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sukirichi · 3 years

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— out of reach | gojo x reader

request: Girllllll I just read your jealous gojo fic and my heart went 📈📈📈📈💥💥💥 youre now one of my fav writers 🙏🧎‍♀️And the spicy parts 😫😫😫 💖 If your asks are still open, could I please request a fic where GOJO has a size kink 🥺🥺🥺 my 5’1 ass is obsessed with that shizzzz

pov: you’re gojo’s childhood friend and roommate – which leads to utter chaos – or perhaps utter bliss?

warnings: size kink, lots of teasing, lots of cursing, dirty talk, choking (probably not in the way you think), body worship, lots of size difference scenes, slight manhandling, overstimulation, thigh fucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this irl guys) + unedited fic :D

notes: idk what happened here LMAOOO but i loved writing this one because i’m short as hell too lol. thanks for this request anon, i hope you like it! <3

word count: 10.5k

masterlist !

If you’re going to be honest, having Gojo as a roommate is something completely unexpected.

Not only are you two from entirely different worlds – him as a jujutsu sorcerer and you as an average human who can’t see curses – but he’s also just someone who is entirely out of your league. He’s respected and looked up to in his field of work, while half of your co-workers don’t even know your name, much less notice you in function parties where you mostly just nibble on sushi before calling it a day and turning back home.

You and Gojo met in elementary school. You could tell from the way he’s surrounded by servants and stern looking adults, firm hands on his small shoulders, that he was different from everyone else.

Apparently, he comes from one of the three big clans in the jujutsu world or whatever. You honestly don’t care about any of that, because Gojo refuses to act maturely about his role in the clan. You still remember how quiet he was on the first day of school, never smiling and keeping to himself despite your persuasion to eat lunch with him or play with him after school in the courtyard.

You miss that Gojo Satoru – the quiet, serious kid who was far too gentle in his actions yet firm in his words and beliefs. When you were still a little girl, you admired how he seemed older than his age, a wistful look in those azure blue eyes of his that you’ve always loved.

To you, Gojo Satoru was your hero. You’ve always been one of the shortest kids in class, and it didn’t help that you really loved pigtails all the way until middle school that made you an easy target from immature people who’s being hit way too fast by puberty and growing each passing day. You never minded your short stature because really, it’s just height, but you couldn’t ignore how your confidence dwindled each day when they called you several array of nicknames.

Too shy to fight back, you’d laugh it off or force a smile.

Gojo wasn’t having any of it. He’d break his silence and immediately pull you to his side (which only made things worse because Gojo was one of the tallest kids in class, further emphasizing how small you are right next to him) before threatening to smack the kids right in the face.

The threat should be enough to land him detention, but because he’s Gojo Satoru, the golden kid everyone loved, they took his word seriously.

At the age of eleven, you started seeing your best friend as your knight in shining armour. Gojo basked in this, growing protective and always glaring at whoever snickered when you walked past them. Sometimes he even bared his teeth to hiss at them, which was honestly so ridiculous now that you think about, though the message – the threat – always came across loud and clear.

So yeah, you love Gojo, you still do.

Years flew by and the two of you grew apart due to work and also as a part of growing up. You still kept in contact, messaging each other once a month to ask the other how they’re doing. His work kept him extremely busy though, and Gojo didn’t want you involved in the dangers of what he’s doing, so he makes sure to keep a safe distance.

Until six months ago, you hear a banging on your door. You’re just about ready to throw hands because your former roommate moved out to live with her stoner boyfriend, leaving you to shoulder all the bills and responsibilities of maintaining a two man apartment.

A sneer forms on your lips as you swing the door open, a scowl already on your face. You assumed it was your roommate who returned to get the pair of lace panties they left in their room, but instead, your childhood friend stands before you, taller (seriously, how has he not stopped growing?) and definitely a lot hotter than the last time you saw him.

One thing leads to another, and now it feels like there was never such distance between the two of you with how easily you both fell back into a comfortable – yet chaotic – rhythm and routine of being each other’s roommate.

Not that you mind, of course. Gojo’s definitely changed a lot from when you were kids. He’s no longer that stiff or sensitive when it comes to others. In fact, it seems like he loosens up a lot more with age, because you can barely recognize the man living under the same roof with you now.

For one thing, Gojo is loud. Like really talkative, won’t shut the fuck up and speaks like he’s in a screaming contest with someone. It doesn’t matter if you’re taking an important phone call or sleepwalking at three in the morning to pee, Gojo is always creating some sort of ruckus.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you loved it. You love him.

He’s definitely a lot more enthusiastic and fun to be with now that both of you have grown up, or in Gojo’s case, simply aged. His maturity reversed backwards because it feels like you’re taking care of a little kid.

Not only does his body clock is practically non-existent, he’s also horrible when it comes to taking care of himself and being punctual with work.

Fortunately for him, you love him, and you both leave for work at the same time. You always wake up earlier to prepare breakfast so you’d both have energy to start the day – although you highly doubt there’s really anything that depletes his endless source of one.

Sleepily walking through the kitchen with your fist rubbing at your eyes, you rummage through the refrigerator for some eggs when you realize there’s none.

Huh, you think to yourself, scratching your scalp. You’re sure that Gojo went grocery shopping last week since it’s his chore to do the outside stuff like buying groceries and throwing thrash, so where did it go?

You open shelf by shelf, checking each corner and shoving cans aside to look for the tray. With a glare, you stand on your tiptoes to pull the pantry open, only to have your mouth fall aghast because it’s all there – right at the back where you can’t reach it!

Fucking Satoru, you grit your teeth while heaving your body up onto the counter. It’s a struggle because not only are your muscles still half asleep, but because the shelf is right in your face, and if you’re not careful enough, you could hit it right with your face and fall over. Of fucking course you know Satoru did this to make fun of you – and now you retract your statement over your best friend.

It’s all a lie.

He’s a pain in the ass. Why do you even bother cooking for him and letting him live literally just a room away when you know he won’t stop pulling shit like this?

Because, the nagging voice in your head tries to mock, he’s your best friend and you can’t really say no to him. This makes you huff as you carefully pull the tray towards you, hooking two fingers at the edge while your other palm grips at the end of the counter for support. No thanks to your short limbs, you’re practically hogging the shelf by now in an attempt to reach it. You look ridiculous, that’s for sure, and you make a mental note to keep Satoru’s windows open tonight so he freezes to death –

“Aw, cupcake,” a sing-song voice emerges from the other side of the room. “You look so adorable. You should’ve woke me up if you need my help.”

“Fuck off, Satoru,” you flip him off. The man only laughs, the rambunctious sound echoing off the walls. It’s way too early in the morning and he’s already so damn loud; something builds up at the back of your head out of frustration already. His grin only gets wider when you finally got the eggs and clutch it your chest, setting it down on the counter while wiping your sweat away from your face. “Freeloader,” you mutter under your breath, ignoring him when he happily skips over to you.

“Ouch,” he places a palm over his chest, although you both know he’s never really affected by anything. “So what’s for breakfast today? You?”

“You know, I can kick you out anytime I want. I’m being extremely nice even going as far to cook you breakfast before you leave for work, so don’t test my patience.”

“Exactly, my best friend is so kind,” Satoru grows the audacity to rest his arm on your head. This triggers a reflexive response from you; shoulders tensing up and hands curling into fists beside you. “I would totally date her if she wasn’t such a temperamental little devil,” you nearly stab him with a fork with his statement, which he thinks he’s being so sly for but you heard it, and you’re most definitely not pleased with it. “Okay, I’m kidding! I’m going to go shower now!”

You roll your eyes at him and heat the pan over with some oil, muttering under your breath that you’re really going to kick him out soon. As if things couldn’t get worse – as if Satoru couldn’t get any worse – he smacks your backside in the process before darting to the showers.

“Gojo Satoru!”

“Morning, best friend, love ya!”

You were right. He is a pain in the ass.

“You don’t always have to walk me to work.”

“I know.”

“So why’re you still here? I’m not a little kid anymore,” Contrary to your words, you stick closer to Satoru when the morning rush of workers and students begin to crowd the streets. Your best friend notices this with a small smile, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Don’t even try, Satoru.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

“I know that look on your face,” you fiddle with the buttons of your uniform, sighing when Satoru follows you inside the bus after tapping your phone for two seats. It’s not a surprise to you anymore that most of your expenses are spent by him, for him, and he lazily sprawls his long limbs across the seat before you pulling you down right next to him.

As much as you hate this man, especially because he smirks at the attention he’s receiving from women – even men – in the bus, you have to admit he’s warm and smells damn good. You bite the inside of your cheeks, looking around in slight self-consciousness before inching a little closer, just to feel his warmth. He’s comforting – irrationally so – so you set your bag between the both of you to keep your sanity. “If you keep doing this, Principal Yaga might fire your ass because you’re never on time.”

“Trust me, cupcake, he won’t. I’m too valuable for that.”

How you saw that coming – you can’t tell anymore. The bus ride is relatively quiet and eventless, with you dozing off every now and then because you’re never a morning person. Thankfully, Satoru is more respectful this time around, lolling your head until it drops to his shoulder. After that, he snakes his arm around your waist before resting it on your thigh as a way to say you don’t have to head bang every damn second and just sleep.

