is boiling." You pulled away slowly, putting out the flame and moving to wash the dirty dishes.
 
"Okay?" He asked when he joined you, pulling you in to kiss your cheek before taking his fair share of dishes. You looked at him, teary-eyed, letting yourself work automatically. "What happens if I don't know? Andy, she's out there right now, with Nile and Joe, and-" you grabbed the kitchen knife, slathering it with dish soap.
 
 "And- I can't function. It's not like I will die but how do you function with the knowledge that you'll lose everything in the next few decades? Not even a century, just five or six decades and she'll-" The blade slipped, cutting your finger as you hissed in pain, garnering Nicky's attention to your wound. Blood seeped out of it, a sight you've seen a thousand times.
 
Just then, the house bustled with energy as they barged in. Andy and Nile laughing at Joe's joke as they dumped groceries onto the table. Your attention was diverted, and the pain subsided when you had to catch rolling apples and oranges before they hit the ground from the toppled paper bags. 
 
"Watch your head." Andy said softly, resting her hand on the edge of the table when you ducked out from beneath the table. 
 
And you had to savour her affections when there was not enough time to accept them absentmindedly. She saw the exhaustion on your features, the worry that was wordlessly telling her to stop caring about you so that you wouldn't have to miss her that much. 
 
Frustration built up in her, she wanted to care with the time she had left. "Come here for a second?" She requested. 
 
You wasted no time in avoiding her, heading in Nile's direction. God knows you owed her some clarity even if you didn't forgive her. 
 
It was a split second touch, Andy's fingers slipped to yours and you winced in pain. "Fuck!"Your hand was now cradled in another, close to your chest. 
 
The chit-chatter dropped in an instant, everyone's heads creaked in your direction like a nightmare, their widened eyes hovering. "Fuck." You whispered under your breath when you understood the situation. 
 
Then, unexpected to yourself, a sliver of happiness curled up your lips just when everyone started panicking and crowding around you. 
 
Andy was gripping your hand as blood slipped from your finger to touch the back of her palm, leaving a trail of red. Nile, in shock, was left behind when Nicky and Joe, with worry present in their expressions, mumbled something, then closed their eyes, praying and begging for your wound to heal. But it wasn't healing, not in the least when Andy's grip tightened and more blood seeped from the cut. 
 
You were smiling, lipless, as your eyes drifted to Andy's frustrated ones, and you wondered if that was the expression you were wearing when she became mortal. 
 
"I'm sorry." Nile said aloud but it only caught your attention. You turned to her, remembering her pariah because of your doing. "I mean, it's me, isn't it? I'm doing this, I'm causing all your... immortality, I'm..." Tears surfaced in her eyes. "I'm killing you guys." 
 
"No- no. No, Nile, you're not killing us, and you shouldn't be sorry." You paused, glancing at Nicky for affirmation he granted. "I am the one who should be sorry for making you the answer to an unanswerable question. So I'm, I'm so sorry, Nile, for casting you out of our family." You breathed, ignoring the tickle of pain on your finger, and continued. "Being a grownup, I expected more of myself than to outcast a fellow soldier, and I know you do too. I was emotional and irrational during the unexpected. So I owe everyone an apology." You let your gaze linger on each member of your family, your troop, "I'm sorry, Nile, for not treating you the way I should've. Nicky, Joe, I'm sorry for having both of you in the middle of my problems. I'm sorry, sweetheart, for not being more accepting of your change." 
 
Tears dripped down Nile's cheeks. "Thank you. Thank you for that apology." She gritted out through her emotions, wiping away her tears on her sleeve. Nicky and Joe gave you a watery laugh of relief while Andy's nails dug lightly into your wrist, reminding you of your wound. "So, um, I'm mortal." You shook your head in disbelief. "What do I do?" 
 
"Well, first of all, don't outcast me again." Nile said, and you broke into watery laughs. 
 
"No, I won't." You assured her, then turned to Andy, her sad eyes desperately searched yours, tears filling up. "What do we do?" 
 
"We die." You gave her a soft smile. "We get our dream, and we die, together. And when we do," you swivelled over to the rest of your team momentarily. "You make sure to bury us together in the same grave, six feet deep, or I swear I'll haunt your asses until you die. And god knows how long that'll take." 
 
Wet laughter filled the room. Andy took her bottom lip in, nodding in acceptance. "That's the best plan I've heard in six thousand years." 
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materassassino · 12 days
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The Old Guard Dæmon AU
Probably done before, but I wanted to write one myself, so I thought I'd make a guide to the Guard and their respective dæmons, to go with the fic I just posted for it.
Andy: Hwehnto (Przewalski's horse)
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Yeah, a wolf or some other predator might fit, but let's face it, the supreme horse girl should have a horse for a dæmon. *h₂weh₁n̥to- is Proto-Indo-European for "wind", butchered into a modernly comprehensible Hwehnto/Hwento. He is a very serious and stoic dæmon, much like Andy, but his outbursts of emotion are striking. He is vicious in battle and will not hesitate to attack both human and dæmon, if necessary.
I did also consider a tarpan for Andy, but there is literally one photo in existence of one. I generally assume that actually it would be some European wild horse so old it doesn't exist anymore, and we've lost all modern knowledge of it. So Przewalski's horse will do.
Quynh: Minh Nhat (white-lipped pit viper)
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Of course our viper would have a viper! Small, quick and venomous. He doesn't have a name yet because, frankly, I don't speak Vietnamese and I want him to have a cool name like most dæmons have. His name is Minh Nhat, which means "bright sunlight", in contrast with Quynh's name. More outgoing than most dæmons, will talk casually with other humans, and is prone to little acts of thievery (thimbles, small nuts, little trinkets), mostly out of delight with the object than any malice. Very tiny! Likes spending his time tucked up Quynh's sleeve. Will not hesitate to bite a human should the need arise, but tucks himself in Quynh's collar or scarf when in battle.
I was torn between this and a red-headed krait, but ultimately went to an actual viper (well, pit viper, close enough).
Joe: Tayyib (scimitar oryx)
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(Oddly difficult to find a photo of one alone, with no radio collar, that hasn't been shot by some bastard trophy hunter).
Tayyib (named that way for obvious reasons and chosen by Joe's mother's dæmon) represents everything poetic and artistic about Joe, and is calm and wise. Dislikes fighting, but will if he must: watch out for those horns! Yes, he is a male dæmon, a rarity, another commonality Joe shares with Nicky. I wonder why? A very good listener who gives good advice.
I don't know why I decided on another ungulate for this hapless team (can they even go anywhere?), but I did. I figured a desert antelope of some kind would be good for Joe, and it was a toss-up between this and an addax. I admit I chose it just for the name.
Nicky: Bonamico (Luzon bleeding-heart dove)
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Geographically, it doesn't make sense. Symbolically? I had to. Bonamico is quiet, contemplative and kind, barely speaks except to Nicky, Joe or Tayyib, but is always concerned for those about him. He is far more nervous than Nicky, but stores a lot of knowledge, a trait he does share with Nicky. His favourite place to perch, other than Nicky's shoulder, is between Tayyib's horns (although occasionally he likes to sit on Joe's head). He does the scouting for the group, as the only bird dæmon.
This bird is the entire reason I made this damn AU. It's just too perfect. Look at this Catholic-ass bird!
Booker: Amandine (black rat)
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*wheezing* I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm not sorry.
Now, the problem with dæmons is that we have rat symbolism, which is of rats as dirty and sneaky, but we're also modern human beings that know perfectly well rats are cute, intelligent and affectionate creatures that make amazing pets. Amandine herself is mostly just shy and quiet, although she does like it when she gets the chance to roast Booker, but then again, who doesn't? She is their little reconnaissance expert, being sent in to buildings and small places to chew through wires and spy. She, unlike Booker, is always supremely well-groomed.
I did consider a ferret or stoat, something a little more noble, but I personally do love rats so much and so I wanted a positive rat dæmon, for once.
Nile: Dakarai (red wolf)
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I wanted to give Nile something supremely American, but she was in the Marines, and soldiers of most kinds tend to have dog dæmons, so no stereotypical birds. But Nile is also smart and quick-thinking, and family-oriented, so the red wolf made sense to me. Dakarai is loyal and far more serious than his human, a bit more cynical. Having been trained in a modern Armed Force, post-Geneva Convention, he's never touched another human being and has exclusively fought other dæmons. He is, of course, a good tracker.
Someone had to have a canine in this group. Might as well be Nile!
Bonus (under the cut for cockroach reasons):
James Copley: Vindemiatrix (common raven)
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The Odin symbolism of the knowledge-seeker raven, honestly. She perches in odd places, watches everything, and reports back. She is a secret-keeper and prone to keeping her own counsel, not interacting much with other dæmons. She, like Copley, misses his wife and her Pallas's cat dæmon something fierce.
Stephen Merrick: Unnamed (American cockroach)
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Need I say more? He deserves it.
Dr Meta Kozak: Unnamed (hagfish)
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A disgusting dæmon for a disgusting woman, who burrows into people's bodies and eats them from the inside out. She carries the horrid thing in a lightweight tank backpack, one of the many modern accomodations for people with water-dwelling dæmons.
Keane: Unnamed (Eastern black rhino)
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A beautifully noble dæmon, unfortunately wasted on a bastard.
Lykon: Unnamed (melanistic leopard)
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She was graceful, majestic and courteous, and absolutely breathtaking in battle. She would dispense affection to daemon and human alike, much like Lykon himself.
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xochiipillii · 3 months
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sobek x child! gn! reader
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Swimming Lessons.
(Sobek x Twin! GN! Reader)
The Egyptian god and new father Sobek teaches his two twin toddlers how to swim, starting with you!
It was particularly hot and sunny in Faiyum today. The midsummer sun was unrelenting, so much so that even the local crocodiles decided to dwell in the river that day, watching the proceedings with lazy eyes peering above the surface. The air was thick with the smell of dust, sand, and river mud. The Hawara pyramid loomed above the channel, though it provided no shade to retreat under.
Sweat dripped down the bronzed expanse of Sobek's back as he cast his golden eyes toward the water. His bare feet sunk into the silt of the riverbed, cool dark water lapping over his skin. The channel water was calm today, though that did little to calm his suspicions of water snakes or monitor lizards or Nile perch. Normally, these creatures would be inconsequential to such a god, able to compel fierce crocodiles with only a scalding glare and an utterance of his tongue. But, his children have yet to command such obedience from their subjects. They hadn't even fully grown into their scales yet.
At 16 months, Sobek's twins were still small and weak, little more than wobbling bundles of freckles and giggles. On their tanned shoulders and backs, emergences of reptilian scales found a similar pattern to their father's. Though they had yet to show any more signs of their godly heritage, Sobek was still proud of them.
"Alright, my little croclets," Sobek rumbled, his voice a comforting purr that echoed across the river. He tossed a stick into the water, satisfied with the lack of response from below. Stepping away from the mucky shore, he approached his twins in the reeds.
His little boy contentedly munched on an immature lotus stalk, while you were busy creating small mounds of slippery mud. Sobek, with a casual air, plucked the chewed-up stem from his son's mouth.
"Today, we're going to learn how to swim!" Sobek declared, the excitement in his voice contagious.
You and your little brother looked up with wide eyes at the sound of your father's voice. Your brother, though, was more concerned about the confiscated lotus, and his tiny lips trembled as Sobek continued. You, on the other hand, returned to your architectural endeavors, mud dripping down your small arms.
Your father continued, his booming voice and showmanship something you were deeply accustomed to. "Now, some may argue, 'Sobek! Your little ones are too young to swim!' But I beg to differ! For the offspring of The Lord of the Waterway carry the river in their veins, a birthright bestowed upon them by the oasis of Faiyum itself!"
With an air of theatricality, Sobek gestured dramatically toward the river, as if the water itself were a stage awaiting his divine command. The midsummer sun glistened on his skin, accentuating the regal aura that surrounded the god of the waterway.
Sobek continued his dramatics, his voice resonating over the hills and scattered palm trees with a force that even the birds found unsettling. Yet, you had long tuned it out, more entranced by the intricate mote you were trying to create around your mud pyramid.
"In the ages of our ancestors, we—hey, hey! Are you even listenin' to me?"
With a huff, you reluctantly tore your gaze away from your artistic endeavor, only to find your father's snout inches away from your button nose. His golden eyes bore into yours with an intensity that demanded focus. "I'm tryin' to give you both a pep talk here, and I'd appreciate the attention, aye?"
With all the cuteness and distraction your toddler self could muster, you giggled, extending a mud-covered hand to rest on your father's snout.
Sobek's stern expression softened at your endearing gesture. A chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound a blend of paternal pride and amusement. "Alright, little river architect, I suppose the charm offensive works."
He playfully nudged your hand with his snout, the mud smearing onto his scales. As he stood back up, he wiped off the mud with a short, dramatic gesture.
"Now, back to the grand announcement!" Sobek proclaimed, his voice carrying a hint of theatrical flair. "Swimming lessons commence!"
With a flourish, Sobek reached up to take off his atef crown, stepping over his toddler son to place it on a high branch where his mischievous and teething children could not get it. The crown gleamed under the harsh sun, a symbol of his godly authority temporarily set aside for the more pressing matter at hand – teaching his little ones the ways of the river.
You, engrossed in your architectural endeavor, were content to continue building sentries around your mud pyramid. However, your plans were abruptly interrupted as your father's strong hands scooped you up from under your arms. A whine escaped your lips as he lifted you, carrying you away from your mud-crafted masterpiece.
"Now, [Y/N], as the firstborn, it's your duty to show your brother the ropes," Sobek declared with pride, his steps deliberate as he moved toward the channel water. You kicked your chubby legs in a display of toddler disdain, wishing you could argue that being born three minutes earlier didn't necessarily make you the teacher.
Sobek, undeterred by your protest, maintained his firm hold as he waded into the water. Your brother, clutching another pilfered lotus stalk, observed the scene with wide eyes, curious about the impending swimming lesson.
As Sobek ventured deeper into the channel, the cool water embraced his legs, its refreshing touch a stark contrast to the blistering heat on the banks. In his secure grasp, you squirmed, your chubby legs kicking in a futile attempt at rebellion. The water's coolness sent a shiver through your tiny frame, the temperature difference momentarily discomforting.
"Now, my Nile niblet, watch closely," Sobek urged his voice a blend of encouragement and excitement. "Feel the water, let it become a part of you."
With deliberate care, he gently lowered you into the water until your legs were completely submerged. Another shiver passed through you as the cool sensation enveloped your small form. You whined softly, your small muddied fingers gripping your father's warm chest as you stared into the murky water, the mysteries below hidden from your curious gaze.
"There you go, my little river sprite," Sobek praised, his voice carrying across the water like a gentle breeze. "Now, let's see those little legs of yours do their thing."
With that, Sobek began to guide your movements, your stout legs attempting to find purchase in the gentle current. You felt the water supporting you, and with each wobbly kick, the uncertainty dwindled.
Sobek, the proud father with the closest thing he could get to a smile on his crocodile head, adjusted his grip. He held you securely against his chest, your little legs finding purchase on either side of his sturdy torso. With one hand supporting you, the other reached down and scooped up some water, letting the cool river water cascade over your head. The refreshing sensation wet your hair and face, mirroring the tender moments when he bathed you and your brother.
"Now, little Nile nymph, feel the river's touch. Let it embrace you," Sobek whispered, his voice a soothing rumble against the backdrop of gently flowing water.
With gentle movements, he began to wash off the mud caked onto your hands and arms from your earlier excursions. The water trickled down your hair and your eyelids as your father scrubbed between each tiny finger. The tickling sensation of Sobek's hands rubbing your fingertips elicited joy, and you couldn't help but giggle, kicking your feet that were still partially submerged in the water.
Sobek's eyes, gleaming with paternal pride, met yours as he finished up his gentle washing. "There you go, my little crocodile-in-trainin', clean as a whistle, you are."
He hugged you close to him, pressing your cheek against his damp chest. The weight of his snout resting on the top of your head was a comforting embrace, and you sighed contentedly.
Then, he pulled away slightly, as if remembering the task at hand. With a tender smile, he lowered you back into the water, this time up to just above your belly button. The cool river embraced you once more, and your tiny hands explored the ripples on the surface.
"Now," he murmured with a deep, rumbling voice. "Let's see if my little one knows how to float."
With a gentle nudge, Sobek encouraged you to lie back in the water. Your chubby arms stretched out, flailing momentarily, fingers splaying and creating playful ripples as you adjusted to the sensation of floating. Sobek, with a watchful eye, supported your back with a large hand.
"There you go, my river sprite," Sobek encouraged, his deep voice resonating with pride. "Feel the water beneath you, supporting you. Just like that."
You basked in the sensation of weightlessness, the gentle current rocking you back and forth. Sobek's eyes, attentive and filled with paternal warmth, watched every movement. Slowly, he let his hand off your back, leaving you floating on your own. His hands stayed beneath you, a safety net of reassurance, as you figured out how to keep afloat.
After a few moments, Sobek, with a beaming smile, scooped you up from the water. "Well done, my Nilebud!" he said with a burst of raucous laughter, nuzzling your tiny cheek with his snout. You giggled as he continued, holding you up above his face.
"You are such a natural," he cooed, his ancient accent adding a melodic touch to the words. "A true child of the Nile, just like your old man." Sobek's golden eyes, radiant with pride, met yours as he lowered you and cradled you in his strong arms.
He began wading back to the shore, where the little boy was waiting, chewing on his lotus stem. "Now, let's see how your mischievous brother fares with the art of floating," Sobek declared with playful anticipation, more than ready to continue these swimming lessons.
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newspestcontrols · 1 month
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To conclude, specialist parasite control companies participate in a critical duty in shielding both your home and your health and wellness. Through identifying and also doing away with pest infestations, securing your property from harm, and also reducing health and wellness dangers connected with insects, these services offer complete defense as well as satisfaction. Purchasing professional parasite control is a positive step towards maintaining a risk-free, well-balanced, and pest-free setting for you and your adored ones.
All American Pest Control
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Pest Control Oviedo
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petemiller0 · 2 years
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8 Dangerous Pests That Can Harm Your Health or Property
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The problem with pests can be a major issue for homeowners. Even spiders, which might not cause much damage, can be annoying because you have to clean their webs every time before it builds up and makes your home look shabby. Other types of pests can do serious harm if left unchecked. You have to immediately get rid of them if you don't want to risk severe property damage or worse, deadly diseases to your family and pets. However, there is hope: with proper pest control you can ensure everyone's safety by eliminating these dangerous pests from your property. 
Rats and Mice
Rodents can do a lot of damage to your home: they chew through furniture, walls and wires with their gnawing teeth and nesting habits. You need rodent control because these pesky creatures are constantly gnawing to trim their incisors. What's even scarier, they grow quickly — increasing the risk of spreading diseases. Their urine and feces can spread:
Leptospirosis
Salmonella
Lymphocytic choriomeningitis (LCMV) 
Tularemia 
Hantavirus
Mosquitoes and Ticks
These tiny bugs are terrible far beyond their size. Not only do they bite, causing itching and irritation, but they can spread diseases, too. Ticks carry diseases that could make your pets sick, while mosquitoes can carry and spread a whole host of diseases, such as: 
Malaria
West Nile virus
Zika virus
Dengue 
Yellow fever
Bedbugs
Indeed you shouldn't let these bedbugs bite. They suck your blood to feed on you, leaving you itchy and with unsightly welts. They grow and multiply quickly, spreading from your bed to your couch, clothes, linen, carpets and where not. They will also commonly leave the following behind:
Shed exoskeleton
Bedbug eggs
Bodily excrement
Specks of dried blood
Termites
The termite colony is a small but terrible insect that can cause structural damage to your property. They should never be ignored when you see signs of their activity, as they feed on cellulose and weaken building materials such as wood or paper, causing billions in damages each year!
Flies
Flies are pesky little bugs that can be bothersome when they hover around you and your food. However, it's important to stay vigilant in swatting them because flies can carry several diseases, such us:
E.coli
Vibrio
Salmonella
Shigella
Roaches
These harmful bugs contaminate food, causing Salmonellosis and spreading other illnesses. As nocturnal creatures, they hide behind walls or crevices, increasing their population without you noticing.
Ant Colonies
If you see one of them somewhere in your home, it means there's thousands more hiding because ants thrive in large colonies. Their presence in your kitchen and pantry can result in contamination of your food supply. Certain breeds, like fire ants, are known to kill, while large carpenter ants can damage building foundations.
Raccoons
Raccoons can be one of the most tenacious pests around, so don't try to take them out by yourself. These wildlife creatures seek shelter in crawl spaces and attics. They can be very aggressive—and their bites can make you severely ill.
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These are just a small sample of the dangerous pests that can infest your property and threaten your health. The best way to handle them is by calling professionals like to exterminate them.
Check out this article for some additional ideas!
15 Common House Bugs and How to Identify Them, According to Insect Experts
Bugs belong outside—but they somehow always make their way into a crack or crevice you weren’t expecting. And when they do, spotting one in your home can range from eye-roll inducing to majorly freaky. The good news: Most house bugs won’t harm you. In fact, they’re likely more afraid of you than you are of them.
You may notice more insects lurking about during a major season change, after a heavy rain sets in, or if you have food lying around—and even though most bugs shouldn’t concern you, you probably want to identify and get rid of them ASAP for your own peace of mind.
So, we turned to several entomologists and pest control experts to help us round up a list of creepy crawlers you can find living in your home. From invasive species to weird-looking spiders to brightly-colored beetles, here are the most common house bugs to know, how to identify them, and whether or not you should worry if you spot one.
Here https://www.prevention.com/life/g30548446/common-house-bugs/
Source: https://petemiller0.blogspot.com/2022/09/8-dangerous-pests-that-can-harm-your.html
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The Impact of Religion and the Mother Goddess on Human Culture
Notes: This essay is compiled from a number of sources ranging from books, university publications, youtube videos, and museum articles. This essay is also not just about Egypt, like the rest of this blog is––it concerns early civilizations ranging from Britains to Harappans.
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As we all know, religion inhabits much of our daily life in modern times, and even more so in ancient times. The origins of our existence have been explained many times over with many different ideas––how these ideas are presented to the world and the common man influences the actions of the people and government who follow that religion.