On any other occasion, you would’ve hated it. You always look so small whenever you’re in Satoru’s presence. It doesn’t help that he’s long and lanky, either, his slender fingers effortlessly caressing your thigh while almost your entire body is flushed next to him. But right now, he’s too warm, too soft, and you’re too tired that for just a little bit, you allow yourself to relax.

A beeping wakes you up a moment later. Opening your eyes, you push yourself off Satoru when you see an old lady reaching for the handles. No one gave up their seats for her even as the bus driver asked her to find a seat lest she’d fall.

“Grandma, here, take my seat—” You’re about to stand up and offer it to her when Satoru tugs you by the wrist. Because of your small, wobbly composure, pulling you to him takes little to no effort. You end up on his lap, sitting on him as if you’re nothing but a small, dainty schoolbag. Satoru is clearly enjoying this because you feel him breathily laugh on the back of your neck, charming – annoyingly so – as he gestures to the now empty spot beside him.

“It’s no worries, Grandma. She’ll be fine,” he gestures to you, patting your head like you’re some puppy. “Please, take a seat. The bus is already moving.”

“Satoru, get off me,” You wriggle yourself from his hold, which only ends up in wasted effort because this big oaf doesn’t even budge. He even bounces you on one of his thighs, and you dig your nails into his arms as a silent plead for him to stop. He ignores this, ignores your small whines and the apparent embarrassment that has you debating whether to punch him or hide yourself in the safety of his uniform.

“She’s a feisty little one, isn’t she?”

The old lady watches the two of you banter, giggling behind her wrinkled hands. “You’re an adorable couple.”

“I think so too!”

“You’re so going to pay for this, Satoru,” you grumble, face planted onto your palms. This is it – the worst day of your life. It’s even worse because despite your protests, you have to admit his lap is actually comfortable. You’ve already known this before after countless times of cuddling with Satoru during movie nights, but its different when you’re both out in public. It feels...oddly intimate and maybe even romantic when he rubs soothing circles at your back, almost as if apologizing for this event. Most of all, you just hate the way something pools beneath your stomach at having him so close to you like this. “This is so embarrassing. I’m practically crushing you with my weight.”

“Please, cupcake, you barely weigh anything. I could easily lift you off with just my finger,” when you elbow him in the chest, Satoru only laughs, raising both hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop teasing.”

You give up. No one seems to be paying much attention to any of you anyway, so you sigh, letting yourself hide in the crook of his neck as you watch the city pass through the windows. Your body moves as his chest rises and falls from his breathing, the movement oddly comforting. It’s embarrassing – it really is – but at least the grandma was comfortable until Satoru drops you off near your building.

“You don’t have to walk me all the way there.”

“Why not? You don’t want people to see us together or something?”

“No,” you stare at him from the corner of your eye. It’s no secret Satoru is attractive. This bastard knows it too, judging from the way he confidently and arrogantly swaggers next to you, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked with no care in the world. “My co-workers keep asking me for your number every time I tell them we’re not dating. It’s getting annoying at this point how they go Satoru this and Satoru that.”

“Am I hearing it right? Is cupcake jealous?”

“I’m not jealous, I’m disgusted,” you correct, “They don’t know how much of a pain you are to have around. They’re so focused with your looks that they completely overlook the fact you can’t even wash your dirty underwear!”

Satoru frowns at this, pointing his finger to you as if you’ve accused him of a huge crime. “Hey, I wash my underwear.”

“Yeah and last time you did, you mixed it with whites! My work uniform turned a stupid shade of blue! Now I can’t picture the colour of your boxers out of my head and it’s giving me a headache!”

“Wow, Y/N,” the smirk on his face and the sudden drop of nicknames lets you know you’ve said something wrong. Even behind his blindfold, you could tell his eyes are just sparkling with amusement. He’s enjoying this way too much. “I never thought you’d ever picture my boxers. I mean, I don’t mind showing it to you if you ask nicely—”

“Ugh, you’re so hopeless. I’m going to work.”

Gojo laughs when you jog away from him. He catches up with you in a matter of seconds, only having to take a few steps forward before he’s right beside you again. You’re unsure if you should be annoyed it’s so easy for him to always be right next to you, and how he almost always is right next to you while you prefer running away. It muddles with your heart and mind so much you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to be swayed by the sickeningly sweet sound of his laughter. “I can’t pick you up later, okay? I might work overtime!” (that’s a lie since Gojo prefers shopping and sightseeing)

Both of you know that’s a lie. Gojo never works overtime. He’s going to work for a few hours and so and call playing around with his students as “on-hand learning” before he goes shopping for stupid souvenirs and wild-flavoured mochis, then end his day by sightseeing and coming back home.

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” you mumble, waving goodbye to him as the office doors close. Slowly, Satoru’s grin and enthusiastic farewell fades into view until nothing but the pale, silver walls of your office greets you.

Funny how you claim to hate this man so much, yet the moment he’s out of sight, everything becomes dull and pointless.

It’s an absolutely shitty day. Your equally shitty boss blames you for something you didn’t even do, all because his incompetent secretary – who you’re sure he’s sleeping with – lost this month’s report and claimed she handed it to you last week when you’re not involved in that kind of work. Logic doesn’t come by them because your boss publicly humiliates and scolds you, calling you all kinds of names until tears are streaming down your face.

You slam the door shut the moment you get home, kicking your shoes off as you head straight to your room. You don’t bother taking your makeup off anymore as you change into a loose shirt and floral cotton shirts, padding to the kitchen after seeing Satoru is well nestled into the couch.

At least someone’s had a good day.

Seeing as the sink is empty, he probably hasn’t eaten dinner. This makes you sigh, because when will he ever learn to look after himself? He’s literally like a child.

Satoru pauses whatever he’s watching before he hovers over you, head tilted to the side as he gazes at you with curiosity. You ignore him and begin to set down some bowls and chopsticks for dinner, all the while Satoru is studying every inch of your tightly pulled face. “Bad day?” he concludes.

“Hmm.”

“Bad day it is then,” he nods to himself. “I can cook dinner, if you want.”

“And have you burn my apartment? No thanks,” you scoff, pushing him aside to retrieve the pans when you see that he’s placed them above again, even after you’ve reminded countless times to just leave it near the holders in the sink. “Ugh, why do you keep putting the pans in this shelf? You know I can’t reach this. I’ve had enough with you pulling pranks on me, and don’t think I’ve forgotten you placed my shampoo above the shower head today, you idiot,” you snarl and hop over the counter again to get the pans, trying your best to fight back the tears that are threatening to fall. “You’re really bothersome, you know that?”

“Then why don’t you kick me out?” he challenges, completely oblivious to how you’re struggling – both physically and emotionally. “You always complain about me being a nuisance here, but you’re not really doing anything to keep me out.”

“Because where else would you go?”

“Technically, I have a room back at the Institute.”

“Yeah, but because you’re so stupid and reckless that you got kicked out of your own home,” you spat out, and you watch as Satoru raises a brow at your statement. Banter is common between the both of you, but something about the intensity of your gaze lets him know you’re serious this time around. “I don’t even know how Yuuji puts up with you. That poor Megumi is right when he says you’re insufferable. You’re good for nothing!”

Satoru scoffs, “Fine, if you hate me that much, why didn’t you just say so earlier? I could easily pack my bags and go since I’m just making everything harder—” Satoru doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying when your hand over the counter that acts as support slips under you, and you fall, legs bent awkwardly while you scream, preparing yourself for the impact. The pan is long forgotten, your only thought was oh my god, so this is how I die.

But it never came, and you keep your eyes shut tight even as warm hands cup your ass. Satoru is breathing hard under you. Finally gaining the courage to crack an eye open, your breath halts when you see that he’s sitting on the floor, with you safely nestled between him.

Satoru has always had pretty eyes, but it’s rare he takes off his blindfold off even when he’s home. This is one of those rare occurrences that he seems like a normal human, dressed in a gray sweatshirt that hands low from his collarbones and magnetic blue eyes staring right back at you. His touch is gentle, almost as if he’s afraid to hurt you, and his voice that is usually loud and teasing comes out breathy and hesitant.

“Are you okay?”

Your gaze drops down to his lips. He’s close, so close, that if you just lean a little closer you could – you snap out of your daze. “Get off me.”

“Cupcake, you’re the one who’s on top of me,” his voice falls an octave lower, eyes flitting down to your clothing – or rather the lack of it – before Satoru takes a deep breath. “Did you really have to wear that?”

“I have the right to wear whatever I want in the comfort of my own home.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” he raised a brow, this time completely in control of himself as he gazes back up at you with a burning gaze. You see nothing but the way one corner of his lips tilt up, almost teasing, and he looks so much like a shit-eater that you feel heat crawl down your spine.

You push yourself off him but your bent foot behind you slips, and you fall forward with your hands clutching his strong shoulders. Satoru catches your leg behind you, drags it forward until your knee is pressed in between one of your warmth, very much still enjoying the way you wriggle away from his hold. He knows his effect on you – but you deny this wholeheartedly.