The oldest religions in the world tend to worship a Mother Goddess––a feminine figure that represents the ability to create life which, for a while, was confined entirely to the efforts of women and the miracle of childbirth. We know very little about these people beyond what the archaeological record can tell, as there is no written language for pre-history hominids who created the first works of art; women, with full hips and breasts, carved into wood and stone. What we do know about them is that they had forms of empathy––healed femur bones from old, preserved skeletons reveal that people healed from grievous injuries that, in many other species, would mark death. Jaws, hunched in like the pursed lips of old men, were also found without their teeth, but still living to an impressive age of around 80. Someone had to physically chew this person's food, and they did, for what could've been decades. This shows that same pattern; a tribe that fed, clothed, and took care of someone who otherwise would not have survived on their own.
All of this points not only to intelligence in early hominids, but also a form of empathy that some people even today lack in our society––a society that doesn't worship a Mother Goddess, whose origins in humanity are entirely different from the beliefs of the first humans.
The Sumerian civilization is among the oldest, including the four civilizations birthed in cradles of humanity––the Harappan civilization along the Indus Valley river, Mesopotamian culture along the Euphrates––or the fertile crescent––, as well as Egypt along the Nile and the rivers in China. This topic of Sumerian religion, the changes it went through, and the effect that had on its' people, are discussed in great detail in the book 'The Alphabet Versus the Goddess' by Leonard Shlain, but I will attempt to summarize the religious history of Sumeria and Mesopotamia.
When the first towns and cities began to prop up around the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, the people who lived there worshipped a wide pantheon of Gods like many of the other first civilizations. Their creation myth involves the work of a primeval mother Goddess named Namma, who created humanity. These people who lived under this creation myth, this belief that they were created out of nothing and out of love, allowed for times of relative peace, as well as a rapid growth in art, structure, and other such refinements of city life. Later on, however, this idea was obstructed by a rising Babylonian culture coming into the fertile crescent. These people believed in a much more gruesome birth of humanity, and is a strikingly, and horrifying, difference from the myths of early Sumerians.
The Babylonian creation myth was written or told as a way of confirming Marduk as the main God of the world. This story is called Enuma Elish, and acted as a way to legitimize Marduk replacing Enlil, the previous God King. The telling of it occurred during the Kassite inhabitation of Babylon.
Tiamat, the Goddess of the Sea (salty water) mated with her husband Apsu, a God who represented fresh water. From this several Gods emerged in couplets. Most were boisterous and loud, as young children are, producing so much noise that Apsu was incensed to destroy them. He was stopped soon by his wife, Tiamat, who urged him to exhibit more patience; a request he did not heed. Their sons soon heard of this danger and, in fear of death, called upon the god Ea to help them. Ea was an incredibly resourceful God, and put the angered Apsu to sleep with a spell. They killed the sleeping God and stole his vizier, Mummu. After this, Ea birthed his own child with his consort, Damkina. This is the origin of Marduk.
Marduk was the tallest and the mightiest of all the Gods, who held power to control the four winds, a power given by the God Anu. Anu told him to let the winds whirl; it created a storm that picked up dust from the earth, the winds roaring loud enough to antagonize the usually patient Tiamat. Other Gods faced this same irritation and urged Tiamat to take action––to slay down the God, Marduk.
Another telling of this story has a slightly different timeline, that tells a significantly different story––instead of Ea and lesser Gods killing Apsu, Apsu is killed by Marduk, which directs Tiamat's anger more reasonably to Marduk.
When she comes to face Marduk on the battlefield, she has with her eleven monsters created by the Mother Goddess for this quest. While Ea tries to find a way to end this confrontation with magic spells, he is eventually told that it isn't exactly possible, and thus Marduk puts forth an offer that the other Gods take. He will face the Goddess Tiamat, and if he should win, he would be the King of all Gods. This battle is long and difficult, but eventually Marduk does win in a horrifying way. He blows massive gusts of wind down Tiamat's mouth, swelling her stomach and abdomen so massively she appears to be a woman in the final stages of pregnancy. While she is thoroughly and painfully stretched with Marduk's wind, he slays her with an arrow down her gullet, killing a woman who had the image of the feminine creation of life, an ending violently estranged from the myth of a mother Goddess creating things by her own magic, and not the death of others.
Once Tiamat is slain, her corpse is large, and Marduk puts it to use. He stretches her skin out to become the sky. Her pierced eyes, heavy with tears, are the origins of the Euphrates and the Tigris, flooded with her crying. Her tail is made into the Milky Way. Her split head, torn by the heavy club of Marduk, is used to make the mountains, and her body created the earth. He pricked her breasts in many places for the tributaries of the rivers. From her blood Marduk creates humans in a disturbingly dark way, a stark difference––humans made by magic, versus humans made by the murder of a Goddess mirroring the image of a pregnant woman.
As God-King, Marduk received complaints from lesser Gods that they had to toil on the earth themselves to create their own tributes, taken care of by worshippers. To remedy this, Marduk decides to create humans. He singled out Tiamat's favorite son, Kingu, who ruled with her after her husband's death, and accused him of instigating Tiamat's rage. He placed all blame on this one God, freeing everyone else of the blame but Kingu. Marduk then ordered his father, Ea, to knead the flesh and blood of Kingu's executed form, this sacrifice, molding it like clay in his hands. After the images of many humans were created, Marduk sentenced them to toil on Tiamat's corpse for all their lives in order to create offerings and worship for the Gods.
This violent origin creates a culture indebted to its' gods, forever attempting to repent from the sins of their past, the gruesomeness of their creation, to make up for Kingu's sacrifice. Compared to the simple origins of the mother Goddess Nammu, the people who worshipped her in Sumer didn't have this responsibility––they were created of love. But Babylonians lived forever attempting to make up for their own creations, a theme that is reflected clearly in Christianity. A savior, and worshippers forever trying to repent for their own existence.
This story also reflects the growth of monetary gain in a society. For example, the Indus Valley civilization on the Indus river had no such array of Gods that required tributes so often like that. It is hard to say what exactly the people of Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro truly believed in, as we have yet to decipher their written language, but archaeological evidence shows no presence of temples for Gods in any of the cities. Instead, the cities are laid out in a straight, clearly preplanned manner that allowed wind to channel through the streets like air conditioning. There were no ways for these city-states to hold immense power over the people, as there was no reason that would excuse the abuse put upon lower-class citizens; there were no violent 'Gods' to which such offerings were necessary, meaning the class system most likely worked in a very different way to that of Babylonia, who had massive temples. The creation and building of these temples fuelled the Mesopotamian economy greatly, as money that was collected in taxes was actually put to use, not stored up and saved like what can happen in a capitalistic society. It's the difference between a city built for its' people or a city built for its' gods, and, in extension, the god-Kings that ruled on earth. Something interesting to note as well, is that the Indus Valley civilization didn't have any weapons or mass wars––as far as we know––in its' history from 5,000 BC to 1500 BC. There could be other reasons for this, but I believe it may have something to do with the feminine cult religion and the absence of temples.
There is a similar theme in Egyptian culture, surprisingly. Egypt is known as an ancient civilization that had forward-thinking rights for women and men, including divorce proceedings and the ability to hold a job and property. Like Sumer, its original creation myth dealt mainly with the creative, coming-together of powerful forces; this time two women, something that very rarely happens in religion. There are no male Gods that inspire or order the two Goddesses––they act alone, and of their own volition. This tale is one of the oldest creation myths we've found yet in Egypt, dating all the way back to the Early Dynastic Period of the Old Kingdom.
Nekhbet was the Goddess of Upper Egypt, a vulture Goddess (whose imagery and meaning we will discuss later). Wadjet was the serpent Goddess of Lower Egypt. These two Goddesses were primordial deities, existing before the creation of earth. They emerged from the waters of chaos, which was thought to be all that the world was back then, bringing with them land and air, and eventually the loving creations of humans. Like cobras that twist around each other into a double helix, the Egyptians were intrinsically entwined with the Nile, an image that is reflected even in modern times, with the symbol of two entwined snakes being the symbol for healing, often displayed in hospitals, and the formation of DNA in its ladder-like structure.
It may seem a little strange that the two Goddesses who created the earth––in this Divine Feminine mythology––are represented by a cobra and a vulture, but in Egyptian society, that was simply what they were.
In hieroglyphics, vultures denote a woman. They are in the spelling of mother, of daughter, of wife, and of Goddesses. In fact, the word mother is written the exact same way as vulture. These birds appeared to have foresight to the Egyptians as well––they circled their prey before a meal was assured, remarking a sort of prophecy. They also denoted a divine manifestation of death, an important trait to share with the goddess Nekhbet, who carried exceptional power.
The snake was also a feminine symbol, though strangely explained by the Egyptians, whose ideas on life differ greatly from the modern, more monotheistic view (Christianity, Islam, and Judaism). The sinuous like movements of its' 'step' mimicked the swaying of a woman's hips in a dance, evocative and nubile, and her movements in the throes of passion mimicked a similar serpentine state. Snakes resembled the meandering shapes of rivers, the roots of trees and plants, and the umbilical cord of mammalians. They live deep within the earth, making their home within the Great Mother, and they appeared to live forever, shedding their skin whenever renewal was required. This specifically was a trait revered by Egyptians, who had a great love and zest for life, and wished to live forever. Renewal connected snakes to the Nile's inundation and the sun's revival every morning after its' death the night before. Hieroglyphs come into play with snakes, as well––the hieroglyphs for serpent are the same as the hieroglyphs for Goddess.
It can be difficult to say how exactly this myth was thought of during the Old Kingdom. This is an incredibly old myth, and by the time writing started to really take hold of the country, the myth was replaced with a new, more masculine one. While it wasn't as violent as the Babylonian creation myth, it contained an incredible amount of masculine energy. Female goddesses faded from the light as a particular two Gods shot up in popularity––Amun and Ra, or Amun-Re (there are many different spellings, including Atum, Re, Aten, etc.).
There is an incredibly theory put forth in the previously mentioned book "The Alphabet Versus the Goddess" that inspired me to truly think about the connection between religion and society, as well as the impact of writing on the ideas of feminine and masculine energies within that society. Leonard Shlain, the author of the book, posits that "... any written method of communication skews society toward masculine vales."
The new, masculine myth that took the place of the Goddesses Nekhbet and Wadjet was a little more simple––Atum stood on a mound of earth, surrounded by the primordial sea. Atum masturbated, and from his seed sprouted the Ennead––nine deities making up a family of powerful Gods and Goddesses. This story was found to have its origins nearly 1500 years after the myth of Nekhbet and Wadjet.
So how did this change in mythology reflect in society?
Again, it is hard to say. In the Old Kingdom, Pharaohs tended to their people, and their was a feudal-type system ruled by an all-powerful King. Art flourished in the time, and even today many people claim that the art of Egypt peaked in the Old/Middle Kingdom and fizzled out during the New Kingdom. Another notable change is after the invasion of the Hyksos––and an occupation that lasted only a little over a century, one that was despised heavily––Egypt began to take on a new sort of mindset. Pharaohs now went out beyond the borders of Egypt, even up into Canaan and completing quests of great magnitude, erecting monuments in honor of their victory. Such behavior is found more in violent, masculine-powered societies than anywhere else.
Viking and Medieval UK faced this same problem––women were hardly considered people during this age, unable to own their own land or divorce. This was a masculine honoring society, praising the violence of colonizing and shunning empathy. There was a need within the people to 'spread their greatness' to others, but in reality, the greatness was nothing more than violence; a theme also seen in the Avatar: The Last Airbender, as the Fire nation brainwashed its' child citizens to believe the Fire Nation had a right to the rest of the world. I'm afraid I have little else to say on the topic of Europe because that is not my area of study, but the similarities are easy to draw.
Our society today is, despite our best efforts, a masculine-drawn society. Our God is chiefly referred to as 'He' and representation in our media for women is scant beyond superficial characters, as men, who rule most of the business in the world, can have trouble seeing women as something more than a pretty, talking toy. This, of course, isn't universal, but it is incredibly common and would be more so if women weren't trying to make a stand. Like Babylonians, Christians are born with innate guilt, attempting to make up and repent for the sacrifice of their savior, another masculine form of a deity. Like Atum-worshipping Egyptians, our world was created alone at the hands of an all powerful male God.
But, unlike Sumerians, we never had a Mother Goddess. Unlike the earliest myths of Egypt, the world was not birthed at the hands of a fertile woman. And, unlike early Egypt, we are not happy. Our 'life after death' is somewhere unlike Earth, somewhere that is perfect, unlike earth. But for Egyptians? Life after death was earth, just another form of it, and life in that afterlife was just the same as life during life. Whether or not that has anything to do with our method of governing, our economy, or our massive differences in religion––there is no evidence. It is a simple outlook on life that is only translated in holy texts and the remains of dead people, and dead people very rarely talk.
Like most things, religion isn't contained to a Sunday every week or to Muslim prayer mats every day––such things spread into our food, our way of life, our infrastructure, how we respect and treat each other, and how we treat the Earth. I believe it is important to remember that the oldest Gods are things seen every day––the water, the earth, the sky, the sun, and the stars. These are what influenced the first humans, the first beings to care for one another in old age, to heal what was thought to be forever broken, and to take up the mantle of kindness for each other without the threat of a violent God condemning them. Many modern people base their ethics on the threat of punishment from God(s), in which case we can all learn from atheists, who continue to do good without threat, simply because they believe it is right to help others, just as our ancestors did.
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leviathan-dee · 3 years
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Hiya! I'd like to request some awkward Dadgil moments in Nico's van, hehe. Thank you! <3
K!! Thank you for the request bean! I know how much you love the found family trope and family fics, so hopefully this somewhat sates that need ❤
Accumulating Problems
Dadgil (Vergil, Nero, mention of Nico)
Word Count: 1190
It has been almost a month since the Sparda twins returned from the Hyperborean wasteland that is hell, sinking their roots back to Earth and acclimatizing to normal human life. The first problem was, Vergil had barely any semblance of what a normal human was, let alone how to communicate like one.
Talking with one was almost unfathomable.
Yet here he was, posterior placed upon an aged leather armchair in Nico’s van, attempting to alleviate the tension in the air with… small talk.
This is where problem number two arose. The person he was attempting to converse with was his son, Nero, a very tempestuous youngling with many bones to pick. Every so often, Vergil sneaked a glance at the devil hunter, observing how his brow creased with every bump in the road that Nico hit along the way, a familiar wrinkle forming between his silver eyebrows. Nero seemed to be munching on a bag of peanuts, the crunches resounding in the tension thick air. That was a bizarrely comforting sound.
Vergil couldn’t help but stare at times, the realisation of his own living flesh and blood sitting beside him weighing down on his shoulders like a bag of bricks. Undoubtedly, the strangeness would never leave. The fact that Nero looked like a carbon copy of himself, his strength reflecting similarities beyond appearance, would feel like he was gawking into a mirror.
Admittedly, Vergil had ogled for too long, Nero noticing his father’s turned head, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
“So erm-" shuffling his weight back in the futon, Nero directed his attention to his paternal figure.
“I apologise.” There was a long pause after Vergil's reply, the air growing thicker with anxious energy.
“What for?”
“It is... strange. You have my face.” Vergil cursed under his breath for the lack of tact in the comment. But it was the only way he could express his current tumultuous emotions. Nero had his face. His strength. His endurance. Even his mocking attitude amongst an enemy littered field. Nero was definitely Vergil's son, and the elder had to accept that fact. Might as well start with awkward comments on their appearances.
“Wha-”
"Tsk. What I meant was, we have many similarities."
The silver haired youngster scrunched his face quizzically at Vergil. It wasn't the first time he had trouble formulating words when it came to his ancestry.
"Well, you are my father. Or has that changed whilst I wasn't lookin'?" The uncomfortable silence stretched between them, neither able to alleviate whatever stiffness that hung in the air. Inadvertently, both father and son placed their respective palms to their hair, brushing the strands away from their own eyes at the same exact time.
Problem number three was the lack of common ground that the two possessed. Yes, Sparda’s blood flowed through their veins. However, Vergil knew nothing of the boy. What were his hobbies? How did he grow up? Hell, what was even his favourite food?
“This is ridiculous.” Vergil scrutinized the cumbersome predicament, his inability to communicate normally holding a hot iron rod to his back. How could the son of Sparda be so easily defeated by language?
Meanwhile Nero’s father was having an existential crisis beside him, the son kept munching on that same pack of peanuts that filled the silence. Shoving his whole hand into the pack of sweet treats, Nero turned to ease the tension by offering some to his father. Vergil peered at the pack, most of the flashy scarlet logo and ingredients obscured by Nero's palm.
"Peanuts, want some?"
"I… suppose." Vergil tentatively poked at a multitude of spherical chunks, the nuts sticking together with ease. Drawing them out of the bag, he tossed the handful into his gob. Unfortunately, because of Vergil’s tendency for impulsive thought and action, he neglected to observe what he was chucking down his throat. Besides, it was another good chance at starting a typical chat, hesitating to involve oneself in snacking with their son was probably a bad idea towards the road to awkward silence once more.
“They’re honey roasted, with Carolina Reaper flakes.” Nero’s smirk slowly, yet surely, melted away as the boy realised what he just fed his agonizingly stoic father. Cringing inwardly, the young devil hunter prayed that his dad had the same, if not a better, tolerance to blazing peppers and spices.
“What is a Carolina Rea-” It was then that problem number four made its guest appearance. The moment of realisation, and the foreign tickling sensation upon his tongue, was a one way trip to pained-confusion-ville. Undoubtedly, the tickle quickly morphed into a flaming inferno of a thousand tiny blades pinching at the inside of Vergil’s mouth. Tears began to well up in the corner of his once silver eyes, now turning crimson from both pain and fury at his callousness.
“Carolina Reapers are spicy peppers. Like, very spicy. Once held the record for hottest pepper on the planet, spicy.” Attempting to speak as innocently and as nonchalantly as possible as to not awaken the beast in Vergil, Nero chucked another handful into his mouth, chewing thoroughly without batting an eyelash.
“Fuck.” Tears now streaming down his face like the river Nile, a profanity otherwise unimaginable had escaped from between his stinging lips. And no matter how gently the word was uttered, both Nero and Nico heard the curse word.
“Did your daddy just drop the eff bomb? Mr. I’m too high and mighty to swear like the rest of us simple folk?” Nico’s eccentric and excitable nature transformed the situation into a stage play. The domino effect of Vergil’s careless actions, Nero’s equally careless offer, and the air of tension mixed into only what can be called a comedic tragedy.
“Dad?” Nero could barely hold back the laughter, feeling bad for never mentioning his god-like tolerance to the scoville scale. He hadn’t even noticed how this was the first time he called Vergil by his parental title, out of worry and concern.
“I’m fine.” The elder’s oesophagus was coated in liquid fire, his voice more so hoarse than nasal. As Vergil sat barely breathing, Nero stood to reach over to the freezer beside him, procuring another sweet treat.
“Here. Had a spare cone of ice cream. Usually works.” Vergil’s impulsive nature took control once more, this time in attempts to preserve his cool. No obstacles of hesitation, he swallowed the top half in mere seconds.
To be quite honest, Vergil was glad to find a difference between them so drastic. Who thought it would occur in something like sweet treats that can burn a hole in the ground like Xenomorph blood? For all he knew, that was exactly what they were coated with. Hell, he was proud of Nero for such a victory over his father, even if it did mean himself losing to a youngster.
Maybe differences are not so bad. And maybe they will grow to have a decent conversation soon. For now, he had to get rid of the smouldering pain that blanketed his tongue, and take a mental note to always pay attention to what his son offered him.
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A TOG fic inspired by that one post by @oldguardsaidthat
Read on AO3
“I wasn’t that drunk last night,” Joe insisted. The look on Booker’s and Nile’s faces told him that this was a lost battle, but he had to try.
“You were flirting with Nicky,” Andy retorted from the kitchen, noisily slurping a coffee. Joe quickly swallowed a bite of his scrambled eggs before turning over his shoulder.
“So? He’s my husband!”
“You asked him if he was single. Then cried when he said he wasn’t.”
As if on cue, Nicky walked out of their bedroom. His hair was still damp from the shower, poking out from beneath the hood of a large, comfy pullover.
“That’s my hoodie,” Joe and Nile said at the same time. Joe turned to glare at her.
“It’s a men’s hoodie, Nile. Booker got it for me.”
“No, it’s a unisex one from Costco and it was in the bag of shopping with my name on it. Right, Book?”
Booker looked back and forth between them, trying to decide who he wanted to get into a fight with less. He sighed. “It’s clearly Nicky’s.”
Nicky grinned, pausing next to the table to scoop more breakfast potatoes onto Booker’s plate. “You tell them, Booker.” He went into the kitchen to join Andy by the coffee bar. “What were you saying, boss? Who was crying?”
“Your husband. Last night.”
Nicky laughed out loud. Joe tried really, really hard to be mad.
“He remembered nothing this morning, if you’ll believe it. I didn’t even know we could get hangovers that bad.”
“Yeah, well. You know how he gets. He missed you.”
Andy’s voice had softened, and Joe could almost see the look of fondness that was no doubt settling itself across Nicky’s face. He decided to lighten the moment by stomping into the kitchen and angrily washing his plate.
“I’m right here, you know! I can hear you.”
Andy smirked a little evilly. “Don’t you want to know what happened last night, Joe?”
“No.”
Booker walked in with his and Nile’s plates, sliding them into the soapy water and shrinking back when Joe gently waved off his offer to help. Nile hopped up onto a stool on the other side of the counter. She leaned forward excitedly.
“Are you sure? Because it’s a good story. We’d love to tell it.”
“Of course you would,” Joe muttered with ire that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’d all jump to speak of my humiliation, wouldn’t you?”
“Of your all-encompassing love, hayati.” Nicky set his cup down and stepped next to him, pressing against his hip and shoulder as he reached for a dish cloth to start drying. “Of your sweetness. Your utter sincerity. Which of these sounds even remotely like humiliation?”
“Bold words for someone who refuses to delete the video of me slipping in the rain and landing butt-first in a puddle of mud.”
“It was funny, Joe!”
“You showed Nile,” he grumbled, but he felt his lips quirk up in a smile despite himself.
“She is part of our family now, is she not?”
“Of course. Which is why I’m taking her to the art history museum in Malta next time we all visit. The human anatomy exhibit, specifically.”
Nicky turned a lovely shade of pink and made a point of shaking the next wet dish directly over Joe’s head.
“What’s in the human anatomy exhibit?” Nile perked up. Joe opened his mouth to speak, but Nicky quickly cut in.
“Andy! Why don’t you tell Joe how he managed to get wasted before Booker and I even showed up last night?”
___
Andy slapped $200 onto the table. Nile raised a judgmental eyebrow as she chewed on a piece of fried chicken.
“Andy. I’m 27. I don’t have $200 lying around to throw in on a bet.”
“That’s fine. Put in how much ever you want. Winner takes all. Joe, you want in?”
Joe looked up from where his head had been resting against his hands on the table. “I refuse,” he began indignantly, “to go around flirting with people just to get their numbers. It’s unethical. What if you break someone’s heart?”
Andy rolled her eyes. “No one’s gonna lose their heart to someone they met a few minutes ago at a club. Most of the numbers are fake, anyway. It’s just for fun.”
“Nicky’s not here.”
“Booker texted me. They’re delayed because Copley told them to stop by the bank and withdraw some cash. He’s going on vacation and wants us to stay under the radar for a few days.”
Joe shook his head. “You two play. I think I’m going to sit at the bar and drink for a bit.”
“Suit yourself. Nile, come on.”
___
“Wait, wait, wait,” Nile interjected. “Let me tell this next part, ‘cuz you’ll tell it wrong.”
“Look, the fact that you had three more numbers when Nicky and Booker arrived is immaterial. If we’d continued the game like we were supposed to, I’d have won.”
“You’re a sore loser, Andy.”
“Hey, I paid you, didn’t I?”
The group made their way back to the dining table. Nicky sat back and ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.
“Madre de dio, you guys. I’ll tell it.”
___
Nicky and Booker walked into the club, quickly locating Andy as she chatted with another woman animatedly.
“Andy!”
Andy looked up and smiled, extracting herself effortlessly from the conversation.
“Finally. The bank give you any trouble?”
“Tried to,” Nicky answered, “but nothing a quick call to Copley didn’t fix.”
“Where’s Nile and Joe?” Booker asked. “We should go home.”
“Oh? No drinks tonight, Book?”
“We have better alcohol in the kitchen cabinet.”
“That’s true. Nile should be around here somewhere, shoot her a text. Nicky and I’ll go find Joe.”
“Bet.”
They walked toward the bar and spotted Joe scooting what was obviously the latest of several $10 bills at a bartender. She spared him a concerned glance over her shoulder as she poured him another drink. Joe gulped it down in a matter of seconds.
Nicky shook his head despairingly. “This insane man.”
“He was missing you.”
“That’s no reason to drink the bar dry!”
“The alcohol can’t hurt him, Nicky.”
“I know, I know. Give me a couple minutes, I’ll get him.”
Nicky walked up and slid onto the stool next to Joe, leaning forward to ask the bartender for a glass of water. He turned to his husband. Before he could say anything, Joe glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and whispered,
“Beautiful company tonight.”
Nicky froze. Was his husband hitting on him?
Joe winked.
Nicky’s jaw dropped. He was going to slap this man. He didn’t even want to know how much alcohol it took for an immortal to get this much out of their own mind.
“Are you single?” Joe’s words cut through his thoughts. Nicky looked at his wide, sparkling brown eyes, alive and surprisingly alert compared to a few moments ago. Joe kept his hands to himself, but leaned forward almost unconsciously, as if taking comfort in breathing the air around Nicky. His voice and body were a study in longing.
“No,” Nicky replied honestly. He held up his left hand. “I’m married.”
For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Joe turned back to the bar and rested his chin on his hands, looking away.
“Oh,” he said in a tiny voice.
Nicolo rested a hand on the back of his neck and brought the glass of water to his lips. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”
As he returned the glass, Nicky heard Joe give a small sniffle. Then another. He whipped around just in time to see a large, unhappy tear trickle down his beloved’s face.
Nicky’s heart abruptly broke.
“Hayati,” he breathed, surging forward to take Joe’s face in his hands. “Joe, look at me, my love. Please.”
“I’m not, though. Your love.” Joe hiccupped sadly. “You’re already married.”
“To you, you absolute fool. Here, I’ll show you. See?” Nicky held up his husband’s hand, clinking their matching rings together. “You’re my husband, Yusuf. The love of my every life.”
Joe looked at their joined hands disbelievingly. “I’m… yours?”
“Yes. Of course. And I’m yours. For as long as you want.”
“Promise?”
If Nicky had to endure one more second of doubt in those wide, teary eyes, he would explode. So he leaned forward and captured Joe’s lips with his, trying to pour 900 years of tenderness and devotion into the kiss.
“Nicky!” Nicky pulled back just far enough to shout a quick, “Yes, boss?” over his shoulder. Not that Joe found even that small distance acceptable, with the way he clung to Nicky’s neck.
“Get your ass in the car. Joe’s, too. You two can continue there. The rest of us want to go home.”
“I call shotgun!” Booker yelled.
“Oh, that’s not fair at all,” Nile grumbled. “Andy, can I drive?”
“No.”
___
Joe buried his face in his palms and groaned, a blush creeping up his neck as the others laughed. “Please tell me I at least behaved on the drive back.”
“If you call whispering ‘ti amo’ repeatedly until you fell asleep in Nicky’s lap behaving, then sure.”
The others burst out laughing at Nile’s retort, and Joe flushed even deeper.
“Hey, it could have been worse,” Andy smirked.
“Anyway,” Joe interjected. “I guess I owe you all an apology.”
Every single one of them opened their mouths to assure him that no such thing was necessary, but Andy got there first.
“For what? Being an absolutely precious human being? Never.”
81 notes · View notes
hiyaluronic · 3 years
Text
Unnamed Sentinel/Guide Au (partial draft)
Nile eyed Nicky’s plate with envy, her nose twitching at the pleasant aroma of garlic and the slightly nutty, pungent smell of cumin and turmeric; the spicy aromatics filling the small dining room and causing her stomach to grumble excitedly. She turned from Nicky’s plate to stare down at her own in dismay. The grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, and rich buttery baked potato were doing nothing to satiate her cranky stomach.
“Why does Nicky get the good stuff?” She hadn’t meant to sound childish but Joe’s home cooked chicken curry looked a thousand times more appetizing than the standard restaurant-style meal situated on her plate.
Joe grinned and winked at Nicky who in turn rolled his eyes in response, “Because he’s being punished.” 
Nile sighed and poked halfheartedly at her chicken, “Then can I be punished too?”
Andy snorted into her wine glass, pulling the stemmed glass away and clearing her throat against the burn of alcohol. “Trust me, you don’t.”
“If you say so.” Nile murmured and reluctantly cut into her chicken. She took a few bites, her gaze lingering on Nicky’s plate which sat untouched, wondering how exactly homemade food was a punishment. 
“C’mon, Nicolò,” Joe prodded, forgetting his own meal and using his fork to spear a piece of sauce drenched chicken from Nicky’s plate. “I promise it will not be as bad as Baton Rouge.”
Nile perked up, curious. “What happened in Baton Rouge?” 
Andy smiled deviously and leaned over to Nile. “Booker’s attempt at cerole cooking. His Jambalaya is still pending a patent as a lethal weapon. Joe and I ended up with food poisoning, Nicky on the other hand....”
Nicky swallowed, eyeing the innocent piece of poultry dangling from Joe’s fork with trepidation, eyes following the curry sauce as it slowly dripped onto the tablecloth. “I ended up zoning because the idiota, mixed up chile peppers with bhut jolokia.”
Nile scrunched her face. “Bahht Zo-lu-key-ya?” 
“Ghost peppers.” Andy simplified, leaning back into the kitchen chair and crossing her arms, watching Joe shake the chicken enticingly in front of Nicky with mild amusement.
Nile cringed and swallowed, her mouth watering at the imagined heat of said pepper. “Shit.” 
“Indeed.” Nicky replied with a sigh before leaning forward and letting his mouth wrap enticingly around Joe’s fork - the pink of his lips covering the silver of the utensil suggestively - before ever so slowly pulling back, smirking when he noticed Joe’s eyes narrow at his actions. Nicky closed his eyes and let the juices from the chicken settle on his tongue; the sweetness of clove and cinnamon dancing across his tongue and running as a current under the powerful flavor of turmeric, bay leaves, and cumin. He sucked the sauce and juice from the chicken, tilting his head back and moaning in pleasure when the slight underlying warmth of garlic and mustard seed tickled his taste buds.
He mentally smirked when he felt Joe kick his shin under the table, a quiet behave drifting from his husband's lips, the heady scent of musk saturating the air between them and sending a jolt of excitement through Nicky. He could hear Nile coughing awkwardly across the table; a deep bass to the quiet trill of Andy’s accompanying  laughter. Why should he be the only one to be punished? 
He felt the air shift and change before he heard Joe sigh. “Come on, Nico. You know how this goes, what’s the secret ingredient?”
Nicky frowned at the question and chewed the chicken, unsure. He could taste something off. Taste something out of place underneath the normal spices, something sharp and bitter  - almost medicinal.
“I’m assuming it’s not love?” Nile said to Andy, who snickered.
Nicky swallowed and blinked open his eyes, turning to Joe, “Clove, cinnamon, turmeric, bay leaf, cumin. Just a hint of garlic and mustard... and...”
Joe ticked off the ingredients with his finger, “And…?”
Nicky licked his lips and tried to focus on the odd taste, he knew it, he just couldn’t place the where and what, and most notably the name. He hated having to sort through Joe’s cooking because there were so many different flavors in the world and it was sometimes very hard to distinguish between herbs and spices; and, while he loved his husband, Joe liked to make it as hard as possible. The reasoning? Because it eased his husband's mind knowing that he could detect even the subtlest of flavors - which he would agree. Being able to detect the minute differences in flavors between herbs and poisons had saved them many unneeded deaths over the various decades.
But, still…
“It tastes like soap.”
“Seriously, Joe!” Nile admonished, eyes wide in concern. “You put soap in his food?”
“It’s not soap!” Joe was quick to reply, just a little offended at the accusation. “I would never do such a thing!”
“Uggh.” Nicky shivered in disgust when it finally clicked what the offending flavor was, “Cilantro!”
“Very good, Nico!” Joe leaned forward and kissed his husband happily. “And now what sense shall we work on next, hmmm?”
Nicky laughed softly with a shake of his head, “Joe, it was only one zone with a great many number of years between my last one. I promise I do not need-”
“It is not about what you need, you have become lax in these last few decades, hayati, you’re starting to rely too heavily on the technology of today. And it worries me.” Joe explained, running a hand through his beard and scratching at the skin underneath. “You were very lucky that Nile had been there to keep an eye on you until Andy and I arrived but what would have happened if Nile had been indisposed of? You would have been left vulnerable and that’s just not acceptable.”
“Cuore Mio.” Nicky murmured, his hand reaching over to grasp Joe’s tightly in his absently running his thumb over Joe’s knuckles.. He didn’t need heightened senses to know that his love was feeling anxious but the sulfuric reek permeating the air around Joe just confirmed it. 
Andy nodded, seeming to agree with the idea. “Joe’s right, Nicky. We have to be able to trust that on a mission you won’t conk out on us. A refresher might do some good and it’ll help Nile know what to do when Joe is unavailable to pull you back.”
Nile held her hand up and cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the small group. “Speaking of. I was promised an explanation?”
“That you were, Nile.” Nicky agreed, squeezing Joe’s hand with a gentle smile. “There is sadly not much to tell.”
“Oh, hell no. You don’t get to reveal Nicky is a superhero-” Not a superhero, Nile “and then not tell me how that happened.”
Joe and Nicky shared a look, Joe raised his shoulder slightly in question to which Nicky tilted his head, his gaze flicking towards Nile before returning to Joe with a small nod.
Joe sighed and pulled his hand free from Nicky’s, settling back against his chair, and focusing his sight on the darkened splotches of curry staining the tablecloth. “It was many, many months after we had grown tired of constant death and had laid down our arms against one another. At the time we thought our situation was part of our immortality, it wasn’t until we met Andromache and Quynh that we understood otherwise.” 
Nicky smiled fondly, remembering the circumstances that had surrounded their meeting of their sisters in arms. It had been a sweltering summer, the air so thick that even the simple act of breathing would leave a person exhausted and uncomfortably drenched. Time had worn away at a lot of his memories but the vibrant scent of the briny waters lapping at the sands along the coast, the salty air pushed inland by the balmy waves of the Mediterannean that ate away at wood and stone alike and the overbearing smell of seagrasses that would drift upward when low tide would hit and carrying the faint tinge of dead sea life along with it were still vivid in his memory.
But what he remembered the most about that first meeting - what still haunted him and fueled his nightmares almost a millennium later - was the utter terror of not being able to hear Joe’s heartbeat between one moment and the next. His breath still faltered when he thought back to the utter panic that had grabbed hold and burrowed deep into his chest at the mere thought of losing the one person who could make him feel human.
“Andromache and Quynh absconded with Joe before we had the chance to be formally introduced.”
Nile balked at Nicky’s words but at the minute twitch to the corners of his mouth and the way she noticed his eyes darken just a tad, not quite in anger but in an almost accusatory way, had her turning to Andy flabbergasted, “You what!?
“In all fairness,” Andy started, her hands raised in supplication, “it was just to test a theory. We’d trailed the two of them for days, trying to get a read on what kind of buffoons they were outside of the dreams.”
“We were not buffoons.” Joe huffed, affronted, eyes ticking to Nicky looking for agreement.
Andy quirked an eyebrow, “You literally killed each other dozens of times over the span of 6 months. Quynh and I had even started making bets on it. So, hence, bah-foons.”
“We were-” Joe trailed off, looking to Nicky for the right way to answer without confirming Andy’s rather accurate description.
Nicky turned from Joe’s gaze to Andy’s with a frown, “-working through some things.” 
“Sure, language barrier, sectarianism, genocide…” Andy said, ticking each item off with the raise of one of her fingers.
“Getting off topic here, guys. I’m assuming there’s more to the story then Andy and Quynh running off with Joe in tow?” 
With a sigh, Andy looked towards Nile. “There were… are stories. Legends really, about persons with the capability to  perceive the world around them on a level unseen by us mere humans.”
“Sounds amazing.” Nile said.
“One would think until you realize nothing can be such without its own hindrances.” Nicky explained with a wince, “What Andy and Quynh were testing was to see if Joe and I had bonded as guide and sentinel.”
“Bonded?”
“A sentinel’s abilities are latent, most that have this ability will never know because a sentinel is born through harsh conditions and need.” Andy explained at Nile’s question. “But if there is no guide, no way for a sentinel to maintain a baseline, the world becomes an enemy to them and they either zone or turn feral.”
“Feral? Like...turn rabid?” 
Nicky nodded at Nile, “An abhorred definition but yes. We have only ever seen a feral sentinel once and it ended with him falling to my blade.” 
“Okay.” Nile pursed her lips trying to gather her thoughts, “Okay so Andy and Quynh took Joe to make sure you were bonded and not feral?”
“You have to understand Nile, we saw them kill each other for months. With so much senseless violence Quynh and I had to make sure that the world hadn’t bred a broken and untamed immortal.”
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alit0my · 4 years
Note
If you are still taking prompts I have one. Prompt- After Booker's exile, the team starts to miss him. So one by one they contact him (each of them trying to hide it from the others). But after a while Booker can't handle only having random contact with his family. He needs to be completely with them or not at all. So he cut contact completely. They team starts to worry and are confused when he changes his number, email, and address, and decide to go get their brother back.
Hey anon! I hope this is what you were after!
~
It didn’t even take a year before Nile convinced Copley to give her Booker’s current number. 
“Ms Freeman, he’s doing just fine,” Copley told her, earning himself a scoff over the phone. “I don’t think it’d be best-” 
“Give me the damn number, Copley,” she huffed, waiting a moment before her phone pinged with the message. “Thank you. Don’t tell the others about this.” 
Copley chuckled quietly over the phone, knowingly. “Wouldn’t dream of it, I value my life far too greatly.” 
Nile said her goodbyes and hung up, pressing the screen a few times until Booker’s new number was staring at her almost menacingly. She took a deep breath and smiled to herself before pressing the link and brought the phone up to her ear again, the dial tone ringing loudly. 
“Hello?” 
“Hey Book, how are you?”
~
Joe fidgeted with his fingers more than usual, and Nicky knew something was wrong. Normally, Joe would distract himself with drawing or sparring or Nicky himself, but he looked rather nervous as he sat down next to his partner on the couch. 
“What’s wrong?” Nicky asked, wrapping an arm around Joe’s shoulders and pulling him close. “Joe?” 