“Careful, cupcake. This isn’t a slip and slide.”

“I hate you so much,” you bare your teeth at him, slapping his chest until he finally lets go of you. Turning your back to him, you pick up the pan and begin preparing your dinner, muttering curses under your breath as you heat up the stove. “I’m kicking you out tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Eat your damn dinner first.”

Dinner after that is awkward. Although Gojo is someone who can wolf down his meal in three seconds, he takes his time in eating to start conversation with you. Sometimes he asks decent questions like how your day was or he’d talk about something stupid, but he’s quiet the whole time. He even volunteers to do the dishes before retreating to his room, coating the house in silence.

It almost feels like you’re all alone over again.

You’ve gotten so used to him being an utter mess everywhere that when he’s not trying to piss you off and actually giving you the much needed peace, you begin to hate it. Memories of the rude things you’ve said to him a while ago play and in your head, and you bang your head against the wall repeatedly.

How are you supposed to apologize to Satoru now?

The answer doesn’t come until you stare at your walls, wide awake at midnight. The house is still eerily silent and you don’t stop shuffling around your bed in discomfort. Many times, you wished that Satoru would shut up and leave you alone, but now that he’s actually done that, it feels weird. Uncomfortable. It feels wrong.

With a grunt, you kick off the sheets and carefully tread to his room, knocking lightly in case he’s already sleeping. “Satoru?” you call out, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Are you awake?”

You’ve seen Satoru angry as kids before, but what would he be like now? Would he still want to be your friend? Would he still annoy you by hiding your things somewhere you can’t reach? Or would he be the who is now out of reach? If he leaves...who’s going to walk you to work? Who’s going to complain he doesn’t want to do groceries but buys you things you don’t ask for but want anyway? Who’s going to keep teasing the living daylights out of you if not him?

All these thoughts claw at the back of your mind until your bottom lip trembles. You hate how weak you feel; how you’re never careful with your words.

You never meant it when you said all that.

Your train of thought is cut off when the door swings open, revealing an equally tired-looking Satoru. At the sight of you peering up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes the door wider and steps closer to you, his large hands cupping your face as he leans down in worry. “Cupcake,” his brows pinch together, “Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

“I just wanted to apologize for everything I said,” you blurt out, “I was just tired from work and my boss was being shitty, so I wasn’t totally myself that time and I’m really sorry I took my anger out on you. I didn’t mean it when I said you’re insufferable and that I’m kicking you out so – yeah,” you breathe out, trailing your gaze downwards to stare at your feet instead. It’s difficult to look him in the eye right now. When you finally gain courage to speak again, it barely comes out as a whimper, your hands delicately tugging at his shirt. “Please stay. I like having my best friend around here.”

Satoru doesn’t answer.

You’re about to look up at him just in case you’ve said something wrong, or worse, he refuses to forgive you, but then – “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t kick me out. You’re too much of a darling to say no to me.”

Sigh. Satoru laughs when he sees your shoulders deflate, absolutely shattered in exhaustion. Hiding your smile to now show him you’re relieved, you punch his chest that really feels like a fly had accidentally flew into him. “Way to ruin the mood, Satoru. And here I thought I could have a serious conversation with you for once.”

“Apology accepted,” he beams, tilting your chin upwards so you could look at him. Even in the darkness of his room, his eyes glow, leaving you hypnotized in its beauty. “Plus, I think I’m the one who should apologize. You’re right; I haven’t been the best roommate and I am a freeloader,” he scratches the side of his head in thought. “But I do buy you food all the time though.”

“Yeah, with my money,” you counter, but you don’t really care anymore at this point. You’re beyond elated you’re both fine now, and you shyly gesture to his big, warm bed that suddenly looks so comfortable. “Can I stay here for tonight?”

“You want Satoru’s bear hug?”

“Yes, I do.” There’s no hesitation in your words and you don’t complain anymore when he easily picks you up like a ragdoll using only one arm. He’s surprisingly gentle when he places you both down on the bed, sheets warm and soft as it blankets over you.

It would be perfect – except it’s so damn awkward.

Gojo’s long limbs are everywhere. Your face is pressed into his chest, both your legs tangled together. His arm is sprawled over the curve of your hip, his hand nearly grazing your ass that’s barely covered by the thin material of your shorts, but if he shifts, he’ll end up cupping the back of your thighs which is equally uncomfortable.

He seems to be stuck in the same position because you’re so small, and your knees are grazing his groin. Had he known you’re going to sleep with him, he would’ve worn underwear or even boxers under his sweatpants.

He’s never told you before, but he prefers to sleep in the nude. Satoru only picked up the nearest pair of pants when he heard you knock, and even then, he didn’t have the time to wear a shirt.

Your breath is hot on his skin and he’s so sensitive and aware of all your movements. Satoru clears his throat awkwardly, shifting until his arm lightly holds your back instead, but then he pulls away as if he’s touched fire when he’d unknowingly fiddled with your bra clasp instead. It’s so painfully awkward that Satoru chuckles above you, while you scrunch your nose, silently praying to the heavens above that he won’t hear how loud your heart is beating right now.

“Why is it so hot in your own room?”

“Maybe it’s time you get me an AC.”

“You wish, Satoru,” you mumble beneath him, making yourself as comfortable as you can with your cheek resting on his bicep. It’s not the softest pillow considering he’s pretty muscular, but he’s warm and smells like mint spice nevertheless. “You’re really not going to put on a shirt?”

Satoru sighs, a long and loud one that is extended for dramatic purposes. Suddenly, he pushes your knee off of him, grimacing and thanking the darkness that you can’t see how much he’s struggling right now. “Cupcake, this is hard for me as much as it is for you. You’re barely wearing anything.”

“Since when have you cared about what I wear?”

“I’m a man, Y/N,” is what he reasons with, “You’re lucky it’s me. Had it been someone else and you crawled into their bed wearing these—” Satoru pinches the waistband of your shorts, and you squeal in protest, only making him laugh afterwards before he lets it go and the material snaps back at your skin, “—poor excuse of what you call shorts, I can’t guarantee they’ll give you a peaceful night.”

You know exactly what he’s trying to hint at. Still, it’s hard to believe that Satoru is capable of seeing you that way.

It’s not that you feel you’re unattractive. You know you’re pretty and have been out on many dates, but it’s easy to feel that you’re not sexy when you have the height of a thirteen year old and you’ve been constantly chastised about it.

Satoru’s not-compliment compliment has your heart skipping a beat, and you scoff in response. “Shut up,” you warn lamely, “I want to sleep.”

“Then let’s sleep, cupcake.” You don’t know if it’s because you’re utterly exhausted that you doze off seconds later or if Satoru’s words just held power in them, but soon all thoughts of anything unwanted drifts out the window, his arms keeping you close, completely safe and sound until the worst nightmares couldn’t even come close.

Hot. It’s extremely hot.

You crack an eye open to try and find the source of this uncomfortable heat, but you freeze when you realize you can’t feel your muscles from the chin down. Panic rises in your throat once you see the current predicament you’re in, and a scream rips through your throat so loud that the birds outside scurry away in a flurry.

You’re wrapped in Satoru’s blanket and comforter, rendering you unable to move because of how he’d treated you like a burrito wrap. Even your toes are captured inside this hell, and only your head is able to wriggle side to side.

“Satoru!”

The culprit comes out of the shower a split second later, his hair dripping wet and only a towel hanging low from his lips. If you weren’t so hell-bent on killing him, you would’ve been speechless at the way water drips from his hair down to the curves of his abs, going down down down into a place only your darkest imaginations could take you.

Satoru bends over in laughter as he whips out his phone, jumping from angle to angle and side to side to take photos of you. “Fuck,” he howls, slapping his thigh while you snarl in an attempt to break free. “You’re a lot cuter than I thought you’d be.”

“Satoru! Get me out of here!”

“No, this is way too gold. I’m sending these to my students.”

“Satoru, I’m serious!” The devil incarnate himself falls deaf to your please.

Maybe it’s because the violent intent has coursed through your veins so strongly that a surge of energy and strength overcomes you, and soon, you’ve rolled out of the blanket. The fresh air nipping at your heated skin is most welcomed, but right now, you had a mission to fulfil: obliterate Gojo Satoru.

The platinum haired man is still laughing to himself, too distracted in scrolling through the best photos to send to his students that he doesn’t notice you escaping and zooming straight right at him.

The momentum is enough to catch him off guard until you end up on top of him, short arms clawing your way through to snatch his phone. Satoru yelps when his phone lands out into the living room and your hands come down to choke him. You don’t have plans to kill him, but you want to hurt him enough to remind him you’re not someone he can fuck with.

You’ve just about had enough of this man and you’re so sick of him!

Satoru yells out a “Hey!” when you let out a battle cry, using your legs to kick him back when he tries to sit up. Your plan backfires when your hands slip down his wet skin and you fall face forwards, hands barely touching the ground for support when your lips come crashing down on his.

He stills underneath you. It takes a moment for you to realize that holy shit, you’re kissing him and his lips are so soft that has you scrambling back, but Satoru doesn’t let you.