The man sighed and nuzzled his face into Nicky’s neck before he spoke. “I miss Booker.” 
It had been almost a decade since that day in London, and Nicky was wondering when the love of his life would express his concern over the Frenchman. He knew Joe inside and out, and it came to no surprise that he felt this way, even if it was too early for reconciliation. 
Pulling out his phone, Nicky held it out for Joe to take, a number already loaded on the screen, ready to be pressed. At Joe’s furrowed brows, Nicky smiled and nodded. 
“It’s okay. I called him a few weeks ago.” He pressed a kiss to Joe’s temple. “I wasn’t sure if you were ready so I didn’t tell you, I hope you don’t mind.” 
Joe shook his head before turning and capturing their lips together softly. “Nonsense, it’s okay. Would you like to stay and talk to him again?” 
“I will stay here, but I will stay silent. You talk to him as much as you need to,” Nicky said softly and ran a hand through Joe’s curls as the man pressed the number on the screen and brought the phone up to his ear. 
~
Andy had been calling Booker since the beginning, though a lot of time passed between each connection. Knowing the others, especially Joe and Nicky, needed the space to heal, she kept their contact secret, calling the Frenchman when she was checking the perimeters or alone in the safehouse. 
Andy knew the others wouldn’t question her if she told them, but she just thought it would be best if they didn’t know. They didn’t need that rift to reopen now that it had somewhat sealed over. 
Sighing to herself, she pulled out her burner phone and punched in the number she had memorised for Booker. Bringing the phone up to her ear, she frowned as the automated voice relayed instead of the dial tone. 
’The number you have dialed has been discontinued.’
Frowning, she hung up and called Copley, getting an answer on the second ring. 
“Andy.”
“Why is Booker’s number out of use?” She demanded, and hearing the other man on the phone sigh she clenched her fists. “Copley!” 
“Booker asked me to get him a new phone and number, he couldn’t handle everything,” Copley explained, then quickly added, “He asked me not to share it with anyone.” 
“Bullshit.” 
“I’m sorry, Andy. I’m not going to go against his wishes.”
“What do you mean, ‘he couldn’t handle everything’? Is he in trouble?” Andy backtracked, chewing on her lip. “If he’s in trouble and you don’t tell me..” 
“He’s fine, I promise you,” Copley said. “But I’m in no position to tell you why he wanted a new number. My position is to have the trust of all of you, Booker included. I will not break it.” 
Andy let out a groan and hung up, not caring about proper phone etiquette before walking back to the safehouse. At the sound of the front door slamming open, the other three looked up in alarm. 
“Is everything okay?” Nile asked, putting down her colouring-in book she had gotten to pass the time. 
“I can’t get in touch with Booker,” Andy explained. “He’s changed his number.”
The other three had worry splashed across their faces as they not so subtly took out their phones to check. Andy raised an eyebrow. 
“Have we all been in contact with Booker?” She asked incredulously. 
At three nods, she let out a worried chuckle. 
“Well fuck.”
~
Booker had had enough of the instability surrounding his life. The random phone calls or text messages he would receive in the middle of the night were nice, but he didn’t want them to be random. 
The phone call with Andy a few days ago had been the last straw, and he had called Copley as soon as the timezones allowed it to be a reasonable hour and asked him to arrange a new phone under strict instructions to not share the number with the team. When asked why, Booker nearly sobbed over the phone. 
“Please,” he managed, and Copley agreed instantly. 
The new phone arrived days later, with only one saved number in it. Booker didn’t need Copley’s number saved as he knew it by heart, but he made no move to erase it from the contacts. The silence the new phone brought him for the next few weeks was wonderful, and though it hurt to no longer have contact with the team, he felt better knowing it was now a complete shut off rather than random calls at all hours of the day. 
Booker was trying to sleep goddamnit. 
The security he felt with the change was what he needed. The false hope he got every time the phone rang was not. 
The few weeks of peace was euphoric. 
That was until the loud banging on his apartment door woke him up from his midday nap. 
Groaning, he inelegantly rolled off the couch and trudged to the door, rubbing at his eye as he opened it. Seeing his team there in front of him almost made him slam the door shut again. Frozen, he looked at their faces which were laced with worry and he furrowed his brows. 
“What’s up?” 
Andy punched his arm as she stepped forward. “What’s up? You just changed numbers and didn’t tell us?” 
“That was kind of the whole point, Boss,” Booker mumbled and rubbed his arm. “What are you all doing here?” 
“Checking up on you, making sure you didn’t die or something,” Nile spoke, annoyed undertones peeking through. 
“Well, as you can see, I’m fine,” Booker said. “But I suppose since you are all here, would you like to come in?” 
He opened the door for them and then walked to the kitchen, flicking the kettle on and putting the few dirty dishes in the sink. Thank God he had the mind to clean up a bit in these past few days, feeling better with the amount of sound rest he’d been receiving. He took down five mugs from the cupboard and put teabags in each one, knowing they wouldn’t be fussy over the choice of tea. 
Booker felt the eyes on his back but he refused to turn around until the tea was made up. Using the five or so minutes to gather his thoughts, he turned and handed them their cups, remembering how each one liked their tea. Nodding in response to their thanks, he returned to the counter and picked up his own mug, waiting. 
“Are you going to tell us why you changed your number?” Nile asked softly, breaking the silence. Booker looked at her before making eye contact with each of the others before speaking. 
“The calls.. They were nice at first, though I didn’t deserve them,” Booker started, taking a sip of his tea. “But then it just felt like I was being kept on the edges, and I get it. The deal was no contact so I was surprised when the first call came through and let it slide, but then all of you started calling and I just.. I couldn’t do it.” 
“Because it hurt too much,” Joe spoke, grimacing slightly at the nod he received. 
“Yeah. I need stability in my life if I’m going to learn how to live properly and for me, I can’t do that if I’m in constant yet completely random contact. I don’t think it would help any of us heal if we are still talking as if nothing ever happened.” 
“We were worried about you,” Joe replied, keeping a steady gaze on Booker. “We thought that something had happened to you when we couldn’t reach you. Why didn’t you say to ease off? You know we would have.” 
Booker snorts. “I would have had to repeat myself three times, considering none of you knew that the others were calling me. A hard drop in contact was what I needed.” 
The team all looked at each other and they remained in silence for a moment, Andy being the next one to speak. “Do you still need it?” 
The Frenchman was quiet, looking around his apartment as he thought. He was getting better, he’d like to believe. The place was clean and the curtains were open, allowing the sun to shine through and bring the apartment to life. A small amount of bottles of alcohol were contained to the corner on the bench, largely untouched and out of sight, and Booker hadn’t felt the itch to drink in weeks. He went outside for walks, he made small talk with his neighbours and the cashiers at the shops, and he came home feeling content. 
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back to them just yet. 
“I don’t,” Booker finally said. “But I’m not ready to leave Paris just yet.”
Seeing them frown at that statement, Booker’s heart rate increased slightly. Had he said the wrong thing again? 
Nicky smiled at him when their eyes met and he nodded. “I think that would be fine with us, and if it’s okay with you, we’d like to stick around for a while.”
Booker smiled back. “Of course it’s okay, I have missed you all so much.” 
Before he could put his cup down, Booker was engulfed in four pairs of arms that held him tight. 
Closing his eyes, he relished in the contact that he’d been absent of for ten years. 
81 notes · View notes
lovelikedestiny · 3 years
Text
3. Copley: And our kingdom is gone
White glowing skin, touched by stars,
kissed by silver moonlight.
When Joe gets up and leaves the room with one last stroke of Nicky's head, just as Copley has entered the living room, Copley asks himself when the immortals started to trust him.
Andy and Nile are exercising in his backyard and Copley, hoping they don't destroy his amateur herb patch or his dahlias, has tried very hard to give them privacy. By that he means that he is not standing on the porch like a stalker and watching the two women attack each other without mercy and with deadly skill, faster than he has ever seen.
Astonished, he stops and stares at the door Joe has disappeared through before he realizes that he is not alone in the living room. Nicky nods slightly to him, one corner of his mouth curved into something like a half smile and Copley only realizes that because he has spent the last few days closely observing the immortal warriors and analyzing their behavior.
Copley has always considered himself to be a passable, if not a good judge of people - this skill was very helpful in his job and served him well. But Nicky's micro-expressions are on a completely different level. He seems perfectly at rest within himself and nothing in his face indicates what is going on inside him. Admittedly, Copley finds this just as intimidating as Andy's sharp presence, Joe's death look and Nile's powerful charisma. Nicky must be really good at playing poker, Copley thinks, and inwardly shakes his head because it's like wondering what Joe likes to do in his free time besides the obvious drawing, or what kind of ice cream Andy prefers to eat. And Copley isn't sure that the relationship between him and the ancient warriors can be considered as that familiar.
He fully understands their vigilant, suspicious attitude towards him and is determined to help them with their current problem, because he is complicit in the events that have happened and hopes to gain their forgiveness. Guilt and shame are still present in his heart for being blinded by the prospect of helping people with illnesses like the one that plagued his wife, even though all the signs of Merrick's sadistic play were right under his nose.
All the more, the fact that Joe left him alone with Nicky in a room, presumably to use the bathroom, feels like a minor victory, and Copley tries not to seem too baffled by it.
The minimal change in the bright mountain lakes that make up Nicky's eyes shows that he's not doing as good a job as he has hoped. In Nicky's eyes and the features around his mouth, the most emotions can be read, Copley noted, even if it will take him a lot of practice to see as much in Nicky's face as Joe. He will probably never reach this level, because he certainly does not have 900 years for a character study.
Nicky's minimal facial movements also make it harder for Copley to tell if he's in pain or to recognize the warning signs that precede any vomiting of blood - which is now occurring with terrible regularity.
Since he has found a tough nut to crack in Nicky, Copley has started to pay attention to Joe after Nicky's first blood break, in order to learn more about Nicky's behavior. With this tactic, Copley adds daily to his mental list of Nicky's signs of certain sensations, and to his chagrin, the signs of physical pain seem to be increasing in frequency.
Copley, one of those people who whine hard when they stub their little toe, admires the stoicism with which Nicky endures his rapidly deteriorating condition. Only his slow, sluggish movements and a barely noticeable frown are frequent indications of Nicky's discomfort, as well as a slight lowering of the corners of the mouth and the twitching of his jaw pointed out for Copley by Nile.
And of course the tremors from the chills going through Nicky's body at that moment. In addition to the thick hoodies, they pulled out all the stops with various blankets, socks, hot-water bottles and tea and Joe gives Nicky his body heat anyway, just like Andy and even Nile.
This deep, family bond between Andy, Joe and Nicky is met with great fascination by Copley and although Nile has only been an immortal for a few weeks, even Copley can see how easily the young woman has integrated into the team like a matching piece of a puzzle. It also shows him how much the emptiness of his house oppressed him after the death of his wife and that he finds himself wishing to be a part of this unusual family of extraordinary individuals.
With a quiet clearing of his throat, Copley de-freezes himself from where he has been standing for an alarmingly long number of seconds and turns the heat up. With the onset of autumn it is not a problem to heat so strongly because the nights are gradually getting colder. And Copley finds that he's already used to the high temperatures in the constantly heated living room. Sweating a little to keep Nicky from freezing as little as possible is probably the least Copley can do.
"Thank you, Mr. Copley," Nicky says, returning his attention to the open book in his lap, which Copley cannot identify as one of his. While he grimaces inwardly - whether that's because Nicky is the only one who continues to call him Mr. Copley, or because of how rough and strained his voice sounds, Copley can't tell - he sits down in the place where he is working. At least when he's not in his study. Actually, the professional atmosphere of his office always helps him to be more productive, but since Andy and her team moved in with him, Copley has gotten used to finding the presence of the others very pleasant.
When Joe returns, Copley is back to work retracing Meta Kozak's footsteps. She is currently moving from the western US towards New Mexico, but Copley doesn't know what her destination is or where she is keeping any evidence from Merrick's lab and that makes him angry at himself. He tracked Andromache the Scythian and her group of immortal warriors down so he shouldn't have any problems pinning Kozak down too. On the other hand, he had time to track down the immortals, and in this case it seems to be running like sand through his fingers.
Neither of the others is pushing him to hurry up or do better work, which Copley appreciates, but they all see Nicky's crumbling form every day.
Five minutes pass with no sound coming from the sofa, except for the occasional rustle of paper when Nicky turns a page or the sound of Joe's pen in his sketchbook, and Copley longs for a fifth cup of coffee.
"Copley?"
"Yes?" Even if Copley suspects what Joe wants from him, he takes his eyes off the irritatingly bright screen of his laptop to look at him.
Joe's dark, serious eyes are in such a strong contrast to the soft, warm expression of affection that they always take on when they come to rest on Nicky. "Is there-" Joe pauses to reconsider his choice of words, but Copley realizes in it the unrest that comes with Copley's own uneasiness. "- any news?"
To be honest, Copley prefers an angry, menacing Joe to the version whose tiny spark of hope Copley has to stifle over and over again, and he hates it. Still, he keeps his calm and shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. I was able to locate her on the recordings of a hotel in Phoenix, Arizona, where she stayed for three nights. But I can't tell where she's going next. My guess is New Mexico, but she has changed direction several times in the past two days.” He sighs and shakes his head again. "She is very careful, which means that she expects you to search for her."
The pale, blurred face and cold, lifeless-looking eyes on his laptop cause a disgusted, hate-like feeling in his stomach. Copley wonders how he could ever expect from such an immoral doctor who sliced ​​people up for the Nobel Prize and took samples without letting herself be disturbed by their screams of pain to do something good for humanity.
Joe nods slowly and turns to his drawing with furrowed eyebrows, chewing on his lower lip and Copley looks at Nicky, only to notice that Nicky's focus has long been on his love. Copley thinks he sees something like concern in Nicky's eyes and then he reaches out his hand and squeezes Joe's, saying something in a lowered tone in that strange language and Joe snorts and grins slightly.
Copley has seen moments like this quite often lately. It's no secret that Nicky's condition weighs as heavily on Joe as a block of cement, and while Joe is definitely a smiler, there's nothing like it to be seen. Dry comments from Andy or deliberately silly jokes from Nile make him smile and, at best, even laugh a little. But only Nicky manages to ignite the humorous spark in his eyes and he does that as often as possible.
In the same language, Joe replies something, causing a low snort from Nicky about that Joe looks so happy, as if he had won the jackpot, before he seeks Copley's eye contact again. "Thank you, Copley."
Copley high fives himself in his head for the further progress he's made with the immortals and smiles. "Of course, I will keep you informed about further results."
"We really appreciate that," Nicky says, putting his book aside. He coughs heavily and Joe is immediately on alert, ready to jump up and grab the bucket they've positioned next to the sofa since the accumulating blood-vomiting, but Nicky pulls himself together. "Have you eaten anything today, Mr. Copley?" He asks hoarsely.
"I beg your pardon?" Copley blinks.
Up to this point he hasn't even given a thought to food and is amazed to realize that he has actually not eaten anything since last night because he was too busy following Kozak's trail. As if on command, his stomach growls softly and Copley is stunned that Nicky pays remarkable attention to who is eating what and when.
"Oh," Copley says, staring at his keyboard and then at Nicky, who is patiently waiting. "I'm afraid not, no."
He didn't even finish his sentence when Nicky gets up from the sofa - so slowly that it's painful to watch - and heads for the kitchen. "Do you like French omelettes?"
"Nicky-" Joe is hot on Nicky's heels, which is no wonder given Nicky's slow pace, every step taken so carefully, as if every move would hurt him. Because Nicky is supposed to take it easy and rest, Andy and Nile have thrown him out of the kitchen a few times because standing at the stove had exhausted him. And even if Copley doesn't know all the habits of the team by a long way, he can see how much Nicky loves to look after his family and that cooking and baking gives him great joy. This makes it all the more difficult for him not even be able to do that.
And the way Joe looks, he is more than aware of it. But instead of putting Nicky back on the sofa and advising him not to use the kitchen to make Copley a French omelette because it could harm his condition, Joe just says gently, "May I help you?"
It is not a statement that has been disguised in a question to avoid contradiction. It's a real question that Joe means wholeheartedly and leaves Nicky to decide whether he wants to work alone in the kitchen or to be helped. Joe didn't ask if he could cook, but asked Nicky's permission to help him cook and leave the main work to Nicky. And that Joe pays such careful attention to Nicky's feelings and wants to do something about it that he feels useless, moves Copley more than he would have expected.
Copley only catches a glimpse of the smile Nicky only saves for Joe. "Of course, hayati." Copley can't miss the underlying gratitude.
Continue reading on AO3 ;)
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I love your writing! Also prompt: Nicky really likes to cook, so over time, he slowly learns new recipes everywhere they go and joe buys him a notebook to jot all the ingredients down. And afterwards, Nicky has joe try every dish he makes and he’s so cute and anxious, but joe tells him time and time again that “his cooking is perfect.”
Hello there Nonnie, thanks for the prompt! 💕 I'm on my lunch break and I have a quick minute so this will be a bit short. 😅 I may flesh this out one day, but for now, I hope you like it!
If anyone of you is keen on looking at what a Pomodori Farciti all'Erbette may be, check out Tasting History on YouTube 🍅
-
The moment the three of them enter the flat, they are hit with a wall of fragrant heat. Something smells absolutely divine and it makes Nile's stomach rumble.
"What's cookin', good lookin'?" Joe wraps his arms around Nicky's, only to be rebuffed with a clucking of his tongue and a smacking of Joe's hand when he tries to sneak a piece of the frying tomato in the pan.
Nile knows that is no normal tomato. Nicky serves up one of the stuffed tomatoes to Joe, lips thinned and stabbing the thing with a fork and far more viciousness than it deserves. "What's that, Joe?"
Both men rattle something off in rapid Italian which had her going, "Pomo-what?"
"Pomodori Farciti all'Erbette," Andy gamely supplies, enunciating each word. "I haven't had them in ages." To Nicky, she asks, "Did you..."
"Ham broth is in the pot," Nicky says, gaze not moving away from Joe's. He waits until the other man has finished chewing before cocking his head to the side. "So?"
It is then that Nile realised that, oh, Nicky is nervous. She waits in anticipation of what Joe would say, only to see the corners of his eyes crinkling. "It is delicious, Nicolo. Just like everything you make," Joe says.
Leaning in he whispers something in Nicky's ear that has the man smacking a hand over his mouth. Nicky is looking a little less tensed and the corners of his lips were curling up in amusement, so she reckons that whatever Joe had said must have worked to lighten his worry.
"Not where the baby can see us."
"You should be more concerned about me," Andy scoffs, placing a bowl of broth in front of Nile. "You both know I can understand you, right?"
Nile decides, for the sake of her ears at least, to tune them out. The tomatoes were excellent and the soup is equally as good.
[leave me a prompt and I'll write you an Immortal Husbands fic]
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alottanothing · 4 years
Text
Left to Ruin: Chapter Eleven
Summary: Ahkmenrah struggles with the aftermath of his confrontation with Nouke. Setshepsut is at last found, and the pharaoh puts Kahmunrah in his place. 
Previous Chapters
Word Count: 7805
Warnings: Mentions of torture, abuse, and blood. 