His large hand comes up at the back of your neck to pull you forward. The sudden movement makes you gasp, and Satoru slips his tongue inside when you do so. You no longer remember how you got here or try to make sense of what’s going on, because he feels so good, tastes so good that you bury your nails in his hair while he ravishes your mouth.

You’re so tiny that his hand cups your entire buttcheek almost possessively, a low growl emanating deep in his throat when your tongue eagerly intertwines with his. Satoru tastes like heaven and everything about the kiss is sloppy – tongue clashing with one another and teeth nibbling at the other’s lips. It’s clear both of you can’t get enough of one another as you moan in his mouth, shamelessly grinding on his crotch, suddenly thankful that you’re always wearing thin clothes when you feel him harden underneath you.

“Fuck, baby,” he pulls away to breathe, a string of saliva connecting the both of you. “Yeah, just like that,” There’s something empowering about the way he pants at your ministrations, especially when you roll your hips faster across his erection. “Keep going, baby, you’re doing – fuck – so well.”

You smirk at his praises, latching your teeth on his neck to suck marks on them. Satoru groans at the same time you muffle your moans through his skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to tug the cups of your bra down. You nearly lose it when he pinches your nipple, bolts of electricity running down your spine at the contact. A moan breaks through your lips just as you come right there and then, the wetness of your sudden orgasm barely hidden in your flimsy underwear.

“Feel good?” he teases and drags your shirt down to the other side, but the post-nut clarity hits. And when it does, it hits hard.

Fuck. You just came from Satoru’s simple touches, and he’s so unsatisfied, still painfully hard underneath you but nothing but panic and regret washes over you like a strong tidal wave. Suddenly, you grow lightheaded as you push yourself off him, fixing your bra while ignoring the confused and hurt look on his face.

“I gotta go to work,” you run out the room, feeling your body tremble as Satoru runs after you. “Make yourself breakfast. I’ll eat on the way out.”

“Y/N, wait!”

You know you’ve just ruined everything – that nothing will ever be the same after that – but you’re scared, utterly and remorsefully so, that you slam the door right in his face as if you don’t have any idea how much you broke him.

You’ll never forget the way Satoru’s face fell when you left.

Just as you thought, nothing is the same after that. The tension is so thick around the apartment you make an effort and go out of your way just to avoid him and the apartment completely.

It’s cowardly – you know this much – but do you ever try to fix the friendship you cherish but shattered completely? You don’t. You don’t because it only crashes down onto you now that maybe your feelings for him aren’t just platonic, after all. It’s even worse because you touch yourself at the thought of him filling you up when he’s asleep, all because you want him so bad and the mere presence of him has your brain malfunctioning.

It isn’t entirely sexual either. Yes, you want to fuck him badly, but it scares you down to the core even more because you want so much more than that.

Now you understand why you always say he’s a bother but never asked him to leave. It’s because you like him, actually romantically interested in him. It makes sense now why you always felt so annoyed whenever your co-workers asked for his number, or how you’re immediately pissed off when Satoru talks about this hot woman he saw at work. You always chalk it up to an excuse you just hate how he can’t keep in his pants, but it isn’t true at all.

It’s because you actually like him – and you’re at a loss on what to do or how to deal with it.

The next few days feels like hell. Satoru isn’t stupid; he knows you’re avoiding him. He stops teasing you eventually and even buys takeout all the time when you lock yourself up in your room right after work, refusing to cook dinner or even eat all so you’d be spared the torture of looking at him.

He’d knock at your door and ask you to eat, but other than that, he’s respected your distance.

You feel like the most terrible person on earth. You don’t miss the way dark circles line under his eyes or how he’s lost his spark, barely even speaking to you when you’ve come or about to leave for work.

You’re alone the whole ride, as well, and it only dawns on you how lonely you are when Satoru isn’t always annoying you all the time.

But it doesn’t make sense. Why is he so bothered by it? Didn’t he regret it? It’s painfully clear you’re not Satoru’s type. You’ve seen the women he dated before, and you’re not close to them so why does he seem like he’s struggling with this as well? Or maybe...he’s just sad that his friend is avoiding him.

Yeah, that has to be it.

Satoru is a man. He was probably turned on at that time, but after giving some thought about it, he probably wants to keep his distance too. He’d be insane if he ever actually wants to date you – his best friend out of all people – because he’s Gojo Satoru and he could literally have everyone else.

You don’t care that you’re a coward.

You don’t care that Satoru is sad to see you this way.

You don’t care because you know he’ll reject you, you know he’ll be weirded if you admit your feelings for him. To him, you’re like his little sister. There’s just no way you two would work out. For now, you have to get comfortable with the uncomfortable. You just need some time to get over your feelings for him, and when you’re confident you won’t fall for him again, you’ll mend your friendship.

You just need time.

“So, Y/N, you still don’t want to give us your friend’s number?”

“Yeah, Y/N, you should share it,” your co-worker encourages by jabbing her shoulder to yours. It’s a lazy Friday night and the staff went out for dinner. You don’t usually come to these hangouts since dinner with Satoru is always much more fun, but he’s the last person you want to think about now, so you happily join them. Now, though, you’re starting to regret ever coming here. “If he’s really single like you said, then it shouldn’t be a big deal to ask for it.”

“Well, since you want it so badly, why don’t you ask him directly for it instead?” you snap, feeling anger begin to trickle. All you wanted was just one day where you don’t have to think of him, but of course they had to bring him up. It’s also annoying how they can never seem to get the message across that you don’t want them dating him. “Why do I have to be the messenger?”

“We haven’t seen him much. Doesn’t he always walk you to work?”

“He’s been busy with his job, that’s all.” And also because I’m avoiding him – so now he’s avoiding me too.

“He’s a teacher, right?”

“Oh, come on, guys, don’t be so dense,” your senpai chugged her drink rather loudly, catching the attention of your nosy co-workers who wouldn’t stop pestering you for his number. “Look at how uncomfortable she looks. It’s obvious she doesn’t want you guys to be involved with her friend for a reason. Think of how weird it is for her too if ever her co-worker and best friend dated. She’s going to feel like a third wheel.”

“I’m not—”

“That makes sense,” your co-worker nodded beside you, “Are you sure you just don’t like him though?”

“Ew, why would I?” the food began to taste bitter through your lies, “He may be tall and attractive, but as his roommate, I’ve seen his ugly side. Satoru is a complete slob and can’t even cook to save his life.”

“I don’t mind cooking for him all the time if I were to be his little housewife.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” your words came out harsher than it was, and you laugh it off with a wave of your hand when your co-workers’ eyes widened. “I’ve been living with him for six months and he’s never brought anyone home or told me he’s going on a date. I told you already, he’s a no strings attached kind of guy. He’s nothing but a one night stand.”

“You have to admit he’s still sexy though.”

Right. You hide your groan through another shot because there’s no way of convincing them otherwise. As much as you hate to admit, you’re actually jealous on how freely they could talk about him like that, but then again, it’s not like you and Satoru were dating – or would ever date, for that matter.

They start to leave one by one when it starts to get late, leaving only you who’s still desperate to avoid Satoru. Nothing prepares you for when the sky darkens and a storm comes pouring just as you’ve left the closing shop, the rain drenching and soaking your clothes through and through. Running under the nearest tree for shelter, you shiver. It’s cold – way too cold – and curse yourself for not bringing a darned umbrella.

The nearest bus stop is like what, fifteen to twenty minutes away? Your teeth are chattering and your legs are shaking, and you fumble through your phone as you dial a number you know by heart before you even realize what you’re doing. “S-Satoru?”

“Y/N,” the surprise is unmasked in his voice, something shuffling in the background before it falls silent. “Is everything okay?”

“Uhm, are you busy right now? It’s fine if you are, I’m just—”

“I’m training with Yuuji, but what is it?”

“Listen, I,” you inhale sharply when coldness bursts through your body, making you shiver and press yourself closer to tree to get away from the rain. Above you, thunder crackles before the rain grows heavier and angrier. “I forgot to bring an umbrella and I’m absolutely soaked right now. The nearest bus stop is fifteen minutes away and all the buildings here look so shady—”

“I’ll be on my way. Text me where you are,” You nod and thank him, too cold and numb to realize you’ve just broken days of silence. You lose track of time under there, hugging yourself until your lips turn blue. It doesn’t take long before Satoru shows up minutes later, his hair equally drenched and sticking flat to his eyes free from his blindfold while he pants, hand on his knees. “Thank goodness you’re safe. I rushed here so fast I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

After seeing Satoru drenched like that, something snaps within you. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact the rain is unforgiving as it slaps the pavement, and your heart breaks when you see that he’s more concerned for you – even after you’ve given him the silent treatment. “You idiot! Now you’re soaking wet too, you’re going to get sick!”

“Highly unlikely,” he shrugs. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“But what about—” Satoru suddenly carries you before draping his coat over your head, running until he found a cab to hail. He immediately asks the driver to turn up the heater while you tremble on top of him, not caring anymore that you’re sticking so close to him for heat.