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: Ooooo this chapter! I’m so excited this chapter is finally being posted! This one was one of my top 3 favorites to write, the emotion in it is just.....I just love it. I hope you all do too. Thanks again, SO MUCH for your comments and likes and reblogs. The tiniest nugget validation feeds my motivation. 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
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For three days, the pharaoh's men searched Waset for traces of his missing queen without the benefit of insight. Setshepsut had left no note or sign that could hint at where she may have run to. And by the second day with no answers, Ahkmenrah felt pressured to enlist Kahmunrah's help to find her, even when he knew his brother would not heed is want for discretion and mercy. Ahk hated having to rely on a band of mercenaries—they’d left the palace with fiendish smiles and hollow assurances that left a sick feeling in the pharaoh’s gut that was impossible to ignore. Desperation was the only thing keeping the pharaoh from calling them back. He needed to find the sister that he promised to always protect. He needed to find her so he could apologize for the things that caused her to run away. He needed to know she was safe.
Those few days were the longest Ahkmenrah ever remembered having to endure. He’d found no rest, plagued to the brim with worry and guilt while his sorrow festered until it ate away every remaining glint of happiness left inside of him. The fact that he hurt not only one person with his heedless words (or lack of them, too) left the pharaoh feeling as though he deserved to live in this misery he had stirred for the rest of his days.
He cowered behind his crown and golden robes; Setshepsut would never have done something so shameful. She harbored bravery he did not, and he was envious of that courage. She cared little for her station and the responsibilities that went alongside it—running away for her was undoubtedly an easy decision. Ahk could only bring himself to throw caution to the wind and free himself from the golden shackles of his birth for no more than an evening, maybe two. 
He admired Set's tenacity. All it had taken was an exchange of misinterpreted words for her to chase the freedom she desired. Ahk’s adventurous spirit longed to be so bold, but his level mind knew there was too much at stake for him to be so selfish.
And Nouke—his heart ached. 
Nouke, Ahk feared, would never see him in the same light again. All their time together since they were children he had shown her nothing but friendship and kindness. Letting her believe he thought of her as a second prize was cruel. She had always been his only one, and he didn’t tell her.
Ahkmenrah’s mind was so turbulent that evening when she’d come to him. The concern for his missing sister clouded his better judgment and forced him to crave distraction. He’d wanted so much to drown the guilt and worry with selfish pleasure—not once stopping to think how Nouke might interpret his intimacy. And like a coward, he froze when she demanded an explanation—too afraid to come clean of the lies he and Setshepsut had sold to all of Egypt for nearing six years. 
Would she have stayed if he admitted his fervent desire to have her that night was more than a way to subdue the guilt he felt for chasing away his sister? Perhaps, but only once he’d confessed his plan to break his union with Setshepsut. It would have been so easy if he’d only said those words. She would have stayed, and the emptiness he felt would be significantly less crippling with her by his side while men searched to bring his sister home.
Ahkmenrah spent the majority of the time it took to find his sister in his chamber or at prayer in the temple to ensure no one bothered him. Matters with the council and all his other responsibilities went forward without his guidance—Merenkahre stepping in, and Ahk was thankful. Even his meals he took in the solitude of his room. Kamuzu was the only one who stuck with him threw it all, silent and observing.
It was evening when servants brought the pharaoh his dinner plate—quiet as a whisper. Golden rays spilled into the chamber as Ra’s light sank into the horizon beyond the open balcony, but neither the radiance nor the fruitful plate in front of him drew a reaction. He did little more than glance at the existence of each. 
“You must eat, my king,” Kamuzu encouraged in a gentle but stern tone.
A mirthless smile curled Ahkmenrah’s lips as a sardonic chuckle echoed in the stillness of the room, his eyes falling to the tray of food.
“King?” he chided, mostly to himself, listless eyes passing a leer to his crown perched on the table next to his dinner.
A deep breath filled his lungs, and his nostrils flared when he exhaled forcefully with discontent. Idle hands tore pieces of bread from his plate; Ahkmenrah chewed and swallowed before he spoke again.
“I am no king, Kamuzu.” He kicked out the empty chair across the way with his foot, gesturing with a pointed wave for his guardian to join.
Kamuzu blinked at the informal invitation with hesitation but abided without an utterance. His dark eyes stayed trained on the pharaoh, watchful, and concerned. 
Ahk sipped hungrily from his goblet until it was dry. He craved the dull senses several cupfuls brought and was quick to pour himself another. 
“You’re all I have left.” Ahkmenrah filled a second chalice as he spoke and slid it across the table with enough force the dark liquid splashed and stained his fingers.
Kamuzu nodded his thanks as he took the cup, but refrained from sipping.
“You have many people, my king,” he assured Ahkmenrah.
The pharaoh wrinkled his nose in disagreement, taking another long gulp before shaking his head.
“No,” he insisted. “My father as my mother—and she, him. I have four sisters, three of whom have their husbands and their families. Kahmunrah has that band of men who do everything he says…”
Ahk took another drink and sneered thinking about his brother, “…I’ve not known him to want much more than people to boss around...And Set?”
He paused, feeling guilt stab and twist into his stomach as he recalled the tone in her voice the last time they’d spoken—how broken it was. Ahkmenrah stole another long swig hoping to chase away the sudden pain.
“Set took what she wanted. I commend her for that,” Ahk said pragmatically. “Bravery to laugh duty in the face.”
He sighed and raised his goblet, as though he were making a toast, “As for me—I have all of Egypt.” 
There was practically nothing in his tone, yet the pharaoh felt everything as he finished another cupful—oh how he wanted to feel nothing.
Ahkmenrah’s eyes fixated on his mostly untouched meal as loneliness threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel Kamuzu’s gaze and when he risked meeting it, tears began to prickle. A sigh shook a chill down his spine and Ahk struggled to swallow the abrupt lump in his throat.
“How can I have an entire nation and feel so alone?”
A single tear began to slide down his cheek, but Ahkmenrah caught it, brushing it away with the back of his hand and a sniffle. An eerie quiet crept into the room that was too similar to the one the night Nouke had left him. It worked under the pharaoh's skin as he stared into the middle distance while his mind pondered and screamed to him every horrible thing he had ever done. Then, without warning, he blinked out of it.
Ahkmenrah stood, gripping the edge of the table when the room began to spin slightly from the sudden rush and the alcohol in his system. Kamuzu stood too, suddenly alert. The pharaoh cleared his throat and gathered himself, meeting the Medjay’s gaze.
“Thank you,” he forced out in a bravado that was more or less kingly. “I’m tired, Kamuzu. You may go.”
Kamuzu offered a respectful bow and made for the doors. He stopped; however, before he left, hand on the door, as he turned back to face the pharaoh.
“May I speak freely, my king?”
“Always,” Ahkmenrah nodded, meeting his guardian’s gaze, finding his vision fuzzy on account of the number of drinks he’d had.
“You have not lost her."
Ahkmenrah blinked and his brow furrowed, “Who?”
Kamuzu cast him a gentle, knowing smile, “Rest well, my king.”
With the aid of one more cupful, Ahkmenrah did find himself in a deep dreamless sleep that was a welcome reprieve. He woke, however, with a pulsing between his temples and the stale taste of alcohol on his tongue.  
It took several minutes before Ahk could open his eyes completely without going blind. The amount of light cascading into his chamber meant the morning was in its adolescence. No one had bothered to wake him—evidence that there was still no word on his sister’s whereabouts. The new, ever-present, sense of dread dug a little deeper as he rubbed his temples in an attempt to allay the pounding in his head.
Day’s end would mark four since Setshepsut had gone. The thought was enough to strike fear into Ahkmenrah’s heart. If she wasn’t’ found, he hoped it was because she and her lover had found passage out of the city, safely, and not because she was in danger. 
Not knowing plagued him the most.
He cared not that she ran. There was a warmhearted solace in the thought that she was miles down the Nile on her way to the life she yearned for. Ahk only ever wanted her to be happy and if that meant she never stepped foot in the palace again, he could live with that, as long as she was safe. Gods, I hope she is safe…
Despite his restful sleep, Ahkmenrah was still exhausted from carrying the weight of his rampant emotions. Eventually, he worked himself from his bed and dressed for the day, forgoing most of his usual kingly attire. Instead, he dressed only in his ankle-length shendyt, it’s adjoining belts, and a more simplistic wekesh. 
The relaxed finery granted him the solitude as he walked that his churning mind needed. The sights of his chamber had grown tiresome. Ahkmenrah spent the remainder of the morning and into the late afternoon roaming the halls with heedless steps, venturing blindly while his mind wandered.
When the late afternoon began to stretch into the early evening, the pharaoh’s feet were worn almost to the point of blistering. His feet ached but his thoughts were still teaming, needing quiet focus for him to fully make sense of them all.
Ahkmenrah found himself in the spacious quiet of the throne room, Kamuzu and several Medjay guards his only audience. The high seat of the pharaoh felt odd without his usual ornamentation to weigh him down. Nevertheless, he remained, too worn to move until he felt rested. He slouched into the gilded chair, unable to find a more comfortable position.
There was a reverence to the throne room that his own chamber held no more. Ahkmenrah sought to absorb that peace wholly, begging it sink into his overburdened mind and put to rest some of his strife. He let his eyes fall closed—blessedly only empty black stared back, and he surrendered to it. Ahk settled there, floating in an inky abyss somewhere within the depths of his own psyche, finding the stillness he craved. Hours, or perhaps only minutes had passed before the echo of heavy doors opening drew him from the quiet.
Alarm jolted him back to the plight of his reality with a few swift blinks and a frown.
“The guards said they thought you wandered in here.”
The sound of his mother’s voice filled the room warmly, chasing away the glower on Ahkmenrah’s face.
“When your father told me you missed yet another council meeting I knew I had to find you.” Her words echoed gently within the walls and tall ceiling as she crossed the length of the room.
Ahkmenrah shifted in his chair, situating himself into a more respectable posture for a king, but said nothing, still overly focused on his misgivings to speak.
A compassionate smile pressed onto his mother's wide lips, and the beads in her black hair rattled as she shook her head with a sigh.
“You may be a king, but to me, you will always be my sweet boy,” she said gently brushing fingers through his curls in an attempt to tame them. “Tell me what it is that troubles you so.”
Her hand fell to tilt his chin so his eyes met hers.
Ahkmenrah shrugged and looked away, “I’m just worried about Setshepsut, mother.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie, but his tone gave him away. His mother was much too wise not to take notice.
Shepseheret nodded and perched herself on the wide arm of the pharaoh’s throne.
“Yes, I do see that. There is something more—your heart aches. But not—I think—for your sister,” she paused and tried to smooth out his curls again. “Help me to understand this.”
When he chanced meeting her gaze, the sense of loneliness began to melt away under the warmth of her expression. Ahk’s body relaxed knowing he could let his guard down; he didn’t have to be a king to his mother, and the realization almost sent a wave of tears spilling down his cheeks.
“There’s so much to say,” he said, unable to fully combat the wave of hesitance; five years of a charade to confess to and more.
“Tell me,” Shepseheret urged softly.
With a shaky exhale, Ahkmenrah built up the courage to confess, wanting only to say the right words to ensure he hurt no others.
“Set and I…” he sighed again. “We haven’t been—we don’t. We do not love each other in the way a husband and wife should love one another. Our entire union has been an act.”
There was something profound in saying those words out loud and for a moment, he felt lighter than air. The weight of their secret no longer held him to the ground.
Ahkmenrah paused long enough to gauge his mother’s expression and found only softness on her features. It was her kindness and openness that fostered the rest of the courage he needed to profess all that plagued him.
“All these years we’ve been spending our nights together talking or playing Senet, or simply hating what is expected of us….” It was a miracle neither of them resented each other after so much time forced with each other. Ahkmenrah was glad for that.
A hint of sadness ghosted over Shepseheret’s face. She said nothing for a long time until finally, she sighed.
“I know.” 
“You know?” Ahkmenrah’s brow furrowed, mouth open slightly with shock.
“I’ve known for some time, actually,” his mother confessed, looking somewhat ashamed.
“I don’t understand.” Ahk couldn’t look away, searching for an explanation in her features.
“Who do you think put the idea of a second wife for you into your father’s head,” she said with a twinge of pride. It faded quickly when Ahkmenrah’s bewilderment didn’t diminish 
“Why?” he asked.
The slight look of sadness returned to his mother’s kind smile, “I had hoped having someone of your own would bring you joy.”
Ahkmenrah’s focus fell back to the stone floor, doing his best to digest all the new information. There was hardly space in his mind to store and properly process such things.
“So you knew about Set and Satauhotep?” he asked, skimming through the web in his head to find the right questions to ask.
“I knew she had someone, but not who,” she nodded.
Ahkmenrah thought a moment, sifting through more of his laden thoughts trying to decide which confession he wanted to bring up next.
“It’s my fault Set ran away.”
“How so?” his mother’s brow creased.
“Do you remember Nouke?” Saying her name was like a knife in his heart.
Shepseheret grinned as her eyes sparkled with fond memories.
“Of course. She always had you wrapped around her finger.”
“Still, it seems,” he admitted. 
There was so much to tell his mother. He wanted to start at the beginning: about how Kahmunrah had wronged Nouke and her family, forcing them to leave without a good-bye. Another time, he thought. There was little that could be done about the past, what mattered then was the present.
“She came back to the palace asking for my help—”
“And did you help her?”
“Without question,” Ahk said. “And during those few hours of being with her again, I found joy the likes of which I don’t ever recall feeling.”
A glad smile drew tightly onto his mother’s face, but there was still a hint of puzzlement creasing her brow.
“And how does that make you responsible for your sister running away to be with the man she loves?”
Guilt churned in Ahkmenrah’s stomach with a sickening slosh.
“I promised her that when I found a new bride, I would release her, so she could be with Satauhotep. But I misspoke, and I didn’t catch it. So she took matters into her own hands.”
“I see,” Shepseheret spoke, taking a moment to consider his confession. “But don’t you think Setshepsut should hold some of the fault as well? She should have asked the meaning of your words.”
Ahkmenrah had not considered that. However, he still felt as though he alone was responsible.
“There’s more though, I think,” his mother said, searching his expression.
Ahk nodded and the words forming on his tongue rose with a sour taste, causing him to frown.
“My carelessness was the same with Nouke. Although, that fault does lie with only me,” he said. “She questioned my meaning and I said nothing. Now I’ve lost her also.”
His mother was quiet a long time before she cast him a smile, shaking her head.
“My dearest son,” she chided gently. “My sweet, Ahkmen. Sulking around these halls will not heal your injured heart. Go to her. Speak with her the words you couldn’t before. You will only lose her if you allow yourself to.”
It wouldn’t be so easy. He hurt her, truly hurt her. Still, Ahkmenrah exhaled as he turned his mother’s notions over and over in his mind.
“I fear she now only sees me as her pharaoh,”
“You are a pharaoh,” his mother interjected. “And as pharaoh, no one holds the power to tell you whom you can and cannot marry, no matter their station—noble or otherwise, you can have whomever you desire. You may have one wife, or you may have ten. A hundred women in your harem or none. This world is yours; you need only the courage to reach out and take whatever it is your heart yearns to hold.” 
All at once, Ahkmenrah’s trepidation folded in on itself collapsing under the weight of his mother’s wisdom, and left a hole that renewed hope rushed to fill. The sensation spurred him to his feet and in a fluid movement, he threw his arms around his mother so quickly she hardly had time to stand.
Her gleefully surprised chuckle enveloped him with a tingling warmth, prompting a smile to spread across his face, feeling joy he thought he may never again find.
“Thank you, mother, for your wise counsel.” He squeezed her tight and kissed her cheek.
She hummed pulling away, caressing both sides of his face with her hands, kissing his forehead.
“The gods were unusually kind to give me you. It honors me to share what wisdom Thoth has granted me.”
Ahkmenrah was about to return her sentiment when the throne room doors burst open without warning.
The thunderous reverberation in the grand hall was startling, causing their eyes to glance in alarm to find an array of mercenary guards flooding into the room with Kahmunrah at their lead, adorned proudly in his golden armor, as though he’d just returned from battle with a prize. In his iron-clad grip, dragging behind him, was Setshepsut. Her clothes were tattered and ripped at the hem—ankles bloodied from being hauled like a hunter's kill. Set’s lip bled from a cut, evidence that proved she had not let Kahmunrah take her without a fight.
Beyond his brother, Ahkmenrah made out Satauhotep in chains, beaten and bloody. A large gash on his head spilled a crimson line down the contours of his face, his bare torso bruised. 
The sight worked through Ahk in a wave of rage and horror as Kahmunrah approached—his grin wickedly pleased—with a hubris so powerful it stuck in the air making the pharaoh's anger more intense.
Kah tossed Setshepsut at his feet with no small air of pride, as though she were a trophy to be revered. Ahk’s mouth hung open; the rush of words he wanted to scream stuck to his dry tongue, compiling until he was able to sift through each, granting him the wisdom to force out the calmest reaction he could manage. He exhaled slowly, swallowing the superfluous words, and blinked until the shaken reality settled around him.
“What is the meaning of this, Kahmunrah?” The pharaoh winced inwardly when his voice sounded more terrified then calm—least of all demanding.
“My men found your queen in bed with another man,” Kah threw an errant wave of his hand towards Satauhotep.
The black of Kahmunrah’s eyes met Ahk’s with a fiendish delight that was unnerving to behold. He was proud to have beaten and abused them.
“She has betrayed you, little brother. An insidious crime that is punishable by death,” Kah reminded him.
Ahk stood frozen, teeth set firm against each other. His breathing was deep but much too slow for the rapid pace of his heart. The pharaoh’s eyes were locked in quiet rage with his brother.
Setshepsut’s sobs filled the once reverent room upon the proclamation of her pending execution: an array of short pants, sniffs, and choked plea's spilling past her lips. The sound pulled Ahk’s leer away from his brother and to her. Set's own glances teetered from brother to brother, gauging them, before finally she wobbled to her feet and threw her arms around Ahkmenrah’s shoulders.
She clung to him as though he was all that was keeping her bound to the earth. Without hesitation, Ahk’s arms circled her trembling frame protectively, while she cried against his chest. 
“I’m sorry Ahkmen! Please, have mercy! Forgive me, p-please”
All the anger writhing inside of Ahk subsided; his need to console his sister immensely stronger at that moment. He kept her close, smoothing her disheveled hair.
“Shh,” he murmured. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
He pulled away just enough to meet her gaze, her dark eyes shimmering with tears.
“You’re safe now, Set,” Ahk promised. “I promise”
A breath of relief shook her, and she tried to smile but couldn’t. Then she nodded when words failed to form.
Ahkmenrah kissed her forehead and passed her to his mother’s protective arms, minding the bruises beginning to form on the upper part of her arm from where Kahmunrah had sunk his claws into her.
The moment he saw Set safe with their mother, the fire reignited and his blood boiled. Venom coated every word that left his mouth, no longer burdened with the heaviness of horror that belittled his tone moments ago. A hatred sank into his bones, and for the first time, he was able to meet his brother’s cold eyes with an icy reflection.
“I should have you stripped of every title—every non-tangible thing that keeps that arrogant smirk on your face. You would be nothing without what I have graciously bestowed upon you.”
Never had Ahk seen Kahmunrah’s smile melt so quickly into a frown—one of equal rage and confusion. His teeth ground together as he furrowed his brow, his nostrils flaring like an angry ox.
“Am I to understand that I will be punished for bringing this traitor to your attention?” Kahmunrah stepped forward as if to provoke a challenge. Ahk did the same; the gap between them no more than an arm's length.