Satoru doesn’t let you go all the way inside the apartment. He sets you down on the couch where you take off your wet clothes in haste, too cold with teeth chattering that you silently take the hoodie and boxers Satoru offers you, making sure to keep his gaze averted the whole time. Once fully dressed, you snuggle back into the sofa’s comfort, stiffening when the couch dips beside you.

Not a moment later, Satoru towel-dries your hair, leaving your mouth and throat dry with guilt. Even after you’ve unnecessarily been a bitch to him, he’s still so kind with you.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Satoru...” you twiddle with your thumbs just as he starts to ruffle the towel in your hair, making sure to squeeze water out of the strands as he dries it. “About what happened the other day—”

“It didn’t happen if you don’t want it to,” his voice is cold’ monotonous and so emotionless you’re rendered speechless. “You can forget about it.”

“I...”

“You regret it, right?” he’s done with drying your hair, and he stands up to place the wet towels in the sink as you watch him stride all the way there. He’s changed his clothes too; looking comfortable in a plain white shirt and some grey sweatpants, looking every bit the domestic boyfriend you’ve always wanted but can never have. “It’s fine. We can forget about it and go back to normal,” to emphasize his point, Satoru winks at you, though it does nothing but make your heart sink.

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” your voice is small; hesitant and wavering with fear. “What if...the only reason I pulled away is because I wanted more of you?”

Satoru’s back freezes as he sets the towel aside. At this point, your heart is pulsing on your tongue, and you dig your nails onto your thighs when Satoru sits down next to you, right next to you. He’s silent the whole time; eyes calculatedly piercing through yours. Your breath hitches when his hands that are burning hot against your cold skin cups your jaw before his thumb runs across your lips, his eyes turning dark at your reactions.

“And what if I said I felt the same way?”

“I,” you gasp, closing your eyes because it all feels so surreal. “I like you, Satoru. I like you a lot and I—” he doesn’t let you finish. Soon, you find yourself in his lap with his hands cupping your cheeks while he smashes his lips onto yours.

Satoru is absolutely feral. He’s breathing hard and almost angry, even, with the way his teeth are biting down to nibble on your lips. You moan when he drags you closer, your clothed centre rubbing on his thigh with delicious friction. “You have no idea,” he rasps down on your lips, “how much I’ve fucking liked you ever since we were kids,” Satoru pushes his hoodie aside, revealing your sweet neck to him, and he doesn’t waste his time in sucking and abusing the poor flesh so he can mark you as his. “I’ve always wanted you, Y/N, it’s always you, always you.”

You fist his hoodie when Satoru sinks his teeth down into the juncture of your neck, his hands curious and exploring every inch of your body. He knows you’re naked underneath his clothes, but it’s a different thing when he actually feels your breasts right on his palm. Satoru tweaks the hardened bud in his fingers, growling when you moan at the contact and use his thigh to get off.

“You—” you gasp as you expose your neck to him, wild and needy as you keep rubbing your heat over his thigh. “—talk way too fucking much,” you scold, finally pushing his lips away from your neck. Satoru chuckles at your eagerness but you silence him by flinging his boxers off of your body and somewhere far away, exposing your heat slick with arousal right in front of him. His pupils blow in excitement, hands coming up to grab at your hips, but his attention is taken away when you nibble on his ear to whisper, “Shut up and fuck me.”

The simple command is enough to make his patience snap. In a flash, you’re pinned underneath him, whining and moaning when his finger meets no resistance as he slips it inside. “You’re that needy, huh?” he laughs even louder when you lose it, humping yourself on his finger because it’s not enough.

“Satoru,” you beg, clutching his bicep when he adds another finger in. “More.”

His fingers are so long, hitting places that your small ones could never reach. He begins to scissor his way in, his fingers deliciously rubbing against your velvety walls while pumping them inside and out in a speed that causes you to squelch around him.

It’s absolutely lewd how you’re eagerly spread out before him, but your head is clouded with lust, no longer hindered by shyness out of your need to cum. Your chest is rising heavily, his thumb now rubbing against your clit as he coaxes you to cum. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he kisses your cheeks, eyelids, nose, anywhere but your lips, his voice so gentle and innocent as if he’s not knuckle deep inside you. “Tell me how you want me.”

“Inside,” you whine, gasping when he brushes against a really sensitive spot that has you clamping down on him. “‘Toru, fuck, just fuck me.”

“Beg for it,” he smiles against your skin, relentless and harsh as he keeps pushing inside you. You feel him everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Another finger adds in until you’re dripping enough on his palm and staining the couch, but neither of you care. “I said, beg for it.”

“No,” you hold back, nearly crying out when he pulls your fingers out of you. That sudden emptiness is back again, but you don’t want to beg. You’ve never begged another man before, and this won’t be the first time you’ll be doing so either. You refuse to let him have the upper hand despite the crystal clear fact you’re already soaking wet for him, but because you’re stubborn, you only fumble with his sweatpants to spring his cock free.

He’s already dripping with pre-cum from the slit, his cock hard and angry. Despite his arousal, Satoru stops you from going further, using only one hand to trap both your wrists. “Beg for it,” he demands again, his other fist already pumping down on his shaft.

You nearly cry at the sight. Both of you are aware that Satoru is capable of pleasuring himself, but it’s not that easy for you. Your small, dainty fingers will never be parallel to the pleasure his long cock could give you. All you had to do was beg for it. He’s right there, within reach, if only you’d just –

Impatient for your answer, Satoru takes you by the hips and discards your hoodie in the process, sinking you down his cock, inch by delicious inch. You don’t hold back from the sensual and high-pitched moan that leaves your lips. He’s long, and the tip of his cock just about brushes your cervix when he bottoms out. He feels so good, so warm and huge and filling you up right where you want him to be. Your head falls down on his shoulder as you begin to roll your hips, but Satoru has had enough.

“Fuck, look at you,” he presses on the bulge of his cock visible through your abdomen. “You’re so fucking small – how do you take me so well? I could ruin you. Do you want that? Do you want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck.”

“You think you can just leave me hanging like that, huh?” he slaps your ass, eliciting another moan from you and making you clench around his cock. Satoru falters for a moment. Before you can react, he stands up, your legs wrapped around his waist with nothing but his tip hitting inside you. “You’ve been so fucking mean – leaving me wanting you like that and ignoring me for days. Do you think you deserve this, huh?” Satoru kicks his door open at the same time he loosens his hold around your ass, making you slide down his length the next second.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out just as Satoru begins to bounce you, your breasts following the motion of him fucking deep into you. “Fuck, Toru, that’s too—”

He’s so eager to fuck you, to make a mess out of you and have you losing your mind over his cock that he doesn’t even wait until you’re both on the bed. You no longer register when your back hits the pillow, or how your arms are frozen when he pins it above your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises as he watches you clench around him. You’re so small and his eyes zero in on the way your abdomen bulges then flattens again every time he pounds into you, rolling his hips in a way that has you screaming and thighs quaking. “Beautiful, beautiful, perfect,” the moment his hands grip at your hips to pin you down, you know he’s not going to stop. And you don’t want him to.

Satoru latches his lips around your right breast, gently grazing his teeth over it while his other hand pinches and rolls the pebbled nipple between his fingers. He feels so good – and you’re crying already by the time you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer.

The room is filled with the smell of sex, the sound of skin slapping against skin combined with his breathy grunts and your moans like heaven on his ears. Satoru wants you to feel how much he loves you – how much he adores you – and the pace he sets is torturous. He snaps his hips against yours and presses down on the bulge of his cock through your belly, chuckling when you tighten more around him.

Your head lols to the side, tears falling down your pretty face because of how rough he’s being. But you don’t complain, not when he’s filling you in so deep and he’s kissing you everywhere, touching you everywhere, making you feel nothing else and nobody else but him.

“You’re amazing,” he rasps, watching the way your tight cunt sucks him in greedily as if you don’t want him to go anywhere else. “You take me in so well – you really want me to destroy you, huh?”

“Satoru, please,” you finally plead, “I-I’m cumming, I want you, I need you, oh,” you squeal when he finally lets your arms free. You look so precious, so innocent, and he doesn’t let up his pace. He plants his feet into the ground and his strokes begin to grow sloppy, your tight walls encouraging him to go faster, go deeper.

If possible, Satoru is only even more fuelled with the way you look so precious and innocent in that moment. His touch is gentle in comparison to the way he’s mercilessly plowing into you, using his thumb to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. He knows he’s too big for you, that much is obvious from how much you’re already overstimulated just by his size, but your nails sink down on the flesh of his ass as a silent plead for more.

“Fuuuuck, I’m so close!”

“Yeah?” He fondled your clit, loving the sight of your small body creaming down on his cock. “Come for me, sweet girl. I want to feel you coming on my cock. Come on, tell me you’re mine. You’re made me for aren’t you?”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck,” you squeal, throwing your head back for a second when he keeps hitting your g-spot that has you seeing stars. Your toes curl and your hands fist the sheets behind you as he keeps impaling you with his cock right then and there.

You looked perfect; so perfect to him that he’s basically using you for his own pleasure at this moment. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, back arching and nipples brushing against his chest.

In that moment, you grow needy to have him even closer, tilting up to blindly search for his lips. Satoru complies; leaning down and leaving open mouthed breathy kisses that’s a mix of you moaning and crying around him, while he struggles to do so when he’s cursing at the feeling of you coating his cock with your juices. Satoru looks down at your tiny frame trapped in his arms, his voice husky as he groans once he saw both of your arousal absolutely leaking out of your wet cunt.

He’s so close but you’re already over the edge, scratching at his back at the overstimulation. You’re still so sensitive from when you came and Satoru doesn’t slow one down one bit. He loses his rhythm as his thrusts go sloppy, and Satoru buries his face in your neck as his cock twitches inside you until he bursts with his cum leaking out of your hole.

Satoru’s arms give out beneath you, his chest colliding with yours but not enough that he’s crushing you with his weight. You’re both breathing hard and panting, his dick softening inside you.

He pulls back a moment later to slide out his sensitive cock, wincing while he watches pools of cum gather in your pussy before it drips out. It isn’t until he’s witnessing the mess he’s made he realizes how you’ve been so good for him; taking him all the way in despite your quivering frame. It dawns on him now just how tiny you are when he pulls you close to him; you’re practically hanging off his chest with how small your body is.

He wonders how you’re able to fit all of him, but he’s grateful nevertheless. Satoru shows his appreciation by peppering kisses all over your face, his hand snaking down to caress your inner thighs.

“Hmm,” you moan into the kiss, jolting when his knuckles brush against your sensitive clit. “Satoru, no,” you whine while pushing his hand away, and he shushes you with another kiss. “’M too sensitive, please...”

“It’s fine, cupcake, it’s fine,” his nickname for you is back again, and you lean closer to him just as he begins to massage your sore legs. “You did so well for me, cupcake, you know that? You’re such a good girl for me,” too fucked out to have a comprehensive answer, you only nod in response, spreading your legs open again and ignoring the warm stickiness between your thighs as Satoru kneads your abused flesh. You feel him kiss your temple before he leaves to get a towel and cleans you up. Meanwhile, you’re so tired you’re about to doze out in his bed.

“Hey,” he soothes, bundling you up in his arms until you’re tucked in the safety of his body. So small, he coos inside his head, watching as you fold yourself even smaller while your eyes flutter. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh into his shoulder, “I feel good. Thank you.”

Satoru doesn’t really know what you’re thanking him for. He feels like he’s the one who’s mostly indebted to you after everything you’ve done for him. You’ve already fallen asleep before he gets the chance to tell you how he feels, so Satoru only covers you both under his blanket, making sure there’s no more space between you out of fear you’ll distance yourself from him again.

But he doesn’t have to worry about that because you’re right next to him, and you’re never out of reach.

7K notes · View notes

amidstsaltandsmoke · 3 years

Note

prompt 142 👀

...anon, I promise I didn't forget about you! Life™ and writers block/doubt had me stuck for a while. Apologies that this was sent something like 5ish weeks ago? I originally had a whole other idea written for this one but didn't like it and scrapped it. Not sure how much I like this one but I hope that you do!! Someday I will learn how to write an actual drabble-sized drabble. Thank you for sending the prompt!💛 P.S. I changed the wording around a little bit, I hope you don't mind :) ________________________ Prompt: “Hold my hand so he gets jealous.” Dany was a master at these types of work events by now, but the past few weeks, especially, had been draining. That was typical for a start-up, when they were trying to garner as much outreach as possible. Traveling between two different states and another country and back in the span of 7 days was a whole other animal, however.

This affair was meant to be a little more informal, but the air was still stuffy with corporate suits slithering about. Her favorite colleague and come-to-be wonderful friend had been working with her to get the head honchos drunk the quickest, that way they would be less inclined to hover and more likely to forget the goings on entirely.

But it wasn’t any of that that had her so on edge. It was that Jon was acting particularly distant ever since they’d all arrived nearly three hours ago now, and he seemed to almost be evading her.

Jon Snow, the young visionary who co-founded the company alongside her, who developed the technology that was rapidly playing a vital role in detecting and detaining human traffickers. That was sexy all on its own, but tonight he was dressed in a crisp, slim black suit, his dark locks half pulled back behind his head, his short beard trimmed just a little more for the gala.

They'd spent many a late evening and early morning in the office and over video conference working out the kinks of their start-up, smoothing wrinkles and always doing their best to stay ahead of their goals, where seeing one another so groomed and freshened up it was almost jarring. Typically - especially by the end of their days when work ran over - they'd been too riddled with exhaustion to bother keeping up physical appearances. There were more important matters that needed tending. And plus, as magnificent as he looked now, when he was a little disheveled with his riotous curly hair strewn about his head, his black thick framed glasses, his button-down loosened at the collar...there was an odd sort of comfort she found with that, and in knowing he was comfortable enough in her presence to relax.

She devoted so much of her young life to this dream and to have found someone just as driven, reliable, and enthusiastic about it was beyond her hopes and dreams.

But it also came with some side effects.

Months of time spent together between just the two of them had, inadvertently, created a wild storm of feelings for him. She found herself thinking about him on her days off and in her time away from the office, of which she spent more there than home these days. Dinner was more frequently than not held in one of their offices, depending on how they were feeling by the end of a strenuous day - his was always cooler with the air conditioning turned so low she oftentimes wondered how he didn't get hypothermia sitting in there.

On the other hand, she cranked up the heat in hers, and she received mirroring grumbles from Jon, how his northern skin would simply melt and she'd be left scooping him up off the floor.

To her advantage, however, that meant loosened layers of clothing, sometimes less of it if she were lucky. The same went to his benefit, too; he thought she didn't notice his wandering eyes, but of course she did. Just as she felt she was smooth enough to get a study on his stacked arms when he would remote even his button-down and left himself in a snug white or black plain t-shirt. That occurrence only happened once; she possibly hadn't been as discreet about her ogling as her mind had told her. Not when the cotton fiber was stretched so perfectly over his broad, muscular chest and fit his biceps like a rubber glove.

Sometimes, in the last hour of the day when they were already working well over their regular time, they would give themselves a break and kick back. They dove into topics ranging from favorite movies to deeper subjects like their most fucked up childhood memory. It turned out they had quite a lot in common, which fed into her ever-growing "things I adore about Jon Snow" bank that she stored away in her mind.

The trouble was, workplace romance was simply not allowed. At least, not within the same departments, and it still required paperwork to be filled out with an assortment of terms and agreements to abide to. Considering they were co founders together, that made things trickier.

Neither of them spoke any of this into the atmosphere, but it was palpable, and it got more torturous as time went on. Jon was the stronger one out of the two of them, and she knew he would never act on anything if it meant she could get let go or demoted. Their CEO could be a little bit of a hardass when it came down to company policies, but Dany was convinced they could find a way to make things work.

That included doing so behind everyone's backs. In all of the time they spent together without other company, Dany could count on one hand how many times there was ever anybody else in the building besides them when they were pulling extra hours. They could easily keep their hands to themselves during the day around their colleagues. At least, she thought so. It would at least make for a very exciting night cap to the day once they were able to be alone.

Missandei and Oberyn were the only two people she could trust to confide in, and to also keep it between just the three of them. Thus far, they did nothing but root for her luck to change, that maybe one of them would just bite the bullet and finally hook up. She was quite tired of skirting around it when she was with Jon, and the tension that thickened between them was going to reach a breaking point.

If she didn’t do something soon, if not just to confirm that he had it as bad as she did, she would wind up doing something impulsive, like pouncing on him one of these days when nobody was around. Or, possibly, when they had an audience.

Dany turned around and scanned the room until she latched onto him, where he was shaking hands and chatting up other people. He was not the tallest man in the world, but his presence was demanding, despite his humbleness. Every now and again, even in conversation, he would look up and around as if seeking something or someone. A little foolishly, she hoped it was her, though even in heels she was below average height compared to most everyone else in the room and would be a little difficult to locate.

"Go get that ass, girl," Oberyn growled into her ear, whacking her bum with the back of his hand, to which she promptly slugged his arm.

"Ouch!" He hissed, rubbing at the offended area. His smugness returned soon after, lips ticking up at the corners. "You'd better save that strength, you will need it later!"

He was darting off into the crowd with a chortle before she could scold him, and it took all of her professional mind to not flip off his retreating back.

“So...how are you going to seduce the elusive Jon Snow?” Missi inquired with a sassy eyebrow raised, her nearly-empty drink clutched in her hand.

Dany sighed, trying to not be too obvious as she observed him flitting from person to person. “I’m starting to think I’d imagined the entire thing,” she muttered with some frustration.

Missi pouted. “I don’t know about that. Not only are there a lot of snitches here that are probably keeping him at arms’ length, but have you not noticed Jon only goes to these things if you’re here?”

Dany frowned, finally tearing her eyes away from Jon to gape at her friend. “What? No, he’s gone to plenty without me, I’m sure of it…”

But was she? In hindsight, now that she really thought about it, there was never a social work event that Jon ever reported to her when she couldn’t make it. She could recall a handful where she went for the both of them, because he would much rather stay lat to play catch-up than mingle with large groups of people, and whenever there was news or gossip, he was the first person she’d save it for.