Suddenly, he missed the benefit of his crown and golden capes that made him feel like the king he was. Still, Ahk squared his shoulders and raised his chin. 
“She is the queen,” he hissed through his teeth.
Kahmunrah’s nose wrinkled with a sneer as he threw an angry finger in Setshepsut’s direction.
“That unfaithful snake is no queen!”
Before Kah could manage another word, Ahkmenrah sent his fist into his brother’s jaw with as much force and as much dedication he could muster. The power surprised them both; Ahkmenrah almost certain the cracking sound he heard was his own knuckles.
Kahmunrah stumbled, teetering on uneven feet as Ahkmenrah mentally waged how badly his hand would ache once the adrenaline stopped surging through him like fire. The abrupt assault was met with the lot of Kah’s men stepping forward with their hands prepared to draw their weapons—ready to defend their master.
Ahkmenrah tilted his head in challenge, shocked any of them would consider brandishing a weapon at their pharaoh. As if spawned from the very walls, a legion of Medjay flanked their king, Kamuzua at their lead and stepping further to fall in line with Ahkmenrah.
When Kah regained his footing, he did so rubbing his jaw and made a show of spitting blood and a piece of broken tooth onto the floor. A wicked grin—impressed to some extent—contorted his face as he raised his hand to signal his men to come to heel, his eyes never leaving Ahkmenrah’s. 
“It’s good to know you do have fight in you after all, little brother,” Kah noted, seemingly amused and intrigued by the turn of events.
Ahk’s fists balled at his sides, struggling to quell the want to hit his brother once more for all he had done, both past and present. The ache in his hand, beginning to pulse, however, helped curb his desire. He didn’t want to make it worse.
“You will not address me so informally,” the pharaoh glowered. “I am your king, and in the presence of your men, you will address me as such.”
The snide grin on Kahmunrah’s face faltered back into an irritated frown, “Very well. My king.”
He paused before pointing to Satauhotep.
“The boy then,” Kahmunrah suggested. “If you will not abide by the laws of Egypt—”
“I AM the law in Egypt!” Ahkmenrah warned with a growl.
Kah scoffed, unfazed. “Surely you don’t mean to let them both free?” Kah shook his head disapprovingly, making a tsk sound with his tongue.
“Kill the boy, at least,” he suggested again with a nonchalance that made Ahkmenrah hate his brother even more.
Setshepsut’s sobs filled the air again, more quiet plea’s of forgiveness and mercy.
“Then,” Kah added. “Perhaps your queen will learn her place.”
Ahkmenrah took a step closer to his brother, fire, and rage fueling his every movement and gathered himself to his full height.
“If anyone needs to learn their place, it is you, Kahmunrah.” 
In that moment, Ahkmenrah felt three times his size; tall and ominous with a timbre in his voice so sinister he couldn’t completely recognize it as his own. Kah may have been physically larger, but there in the throne room, Ahk saw him no larger than the snake he was.
The bewildered, quiet rage building behind his brother’s eyes was confirmation that he had finally gotten through to him; finally shown Kah, who was king. The notion instilled Ahk with an unfamiliar wave of hubris that he chose to ride for as long as he could. He felt no shame in any of the rage soaked words that spilled from his lips; there was truth in his anger—something carefully harbored and calculated over years of nothing but receiving contempt despite his best efforts to have Kahmunrah as his brother.
Using his fresh wave of confidence, Ahkmenrah stormed past his brother and addressed the regiment of mercenaries.
“You will release this man at once,” Ahk stated calmly to the men securing Satauhotep.
The mercenaries exchanged a glance before throwing their questioning look to Kahmunrah. Ahk stifled his anger and allowed their slight sedition to pass without upheaval.
When Kah nodded, the men surrendered the beaten soldier heedless of his weakened state. He fell forward and Ahk caught him, hastily adjusting his footing to make up for the added weight. 
“I’ve got you,” he assured Satauhotep.
From his new vantage point, Ahk found the soldier’s wounds were much worse than he’d initially thought. His back was an angry tangle of bleeding lash marks; his knuckles were a fresco of purple and yellow markings from fighting off his attackers. The cut on his head still bled, and his wrists and ankles were swollen red from the shackles he wore. The entire sight made Ahkmenrah sick, feeling slightly responsible. He never should have asked Kah to help him find his sister.
“You will be greatly compensated for the cruelty that has transpired today, my friend.”
Ahkmenrah walked him across the room slowly before handing him to Setshepsut and Shepseheret with the instruction to take him to the healers. The two carefully shared the soldier’s weight and Ahkmenrah blinked after them as they left, feeling the sense of confidence and calm wane until all that remained was disgust for his brother.
“As for the rest of you.” Ahkmenrah spoke loud enough for his kingly bravado to carry across the room, while his eyes scanned the numerous faces before him.
“You are to leave my sight immediately. Apart from you.” He pointed to Kahmunrah. “You, I will speak to without the ears of your hired guard.”
A stillness crept over the room as the mercenaries all looked to their master for a command; and that time, Ahk would not let the blunder pass.
Ahkmenrah’s lips curled in anger, “I am your pharaoh! You do not look to him for instruction. Leave! Now!”
Without so much as a questioning blink, the horde of men scattered, leaving Ahk alone with his Medjay and his brother. As he watched them all vanish, he felt no less infuriated. Kahmunrah’s lingering presence was more abhorrent than a hundred men who opposed him.
“I must admit. That display was arguably the most kingly thing I have ever witnessed coming from you.” A delighted grin, gushing with manic amusement twisted onto his features—enough to stir the ire inside Ahkmenrah.  
“Do not smile at me,” Ahk growled, prompting Kahmunrah’s grin to fall swiftly. “Do you think this was all merely an act? Some farce to—to impress your guard?”
Ahkmenrah exhaled deeply, nostrils flaring in an attempt to keep his head clear. He didn’t want his anger to cloud his judgment, but he did allow it to give him the courage to make justified hard decisions.
“If you ever presume to touch any of my sisters again, you will be relieved of your hands. Do I make myself clear?”
Kahmunrah swallowed and clenched his jaw in irritation but said nothing.
“Those men in your service are hereby banished from the palace grounds. You will be granted men from my guard who will see to your protection, and are, undoubtedly, loyal to me,” Ahk paused long enough to watch Kah’s expression twist, angered like a child who was denied their favorite toy. “If you cannot accept this, or you openly question my rule again, I will see to it that you too are thrown from this very palace. Forever.”
Kahmunrah fumed in silence, digesting his new punishment with quiet rage and cold, black eyes.
“Is that all, my king?” 
“No actually. It would be wise for you to keep your distance from me for the time being—I cannot promise I won’t strike you again or have you thrown in a cell.” Ahkmenrah proclaimed honestly, using the same indifference Kah usually used on him.
“Now, get out. I am done with you.”
Kahmunrah, however, remained in spite of the pharaoh’s order, never surrendering his heavy leer, as though he were sizing Ahk up to test him. Fire still burned in Ahkmenrah, and he used it to hone his anger so he could hold his brother’s glare with equal intensity. He knew Kah was waiting for him to fold—to renounce every demand he’d just spoken like the weak ruler his brother thought him to be.
“Get. Out,” Akh growled through clenched teeth.
Finally, Kahmunrah bowed his head—his rage palpable, “Your majesty." 
The second his brother was out of sight, Ahkmenrah called his guardians to arm. Without hesitation, a platoon kneeled before him, waiting patiently for their king's orders.
“Medjay, see to it that every last mercenary in my brothers employ is rooted out and escorted beyond these walls. If any man gives you trouble, I implore you to use force to bring them to heel, thereafter they will be cast into a cell. I will not have blood on my hands—I am not my brother. Am I understood?”
“Yes, my pharaoh!” the men replied in perfect unison.
“Go then. The gods be with you.”
In perfect formation, his men stood and marched out of the throne room, taking with them, his fire. Steam billowed out of Ahkmenrah with a long sigh, all of his anger dulling and relaxing his tense muscles. It felt good to be free of the rage he’d carried. And yet, Ahkmenrah couldn’t help but wonder who that pent-up rage had turned him into, and the thought seemed to trigger the ache in his bruised and bloodied knuckles. Penance—he figured, for acting so rashly.
Kahmunrah was a selfish, power-hungry creature, fed by cruelty; everything Ahkmenrah feared to become. Even so, Kah was still his brother. And while Ahk wondered if he could ever find it in him to forgive his brother for all that had transpired, the pharaoh still held onto the foolish hope that one-day Kahmunrah would see him as a brother, and not the boy who took his crown away from him.
When his nerves finally settled, his fists unclenching and his heart finding it’s normal rhythm, Ahkmenrah felt as though he’d swum the length of the Nile—overwhelmingly exhausted. The fury was gone, vanished just as quickly and quietly as it had taken control of him. Ahk was glad to be rid of it, though, there was a new feeling that was slowly rising to take its place. 
“You should have hit him again,” Kamuzu expressed with an uncharacteristically joking tone.
A weak, almost shocked, chuckle rattled through the pharaoh.
“I wanted to,” Ahk admitted, casting an assessing look to his hand; his nose wrinkled at the sight he found.
The mark was ugly, already turning purple and yellow, as blood trickled in thin streaks from cuts brought on by the force of his assault. Its ache was equal to how it looked.
Ahkmenrah tore his eyes away from his hand unable to look at it or think about the narrative it told. It would serve as a reminder of the man he became when he let his anger stew too long—a man he never wanted to become.
“I should not have done it in the first place.”
From Kahmunrah’s viewpoint regarding the situation, he was in his ground. True, he’d handled it poorly, but his reasoning was justifiable. Ahkmenrah knew the law. Setshepsut knew the law: an unfaithful wife of a king was to be brought to death. Her lover too. That was the law set many centuries ago, and Ahk blatantly ignored it.
What kind of king does that make me? The pharaoh was almost certain the gods would punish him one day for letting matters spiral out of his control.
“I know what you are thinking, my king,” Kamuzu said, surveying the strain on Ahkmenrah’s face. “If I may speak free?”
The pharaoh managed a nod.
“Kahmunrah may not have known the history of the queen and this soldier like you and I. But the gods see us all for who we are in all that we do; they see your kindness and the wisdom of what you have done this day. And for that, surely they will sing you praise.”
Ahkmenrah met Kamuzu’s gaze, feeling relief drift over him upon hearing his guardian's gracious words. Being told that he made a correct decision was a welcomed sensation, especially when he felt as though—of late—every word from his mouth was wrong.
“Your brother needed to be reminded that it is you who is the gods chosen,” Kamuzu continued; purging his own contempt it seemed. “It was wise too, to be rid of the men under his command. I do not trust a man whose loyalty depends on how deep someone's pockets are.”
Ahk bobbed his head in quiet agreement. Ruffians and cast-outs with hot tempers were always the ones Kahmunrah gathered around himself; no longer would Ahkmenrah allow them in his home. They could not be trusted.
“Yes, that decision was long overdue.” The pharaoh paused for a moment, pensive. “But please see to it that he is given good, able, men to protect him. For everything he is and isn’t, he is still my brother.”
“Of course, my king.”
“Thank you.” Ahkmenrah cast his protector a weak smile. “And not just for—”
The pharaoh wasn’t sure how to phrase what it was he wanted to say. Kamuzu meant so much more to him than just the man who guarded him. He’d been his most trusted companion for as long as he could remember—he was a friend.
“Thanks,” Ahk decided on when his words failed him, feeling the proper sentiment, lost, in only a single word.
Even so, Kamuzu’s dark eyes smiled upon him in understanding, “It continues to be my highest honor.”
A full smile unfurled slowly on Ahkmenrah’s face, feeling his friends’ words envelop him warmly, and a little of the loneliness that plagued him dwindled.
“I should check on my sister and Satauhotep.”
“I shall follow your lead, my king.” Kamuzu bowed his head respectfully and swung his arm for Ahk to guide him. 
The wing of the palace where the healers and the priests resided was a journey long enough to lull what remained of Ahkmenrah’s fury. For all the commotion that had taken place moments ago, the halls were blessedly quiet. As soon as the pharaoh came to the large narrow hall, the tranquil scent of healing herbs colored the air, the sound of priests recanting their remedial prayers in a musical chant made the atmosphere of the temple calming.
There were a few afflicted or injured persons being tended to, and Ahk’s eyes skimmed over each of their faces until he found ones familiar to him. When he found them, his feet stopped.
Setshepsut sat next to her lover; her hands cupped around his as men cleaned the lash marks on his back. Despite all that had been done to them—all the strife their love had suffered—they never looked more at peace. Ahkmenrah stood idle, watching them; filling his own heart to the brim with gladness. For a moment, he considered turning on his heel and leaving them be. What he needed to say could wait. He didn’t want to dampen their moment with pleas of forgiveness to make himself feel better. It was they who had endured hardships far greater than his own; they deserved an evening of privacy.
However, when Setshepsut’s stray glance caught him, she jumped to her feet. 
“Ahkmen!” she said with a gasp.
Set ran, throwing her arms around him with enough force Ahk had to catch his footing.
“Please forgive me for running away. Satau had nothing to do with it—it was all my idea. I was foolish!” Her words came out muffled, buried against his neck, and he had trouble deciphering whether or not she was crying again.
Tears did well in his eyes as he squeezed his little sister tight, overjoyed to know she was safe once more. Ahkmenrah would sooner see himself to the executioner’s block than pass a sentence to condemn her. He would never understand how Kah could command such a notion with careless gusto.
“There’s no need for an apology. It is I who should be begging for your forgiveness," Ahk assured her as he held her at arm's length to assess her injuries.
Her eyes were red and puffy—she was crying—but the cut on her lip was already scabbing over. The most alarming was the bruise on her upper arm: a near-perfect illustration of Kahmunrah’s unrelenting grip.
Ahkmenrah’s eyes leered at the ugly mark; jaw clenched once more as distaste for his brother began to churn in his gut. Set’s gaze followed his.
“It’s not so bad,” she said in a soft tone.
Ahk shook his head and swallowed his fury before it could consume him again.
“It was never my intention to break the vow I made to you,” he finally said, casting a glance to Satauhotep. “To both of you.”
“I am sorry.” Ahk kissed her forehead softly, causing her to smile. “I have been the fool—not you.” 
Setshepsut wove her hands around his waist and hugged him again before taking his hand to pull him deeper into the hall. She guided him onto the stool she was seated on previously and perched herself on the raised slab next to Satauhotep. He was seated upright so the healers could bind his torso with clean linen to protect the marks on his back.
Ahkmenrah did his best to mask the frown threatening to twist onto his features, close enough to properly survey the soldier's injuries. All the wounds had been tended to, but the maring was even more pronounced with the number of bandages hiding them.
“I’m so very sorry, my friend,” Ahkmenrah said with sincerity even though he felt the apology did not make up for what he had suffered. “These are the best priests and healers in all of Egypt.”
“Thank you, my king.”
The pharaoh waved his hand dismissively, “No, just Ahkmenrah—or Ahkmen.”
Set smiled his way, her expression coaxing the ghost of a grin onto his own lips.
“Thank you, Ahkmenrah.” Satauhotep tested his name with a furrowed brow.
Ahk nodded his approval with an added smile.
Satauhotep’s grin stretched wider, as though the honor of calling his king by name made up for the terror he’d faced. He reached for Setshepsut's hands and tilted his forehead against hers gleefully.
The simple gesture painted a true grin on Ahkmenrah’s features; his mind made up. He wasn’t going to let them live their romance in secret any longer than they had to.
“I intend to honor my vow,” he stated loud enough and with enough resoluteness they both looked his way.
“Before weeks end, I will see to it that Setshepsut and I’s marriage is dissolved.”
A quick, happy gasp escaped his sister's smile, which she tried to muffle with her hand.
“Satauhotep, you will be granted new ranks in my military—titles befitting a man wishing to wed a princess of Egypt.”
It took a moment for the joy to blossom on their faces, slow at first, until it consumed them entirely. When they shared a kiss, Ahkmenrah let his focus fall to the floor, allowing them that moment to themselves.
The adoration spilling from their open and loving hearts permeated the air with a warmth Ahk’s aching heart clung to with the hope it would dull the pain harbored inside. It was a derelict sort of hope, but Ahkmenrah was certain he could be happy just knowing Setshepsut would live a life of peace. That would be enough—it had to be.
When he stood to leave, Set stood too. 
“What about you?” she asked as though she’d plucked thoughts from his head.
“What about me?” Ahkmenrah shrugged although he knew what she would say.
“Who’s to be your queen once I step down?”
Suddenly, a lump grew in the back of Ahkmenrah’s throat, thick and painful, as his mind immediately filled with images of her. All the adoration he’d siphoned from his sister’s joy failed him; the pain in his heart too strong to be bested. His shoulders slouched, and his head was all at once too heavy to keep from hanging. He swallowed, forcing the lump away.
“Nensala, maybe. She and I sort of--” he paused, his nose wrinkling at the sour taste of his own words; he couldn’t even mask the expression on his face that made it blatantly clear he did not want to marry Nensala.
"We got along,” he husked out finally.
Set’s eyes riddled with a hint of sadness as she frowned.
“What about Nouke?” 
The very sound of her name shot a chill down Ahkmenrah’s spine, and he shook his head, unable to look anywhere but the floor. His shame returning to him vehemently.
“I’m afraid my foolishness chased her away too. The hurt I caused her…” his voice trailed off, too easily recalling the way the spark faded in her eyes when he didn’t fight to keep her. “…I am undeserving of her.”
When he chanced a look to his sister, he was surprised to find her expression one of mild annoyance; slowly, she shook her head.
“You are a fool, Ahkmenrah,”
Ahk threw her a look of confusion and Set rolled her eyes.
“You give up so easily?” she chided. “Go to her—apologize.”
“Mother told me to do the same thing.”
“Then why are you still here wallowing?” Set asked, her brow hoisting high onto her forehead. “Apologize to her as you have done with me. Her affection may be wounded, but you can mend a wound. And usually, what grows back is stronger.”
His heart leaped into his throat—pounding excitedly. Hope could destroy him if he allowed it to settle too deeply; however, he yearned to have it.
“And if she turns me away?” 
Setshepsut shrugged with a soft smile, “Then it is she that is undeserving of you, brother.”
A smile unfurled slowly on Ahkmenrah’s lips and his heart danced against the cage of his ribs.
“I cherish your wisdom, sister,” he told her, laying a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”
Set smirked with a teasing look of arrogance, tilting her head pointedly towards the entry, urging him to leave. Ahk lingered, gnawing his bottom lip, feeling the tingle of excitement mix with apprehension in his belly.
“Excuse me,” he finally declared. “But it is now my turn to run away to be with the one I love.”
Set’s simper pressed deeper, “Don’t hurry back!” 
Next Chapter-> Chapter Twelve: How I Have Loved You
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dreamerinsilico · 3 years
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Thanks to The Good Place s4 having made its way to Netflix, and me having Feelings, I’m going to take a bit to publicly chew on them now. 
TL;DR: same as basically every take I’ve seen, it was a great finale that handled each of the characters in a way that made sense and also I cried through most of the last episode.  But also I have vaguely cranky philosophical ruminations about it that don’t make me appreciate the show any less, but definitely want to yap about it.
(Details under the cut, because spoilers and also this may get long.  Also apparently it’s going to involve some spoilers for The Old Guard.  And maybe a few minor NBC Hannibal references.)
So, first I want to reiterate: the way the show ended, given everything else the show had done, made sense and was emotionally satisfying to me.  I loved it.
In a bigger-picture sense, though... I’d really like to see more media that interfaces with the concept of immortality without concluding that death is the only way to give the human (or humanoid) existence meaning.  Where we end up in the finale of The Good Place makes sense, in that it’s already been established that there’s an afterlife that doesn’t really have any inherent meaning beyond individual souls’ experiences of it and their relationships with one another.  And it’s not hard to imagine that a lot of the small dramas and conflicts that provide variation to even very peaceful lives would be invalidated without any kind of pressure from those material needs.  Given the foundations of the show, Our Heroes’ decision about how to change The Good Place for the better is... the only reasonable conclusion.  