“You need to make him show you that he wants you just as bad as you want him. I’m sure he has the same fantasies-”

“Missi,” Dany drawled, tilting her head back and scrunching up her face. Yes, she and Missi may have shared almost daily secret huddles in the office, most of which entailed Dany agonizing over Jon Snow haunting her dreams on a regular basis. Rather than his hands rolling up his sleeves because the air was stifling, it was him doing so and crawling over her. Instead of him crouching down near her feet to pick up the pen he’d just dropped, it was him lowering himself to lift up the hem of her skirt and situate his face between her thighs. Sometimes it was sweeter than that: his hands sweeping wisps of hair away from her face when she gave up on it at the end of the day, or he would say “fuck it” to a prticularly agitating project and would gather her up and they would hold eah other on his office couch.

Reality was reflective of the sweetness of her wandering thoughts, just much less physical. They always texted each other when they each got home safely. By now, they’d each memorized their favorite go-to take-out preferences for various restaurants. If someone was having a rougher-than-usual day, one would send the other home and stay longer to cover them (if they were both having an equally terrible day, it came down to a couple rounds of rock-paper-scissors).

All things friends would do for one another, sure, except for the unbearable pull between them that was almost a physical thing.

In recent weeks, they began texting each other regularly, and most of it did not pertain to work, unless they were poking fun at it. A handful of times, Jon snapped photos of something of interest of Dany’s, and his message screamed “this made me think of you” without the actual words. It was the subtext. Usually something along the lines of, “didn’t you mention you were looking for this for about a million years?” in regards to a really cute coffee bar that had been sold out in her favorite color, a lemon yellow, that Jon had managed to find. And reserved for her special so nobody would snatch it up.

Or the multiple times he would share photos of his beautiful snow-white dog, Ghost, in various odd positions, or making strange faces, and adding something like: “a nightcap to your shitty day?”

And Dany loved to return the favor, though it was no competition. She just genuinely adored making him smile. Sometimes it was taking the piss out of him when he was extra grumpy, which immediately put him in a lighter mood. It was also bringing in an obnoxious box of coffee to share between them during the early dawn hours when nobody should be congregating for work-related endeavors at such an ungodly time. Just last week, he had been fidgeting more than usual and was noticeably distracted. When she had inquired what the issue was, he mentioned that Ghost was probably crossing his legs at that point since Jon was running late. As Dany had another errand to run before stopping home, she’d offered to let him out since Jon had a late conference that evening, and he had been all-too-happy in handing her over his keys.

The snort from Missi that invaded Dany’s thoughts had her turning her head toward her friend, who looked doubtful. “Probably every sane person in this room has had a fantasy about you. Jon is at the very top of that list."

Dany grimaced. "Please don't say things like that when I have to look all these people in the eye tonight.”

She weighed Missi’s words, but nothing came to mind right away. Jon appeared too distracted to notice anything she did anyway, and she also didn’t want to come off as desperate, especially if it might raise suspicions amongst others in the ballroom.

Then an idea struck her when she spotted Oberyn once more. Their marketing sleuth, and someone she had grown fond of because of his warm demeanor toward everyone he met. He was the friends-with-everyone type, and he was flagging her down as if he’d read her mind, so she excused herself and weaved through the crowd until she reached him.

Oberyn pecked each of her cheeks, even though he’d just seen her a little while ago, then held her out by her arms and gave her a slow once-over as if he’d only been seeing her for the first time that night. With anyone else, she would have balked, but she knew him well enough to understand it was a platonic gesture. Once his eyes reached hers again, his dark brow lifted to his hairline. “How has the white wolf kept his paws off of you this long?”

Dany scowled, flicking his shoulder. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself for the past several months.”

“Well, what’s the hold-up?”

Sighing, Dany made a secret peek behind Oberyn where Jon was moving closer. Briefly did their eyes lock, and she turned back to Oberyn. “Hold my hand,” she said, extending her own for his.

“Why? So he gets jealous?” Oberyn drawled, snatching up her hand and taking it a step further by pressing a kiss to the top of it.

“Maybe,” she replied, straightening her spine by her boldness.

They conversed for some time, getting cozy and giggling away and eventually were joined by some of their other colleagues. When someone made a point to question why they were holding hands, Oberyn was quick on his feet in explaining that there were no rules to dating across different departments, only if two people worked in the same one. But it soured her stomach.

After she and Oberyn stayed that way for a short time, chatting about things she could barely bring herself to care much about as Jon edged past them, her shoulders slumped as she twisted about to watch him make a beeline for the bar.

“Daenerys,” Oberyn called to her sympathetically, “go to him. You’re not going to get anywhere if you keep up this silly game,” he explained and wiggled their conjoined hands, gently returning hers to her.

She swallowed and nodded, feeling childish that she even considered making such a move. Most of the guests were out on the dance floor, so it was easier to maneuver around to get to the bar where Jon had just collected his drink. Her nerves were wrecked, and this time it was the uncertainty of what reaction she may get, despite her earlier confidence.

As he was turning around, she observed him downing a quick shot before he realized she was there. He returned the glass to the counter and gave her his full attention. “Hey,” he rasped, his throat likely still burning from the liquor.

The pessimistic thoughts ate at her once more. “Hey. I didn’t think you’d show up tonight.” She tried for casual conversation, though it sounded forced even to her own ears.

Shrugging, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Figured I ought to make an appearance. You look nice, by the way.”

The tight smile he produced felt uncharacteristically forced, almost nervous. She shifted on her heeled feet, her mouth suddenly parched, her words half choked out. “Thanks. So do you,” she drew in a silent breath, and decided she couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, just...tired,” he landed on, but she wasn’t convinced. Before she could dig a little deeper, his attention fell on something behind her. She followed his gaze and caught Oberyn heading their way. She wasn’t sure what to make of his determined expression, but something about it made her a little queasy.

“I should probably go before your boyfriend gets upset,” Jon murmured just loud enough for her to hear; he didn’t give her a chance to catch him before she realized what he’d said and disappeared on her.

Oberyn stopped just short of Dany. “What was that all about? It looked like you needed rescuing.”

Pressing her eyes closed, Dany silently cursed herself. “I’m an idiot, that’s what happened. I’ll catch you later,” she cut him an apologetic glance and squeezed his arm before trailing in the direction of where Jon slunk off to.

___________________

The damned ballroom and her petite height made it hard to see above anyone, but luckily she was able to locate him by asking around if anyone had seen him. When she was notified he had mentioned he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to take off without any commotion, her heart sank. She was a damn fool, and now she was half running in six-inch heels, the skirt of her dress hiked up so she wouldn’t land herself a concussion, hoping beyond hope he hadn’t reached the parking lot yet.

She almost passed him up when she barged her way outside, frantically searching over the lot, breathless, to spot his car. A movement to her left made her jump, her hand flying to her chest until Jon stepped beneath the dim patio light and let her breathe again.

"Bloody hells," she exhaled, observing him as he put out his cigarette with his shoe and tossed the butt into the trash.

"Sorry," he chuckled, once more sheltering his hands inside his pockets as he turned his shadowed eyes on her.

"I didn't know you smoked," she mused, still trying to calm her heart.

Jon ducked his head, and she thought she caught a smirk on him, but it was too dark to tell. "Only sometimes. What are you doing out here, anyway?"

So much for giving her heart time to settle - now it kickstarted tenfold. There was no way to be honest without the whole truth. She supposed now was as good a time as any, best as they didn't have an audience. "I was hoping to catch you before you'd left," she paused, his gaze lifting and resting hard on her. So intense that she averted hers to her feet while she sounded her admission. "Oberyn isn't my boyfriend."

After a moment of silence, she sought his reaction. He lifted a shoulder "It's not my business, Dany."

"No. It is, because…," she took a half step closer, then squeezed her eyes shut. It sounded so childish to even say it. "I'd asked him to do me a favor so that it might make you jealous."

It came out so quickly she didn't think he understood half the words. But he was frowning when she braved opening her eyes again. "And why would you want to do that, Dany?"

His voice fell an octave lower, practically purring, and it left her momentarily stunned in place even as he began to close in on her. The use of her nickname in such a manner was leaving her in a delirious state. By the time he stopped, just a hair’s breadth short of their toes touching, she was having to tilt her head up to see him. Even despite the added height of her shoes. Somehow, her voice didn't quiver with the hopeful anticipation that was setting her nerves alight.

With whatever scrap of courage she had left, she voiced it into the world. "Because I really, really, really like you, and it's been torture trying to piece together whether the feeling is mutual, or if it's a figment of my imagination."

His frown returned, deeper than before, his eyes darting between each of hers. "How could you ever think it's one-sided?" He asked gruffly, and a knot firmly wrapped around her throat. Maybe that was a good thing, to prevent her from saying anything that would break the spell. “You occupy my mind ninety percent of the time,” he said, “the other ten is me trying to figure out how to stop thinking about you for five bloody minutes so I can get work done without being distracted.”