And, you know, I don’t blame the show for not being The piece of media I’m hoping for to just come out and say outright, “you know, actually fuck this whole death thing.  Not a fan.  Don’t need it.  Let’s get rid of it.”  That’s not what this show was ever even remotely trying to be about.  It’s about coping with the reality of the human experience in the 20th/21st century, which includes death.  (Even with my transhumanist leanings, as a bioengineer and also someone who ardently pays attention to other fields, I will not even hint at denying that this is going to be a mandatory part of our reality for quite a while yet.)
The conclusion the show draws that I very much do agree with (regardless of one’s stance on death) is that we require some form of tension to inject meaning.  When I picture myself in the Final Form of the Good Place, I think most of my energy and desire would be focused on (I guess like a combo of Chidi and Tahani) asking questions of people there, and making peace with relationships that had somehow been left hanging.  There’s a finite amount of each of those.  I’d run out eventually.  My scientific passion would have a hard time finding an outlet, because the laws of physics don’t apply and I can’t interface with living people who could still make use of my expertise and stubborn propensity to problem-solve.  I’d like to think my creative leanings would still matter, but I’m not positive to what degree they would in that environment.  (It’s worth a chuckle to me now that when they offhandedly noted that Shakespeare’s thousands of posthumous plays weren’t anywhere near as good as the ones he wrote on Earth, I was initially indignant.  But with further thought it makes sense that the longer one is removed from that tension I referenced previously, the harder it would be to make meaningful art.  Or to even have that art be appreciated by the audience, since, on the audience side, successful art plucks against the tension of the strings the audience itself carries.  And when your audience is restricted to people in paradise who have already at-least-mostly self-actualized....)
Something about the finale that I’m still chewing over how I feel about was the very last scene.  The implication of some form of reincarnation.  (If that wasn’t supposed to be the takeaway from that... well, please tell me, but I *think* I remember some kind of rewards card reference with Eleanor and Michael from an earlier season?)  The incurable romantic part of me appreciates the concept of reincarnation on principle, so that’s one thing.  It’s also entirely in keeping with Chidi’s metaphor about a wave returning to the ocean - that wave is gone; it’ll never be there again, but the stuff of it is still there and ready to take form again.  But the part of me that very much sympathizes with Simone and, while not being a neurologist, is very concerned with Theory of Mind... reincarnation doesn’t do much for that part.  If I die, and my metaphysical essence eventually shows up in a different human who has no connection via memory to their past lives... well, that’s very aesthetically pleasing, I guess, but the point to me is, the information was still lost.  When I died, my subjective experiences, memories, and capacity to act upon the world as Dae the Irascible Multi-Academic was lost, because my reincarnation doesn’t have access to that (much as I did not have access to my previous selves’s experiences).  
Anyway, speaking of incurable romantics, let’s talk about The Old Guard!  When I was previously starting to complain about no media that interacts with immortality as a concept avoiding the canard of “death gives life meaning,” I stopped myself.  Because you know what, The Old Guard didn’t fucking go there, and I’m proud of everyone who worked on it for that.  Booker thinks death is the answer because he has lost hope.  But the person he appeals to, the person he thinks he’s doing a favor, is Andy.  Who has lived millennia more than he has, lost the implied-love-of-her-life, and still has the will to keep going.  Her questioning of that is intrinsic to the storyline, but at NO POINT does she ever indicate she wants to die.  And Nile’s appearance reinvigorates her, even as she knows she now actually has an expiration date.  (And the expiration date is not what invigorates her.  It is Nile and the attendant situation reminding her of why they do what they do.)  I ultimately really like The Old Guard’s take on immortality, because it gives us a spectrum of reactions to it.  Nile, generally freaked-out and not happy about any of this but trying to do best by the people she loves.  Booker, jaded and wanting to end it all.  Andy, pretty jaded but when push comes to shove wants to keep fucking trying, and doesn’t just step back and abdicate responsibility when it’s clear she isn’t going to be around much longer.  Joe and Nicky, not necessarily always happy with their circumstances, but taking strength from their relationships, not just with each other, but with the group as a whole.  (I have a whole essay brewing, which may or may not eventually see the light, about their romantic connection being important but kind of only a part of their overall attitude about the group and how that is intensely important.) 
And because apparently I’m just going to keep tacking on essay-stubs to this one post, when I thought about how to start this, I also thought about how Hannibal Lecter (in NBC Hannibal) says, “The thought that my life could end at any moment frees me to fully appreciate the beauty and art and horror of everything this world has to offer.”  And I’m just kind of marinating in that (hah) for the moment because it represents a hedonism that The Good Place, in aggregate, rejects.  But you can’t really compare those two stances, because of course, Hannibal Lecter is a human, subject to human standards of beauty and horror.  I shouldn’t go off on a big tangent about this here, because the point of NBC Hannibal is emphatically not about immortality or mortality, but I felt it worth mentioning because a) hyperfixation and b) it’s an interesting thread in the wider discussion I’m interested in, that I like placing in context.
Anyway if you’ve bothered to read all of this, thank you profusely.  I have a lot of feelings about The Good Place which mostly boil down to “I loved it,” but I can’t help but poke at the whole death thing.  That’s kind of a sore spot for me in media.
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kassandra-lorelei · 4 years
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I would love a prompt of C.C. realising she is younger than Fran. And how our Niles reacts, of course :P
@missbabcocks1 Here we are, at last, my bestie! I hope this was everything you were expecting when you requested it!
But also, oh my God, I am so far behind on all these prompts! I’m so sorry everyone’s been waiting - work keeps me very busy! I will try to do more, more often, to get through them! I need to get back on track a bit, even though I work full time now. Besides, it will be good - who doesn’t love hearing about these two idiots and their adventures?
Niles had to say, there was something extremely pleasantabout C.C. having been told to go on maternity leave. In the days after thewhole extended clan had arrived in California, there had been so much work todo – particularly for both his wife and Mr. Sheffield at the studios – that itseemed as though neither one of them would get a break!
Fortunately, a small miracle had happened and Maxwell had,over the course of some months (as opposed to his usual years), noticed thatthe load was really too much for her to handle. Studio work, even forproducers, didn’t lend itself to anything apart from being on one’s feet allday when shooting and the rounder her belly grew, the more it was starting tobecome a concern whenever a live set inspection or meeting was called.
It was a relief for the butler when their employer hadfinally told her to simply rest at home for the remainder of her pregnancy. Notthat C.C. hadn’t put up a fight, of course. She seemed to have a constant worrythat things just wouldn’t get done if she wasn’t there to make sure of it, andfor the first long, few weeks, she hadn’t been able to help swinging wildly ona pendulum back and forth between “on edge and anxious” and “bored out of hermind”.
That was why Niles had done everything he could to keep heroccupied, which was what he found so pleasant about it, in truth. Having her athome meant that they got to spend more time together, just as they would’vedone had they still been at the mansion back in New York. They’d read books,watched movies, tossed playful remarks back and forth as he went about hischores – the works. He’d even bring lunch right to her lap if she was feelingtoo tired or uncomfortable to move.
As time moved forward and C.C. settled further into hermaternity leave, her worries seemed to settle as well. Not that they went awaycompletely, of course, but enough so that she could actually enjoy herself andnot think about working all of the time.
Not that she didn’t find some of that to do around themansion, as well. The office always had things that needed clearing, filing or reworkingand it wasn’t as though Maxwell would ever get around to it. So, C.C. had takenit upon herself to do a little bit of administration work, every once in awhile, whenever she felt the boredom creeping up on her again.
She had clearly felt the urge a little while after Niles hadbrought her lunch, because when he returned to the living room with his own sandwich(he’d cooked the bacon for this BLT to perfection, in his mind), her plate fromher meal was clean and she had retrieved another box.
She was sat going through the papers inside it, a greatCheshire Cat-like grin stretching across her gorgeous face.
He loved to see her looking so happy, even if it did alsointrigue him. What could she have found in that box that had made her sopleased? He could even hear her chuckling a little bit under her breath…!
Well, there wasn’t anything like having a little bit oftheir usual fun to ask her what was going on…
He sauntered over, allowing a grin to start to curl at thecorners of his mouth.
“You’re looking awfully chipper. Did Mr. Sheffield call tosay that he’s fired someone you hate?”
C.C. looked up and smiled at him brightly, “Better.”
“Oh,” he blinked in return, coming to stand over where shewas sat on the sofa, craning his neck a little to take a look at what she wasdoing. “Two people?”
C.C. half-rolled her eyes at him. He didn’t take itpersonally – he knew it was all part of the fun.
“No one’s been fired, Scrubbing Bubbles,” she told him. “Ijust happen to have stumbled upon an excellent piece of news.”
“Is that so?” Niles’ eyebrow raised and he leaned in towardsher, elbows resting on the back of the sofa. “Would you care to share thisexcellent piece of news with your now-very-curious husband?”
His wife pretended to think about it, before another verypleased grin began to spread itself on her lips.
She practically purred her answer, “I might, for a littlequid pro quo…”
That was an answer Niles always enjoyed hearing. He wasbasically finished for the day, not including dinner, which he could easily putoff for another couple of hours or so.
And he was sure he knew the perfect way to spend them.
“Well, you know I am always happy to scratch your back, ifyou scratch mine…”
His motion to lean down and plant a kiss on her lips wasinterrupted at the very last second, when C.C.’s hand darted out and she pickedup his sandwich off his plate, taking a bite out of it and putting the restback.
She chewed for a while, during which Niles could only try tostammer out a protest but fail, eventually just letting his jaw drop and hangthere for a moment until she was done and ready to speak.
She dusted her hands off as she picked up the paper she’dbeen reading, “Now, you wanted to know what I’ve been looking at.”
Niles frowned in slight annoyance at his plate, “Yes, and Icould’ve enjoyed one whole, complete sandwich to go along with it…”
C.C. rolled her eyes, trying to look unimpressed but notreally managing to conceal her amusement.
“I’ll make it up to you later,” she said in a voice that luckilypromised it without using those words, before going back to the paper. “Youwanna see what I’ve found here or not?”
After a moment, Niles sighed.
“Alright, you’ve got me. What is it?”
“There’s the yenta I know and love,” his wife grinned,gesturing proudly at all her hard work. “I’ve been refiling and reorganisingall the household legal documents. The Sheffields’ and ours.”
“Both sets?” Niles quirked an eyebrow, surprised. “Shouldn’twe leave the Sheffields’ files for them to sort out?”
C.C.’s grin dropped away from her face and she gave him ALook. They both knew exactly what it meant, too – he had just been so takenaback by it in the heat of the moment that the answer hadn’t really registeredto him.
The Look meant something along the lines of “Who are youkidding, Butler Boy? Since when have the Sheffields ever done anything that wecould do for them?” mixed in equal combinations with “Would you trust Maxwellor Fran Sheffield to do something like organise and keep legal documents?”.
He could only really nod in return, once the understandinghad settled in properly.
“Good point,” he said, turning his attention back to thepapers. “What did you find? I’m assuming, of course, that your good news comesfrom one of these pages.”
“You’d assume correctly, lover,” she lifted one single sheetof paper out of her lap so that he could see. “Check this out.”
Setting his sandwich down on the one clear patch on thecoffee table, Niles took and peered at the document.
His eyes then went back to his wife, “It’s a copy of MrsSheffield’s birth certificate.”
His immediate thought was to ask why she had been looking atthat particular piece of paper in the first place, but it was almostimmediately interrupted by the rest of his brain asking him who he thought hewas kidding. Fran’s birth certificate was a closer and more heavily guardedsecret than the contents of the Vatican archives; he would’ve looked withouthesitation, if he’d been the one doing the filing.
They both already knew that C.C. knew this, too. There wassomething especially warming in that – they knew each other, inside and out, andknew exactly when the other would be interested in something they’d found.
“Mm-hm,” she hummed pleasantly, as smug as a cat who’dgotten both the cream and the canary. “Notice anything about it?”
Niles studied the certificate carefully, looking for the onepiece of information that she could be talking about. There was one reasonnobody ever saw this paper, and it was the one thing they’d both truly wonderedabout their friend for as long as they’d known her.
Of course, he had the information that she was in the sameclass as Val at school, who had accidentally let slip one time how old she was,but there was something more concrete about seeing the proof firsthand. Rightthere in front of him, on the official piece of paper that recorded Fran’s birthday.Besides, what if Val also lied about her age (poorly, compared to MrsSheffield, but even so)? Or what if the hastily-used excuse that Val kept beingheld back turned out to be true (because, well, come on)?
It didn’t take long to find.
In the butler’s mind, he’d more than half imagined that herbirth date would look…off, compared to other people’s. That was, he’d thoughtthere would be a day and a month, but no year. His sense of logic had steppedin in the moments he’d thought that and told him not to be ridiculous – itwould be scribbled out with a pen, or redacted, like an important militaryrecord, or the dates and locations of stories that authors wanted to representas “real life” in Victorian literature.
But, much to his surprise, neither of those things weretrue. The date was there, in full.
And his eyes could only widen at the number printed on thatpage.
“No…!” he exclaimed in some disbelief, incredulous at havingthe proof positive there in his hands. “It can’t really be true! Surely…!”
“Oh, yes,” C.C. was on the verge of chuckling in puredelight, clasping her hands together in glee. “Our good, perpetuallytwenty-nine-year-old friend, is at the same time, somehow older than I am!”
As if to illustrate her point and celebrate at the sametime, she began to half-dance in her seat, shimmying her shoulders from side toside and wiggling her hips as much as her belly would allow.
Niles watched in amusement, his hand dropping away with thepaper still in it.
“You really are pleased with yourself for finding this,aren’t you?” he asked, mostly rhetorically because the answer was obvious toanybody who had working eyes.
His wife scoffed, still in the middle of her dance number, “Likeyou’re not happy to have finally fully solved the mystery! I’m surprised youdidn’t do this back when she first started at the-oof!”
Suddenly, she flinched, doubling over and clutching at herstomach, halting her in her seated tracks.
In an instant, the butler tossed the paper back into the pileand flew to her side, seating himself next to her as alarm bells immediatelywent off in his head, loud and ringing like the end of the world was on its way.In his state of dread and panic, an impending apocalyptic event would haveactually been preferable to what he imagined might have been happening.
What was going on? Was something the matter? Was it thebaby?!
“C.C., are you alright?!” he cried out, fear of the worststarting to grip at his heart.
Much to his relief, she took in a few deep breaths andrelaxed, letting her arms slip gently around her stomach.
“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine,” she said, raising an accusing eyebrowat her bump as a faintly entertained smirk made its way onto her lips. “Yourlittle servant spawn must’ve felt my happiness and decided to aim a kick at mylower intestine!”
Niles felt the last of the fear be washed away by the toneof her voice and the look on her face as she rubbed at her belly. She was fine.The baby was fine. Everything was fine. He could calm himself back down.
He could get himself back on track. Besides, he had afeeling that it might distract her from the glee of finding out for definitethat she was younger than Fran, and they’d all be allowed to go on with theirdays.
He pulled her into an embrace, settling one of his hands ontop of her stomach and patting it lovingly.
“Getting creative at running rings around you, even from inthe womb,” he beamed proudly. “We have a little prodigy on our hands already.”
C.C.’s half-smirk blossomed into a full one, “And you’ve gotyourself a little clone.”
Niles slid his hand over her belly, taking her hand andentwining their fingers, “You say that as though it were a bad thing.”
She pretended to think about it in return, exaggerating alook of contemplation and using her free hand to tap at her chin.
“Essentially having two of you around the place? Now, why onEarth would I think that was a bad idea…?”
He slid as close as he possibly could in response, leaningin so that his nose was nearly brushing hers.
“You wouldn’t. You love me too much for that…”
C.C.’s slightly hitched breath was warm against his skin, “Maybe.”
Niles felt the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, “Alittle.”
His wife played at being stubborn, “Sorta.”
It was at this point that the butler knew he’d won the game,“Kinda.”
He felt his lips brush against hers, before C.C. pulled awayjust enough to give him a teasing look.
“If our kid turns out to be as big a sap as you…” she lookedlike she was trying to think of a good threat, but came up with nothing.Instead, she simply shook her head. “I really have no idea what I’ll do.”
“I imagine you’ll be forced to finally melt and renounceyour throne. Though I have no idea where they’ll find another Ice Queen at suchshort notice…” he closed the gap again and quickly pecked her lips. “Unless, ofcourse, you’ve already melted.”
She was back to smirking again in an instant, in a way thatmade him think she thought she’d caught him out on something.
“You’re not distracting me out of it.”
Niles’ brow furrowed, “Out of what?”
“Being happy for my little age victory over Nanny Fine,” shereplied, poking him lightly in the chest.
The butler felt his face fall. Damn, she really was good. It truly did go to show just howwell they knew what the other was thinking at any given moment…!
Well, all he could hope to try and do now was downplay thewhole situation enough that she might not keep that smirk of hers for weeks onend.
“I hadn’t intended to distract you from that – our littleone did the job for me quite well enough,” he eventually counterpointed. “Besides, whosaid anything about it having to be a competition?”
C.C. seemed slightly put out by his question.
“No one, but I don’t think it would kill anybody toacknowledge it.”
Niles bit back a frown. She did have a point; she wasyounger, and she had every right to be able to say so. Many years’ worth of“old” and “ancient” jokes could easily be deflected away without trouble, withthat knowledge out in the open, as well as in mind.
Besides, it wasn’t as though not being twenty-nine tookanything away from Fran. Their friend had many things in her life to enjoy andbe proud of, and her age didn’t have any bearing in any of them.
So, he smiled, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek.
“Alright. We’ll talk about it with her tonight,” he said,before pointing a finger at her, emphasising that he meant what he was about tosay. “Using gentle words, though. You say you don’t think it will kill anybody,but you can never be completely sure.”
C.C., chuckled and grabbed his hand, “As you wish, ScrubBrush.”
The gesture was tender, and her voice amused. She wasagreeing to his terms with neutral feelings, but she was enjoying the fact that hewas being so commanding over it.
He couldn’t hold back a smirk over how it wasn’t the firsttime.
“God, I love it when you agree with what I say…” he practicallygrowled, thinking back to her words before about “making it up to him”.
His wife’s eyebrow shot up and she began to grin, clearlyunderstanding, “Hoping to cash in on that promise I made just now, are we?”
Niles pointedly checked his watch in return, “Well, we dohave a few spare hours before anybody is due to arrive home…”
C.C. cast her eyes quickly towards his sandwich, remindinghim it was still there, “What about your lunch?”
The butler studied her for a moment, and then looked atwhere his sandwich was sat waiting, the bacon and lettuce crisp against the soft,cool tomato and the bread cut thick from the loaf he’d bought only that morning.
He reached out, grabbed his prized lunch and took one bite,chewing it rapidly and swallowing before setting it back down and taking hisnow-laughing wife into his arms.
“I’ll finish it later.”
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