She huffed out a breath of relief, finally allowing herself to smile. It was good that it was night time so the red sweeping over her cheeks was well hidden. Still, she ducked her head to give herself a moment to dwell on his confession. His finger gently encouraged her to come back to him though, and suddenly the air between them was thin, his breath puffing against her lips.

A raucous shriek just a little way over inside the building made them both jump apart, a group of intoxicated people bowling their way through the double doors and out onto the patio. One of them slurred their apology as they stumbled out into the parking lot, exclaiming about how they couldn’t wait to get their hands on a fat greasy burger and then throw it up later. There couldn’t have possibly been anything much better at ruining the mood than that.

Jon huffed when he looked at her, rubbing at his forehead. No doubt his heart was beating just as violently against his chest as hers was. Without a word, he snatched up Dany’s hand and tugged her into the grassy area, hidden behind the solid wall of the venue. After double checking over his shoulder, he pressed himself against the rough brick wall and pulled her flat against him while she gasped, gently sweeping away small wisps of hair that got in his way.

His hand cradling her jaw, he finally, finally, dipped his head until his lips were brushing over hers. Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head, overstimulated by months of need for him, her hand fisting his shirt whilst the other curled around the back of his neck. His hands cuffed her waist and kept her close, the tips of his fingers digging into the fleshy bits of her hips when she nudged open his mouth to slip her tongue into the hot confines of his.

The low groan he elicited forced one of her own from her throat, and then everything was escalating at a dizzying pace; their hands were roaming everywhere they could reach, exchanging nips and licks and everything inbetween until they were forced apart for air. Where she had wedged her thigh between his, she could feel the hard evidence of his arousal, and if it weren’t for the consequences she would have her way with him in the dirt and the grass. Thorn bushes be damned.

“We should probably take this somewhere else,” he whispered, winded, and she was happy that he wasn’t about to suggest they stop altogether.

She nodded before the last word was out. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

Jon considered their surroundings carefully, then grabbed her hand.

_______

Their seatbelts were thrown off so hard, Dany was surprised they hadn’t accidentally shattered Jon’s car windows with the force. They’d snuck off into the parking lot and after a heady makeout session, Jon decided they ought to find somewhere a little more private, settling on a nearby park where the only source of light was several yards away.

The second he cut the engine they crashed together, pawing at one another until he dragged her over onto his lap. His hands molded to her ass, but the material of her dress made him growl with frustration that it didn’t allow him the access he desired, so he slid them beneath and his head smacked back against his headrest when he discovered she’d foregone panties with a groan between his teeth.

Dany moaned as his fingers kneaded her bare flesh, and she took advantage of the new exposure of skin down the column of his neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses and tiny bites where the collar of his dress shirts could mask.

Jon shifted his legs and bumped into the steering wheel with a crack. “Ouch, fuck,” he grumbled, and she realized their current position wasn’t very practical if they wanted things to go any further.

“Are you okay?” Dany asked against his clammy skin, reaching behind her to smooth her hand over the offended kneecap.

“More than,” he replied, curling his fingers around to her inner, upper thighs and making her tremble. He was so close to her cunt that she could feel his heat against it, and her forehead fell against his chest, her hips rocking to seek the friction she so desperately needed. But he never gave her it; in fact, he seemed keen on doing just the opposite, skimming his fingers just at the juncture, trailing them down the length of her thighs, squeezing her ass on the way up each time.

Even when she was left a writhing mess and kissed him savagely, popped open the first couple of buttons so she could get more of him, he still refused to touch her there.

For now.

Jon pulled at her bottom lip, his voice a low, husky whisper. “We’ll have more room in the back seat.”

“What are your intentions, Jon Snow?” She inquired with feigned innocence.

With a light smack to her bum, he chewed on his bottom lip. “Get back there and I’ll show you.”

It took some finagling, but soon enough they were in the more spacious back seats, and she quickly unstrapped her heels. Jon’s shoes were next, and then he was helping her out of her dress, carefully rolling it upward until it was off of her, leaving her completely exposed for his viewing. His arms froze in the air, her dress still clutched in his hands as he took her in. The light didn’t illuminate much, but it was enough to see one another clearly.

Since he was so enlightened by her breasts, she giggled and rose onto her knees, taking her dress and letting it drop to the floor whilst she assisted him in removing his suit jacket. Once that was shed, he instantly filled his palms with her breasts, his thumbs sweeping over her pebbled nipples. He was lucky she had enough strength to not buckle under his touch, her teeth capturing her bottom lip in a hasty endeavor to rid him entirely of his clothing so she could return the favor.

Then she stilled, a thought occurring to her. “Are you sure you want to do this in your car? It might get messy…,” she noted as he briefly ceased his fondling to work on shedding his pants, his dark eyes gleaming in the light.

Once he made quick work of them, his jacket was next in the pile they haphazardly tossed up front. “It’ll give me something to think about on my commute,” he rasped, and it took her a beat to understand what he meant, unable to bite back a grin. By now her cunt ached for him and they’d only just started getting things moving.

Her hands slid over his shoulders, taking his shirt with it, the play of dim light and shadows over his sculpted body making her mouth go dry and her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. Jon shifted up higher to free his arms, her fingers skimming down his chest and over the ebbs of his abdomen, eyes falling to where his cock was straining and hard in the cotton of his boxer briefs. Without anymore delay, Dany slipped her hand beneath the waistband and curled her fingers around the rigid, hot skin, twisting lightly until he was sucking sharp breaths of air through his teeth.

In a flash, he shucked off his boxer briefs and hooked an arm around her waist, ravaging her mouth. As he pressed tighter against her, his thick length nestled between her thighs, sliding along her cunt and forcing her mouth to pop open with a heady moan.

"You're soaked," Jon whispered harshly, his other hand clutched her ass cheek to keep her stationary, his breaths short puffs over her face as he slowly teased the both of them with long, slow strokes of his cock until he was thoroughly coated with her, their clammy foreheads thumping together.

Dany gripped his lats with her hands, trying to be mindful that she didn't score his skin with her nails, but barely had half a mind to care. She rolled her hips with him, her entire body quivering when he dragged his cock over her clit. The sounds erupting from her seemed to drive him mad as he echoed her.

She chanced a glimpse down between the narrow gap between them each time he pulled away, her peak so near the edge already that the sight of his wet, shiny cock disappearing between her thighs had her nearly coming just there. "I need you, Jon," she whimpered, grateful that he was as desperate as she felt. Any other time she would gladly drag it on, but she'd waited long enough to have this with him, and she was far too impatient to wait a second longer.

Carefully, she was lowered onto her back. They shared a few soft chuckles as they tried to figure out the most comfortable position for the both of them. Finally, she settled one leg off and planted the tips of her toes on the floor, the other tossed over his shoulder, while he knelt one knee on the seat and held himself up with the other on the floor.

He allowed himself some time to take her in all sprawled out for him, dragging the soft pads of his fingers down the length of her body just as she did his earlier. His hands stopped to gently massage her breasts, which were beginning to heave with anticipation, and he traced every curve of her body.

Dany swallowed, cuffing her hands around his biceps as he lowered himself to kiss her softly. Lips locked together, he nudged hers open, drawing in her upper lip and suckling on it, one hand braced near her head whilst the other made her squirm as it explored her hips, her inner thighs, until he have her exactly what she was near begging for. He barely glanced over her juices and she was moaning so loudly she was glad they'd gone somewhere more private.

Jon sucked over the soft skin just below her jaw and circled her clit with the flat of his fingers, her legs about as strong as jelly, head pressing into the seat and back arching into his touch. Jon growled at how reactive she was, his lips and tongue leaving a tinging trail down to her chest, not stopping until he pulled a nipple into his mouth and made her a wiggling mess beneath him.

His fingers added a little more pressure, gathering more of her up and ticking up his pace. Dany's mouth was dry from how harshly her lungs were begging for air, stomach sucked in and muscles going taut with the stimulation.

When he plunged a finger into her heat, she gasped sharply, and he paused all movement. "You alright?" He asked sweetly, pecking the corner of her mouth.

Dany nodded frantically, lifting her hips to get him to move again. "I'm...I'm not gonna last much longer," she practically squeaked.

A devilish smirk took over his face. "I'd better get to work then," he declared, then made her pout as he lifted to his knees and stretched himself between the front seats, searching.

It didn't take long for it to click. "I'm on birth control," she told him, and she snorted at his visible relief.

He resumed his position and his head rolled back. "Thank the gods. Pretty sure they don't equip new cars with condoms and mine are all at the house."

Dany giggled and grabbed for him, wanting him closer. "Wait, this is a new car?" Now that she actually thought about it, it did have that lingering 'new car smell', but she'd been so preoccupied with his distinct scent and getting him naked that she didn't notice at first.

"Aye," he responded, nipping her neck, "everyone says cars are the worst investment, but…,” he laved his tongue over one of her nipples and made her groan, “I beg to differ."

Dany smiled with a hum and smoothed her foot over his leg, too pleased and distracted by his attentions to think of a witty retort. Instead, she responded by canting her hips and grinding over his cock, his forehead dropping between her breasts, his curly head lifting to see her out. He took himself in hand and pumped a few times before lining up, and drove home in one slide, making stars burst between her eyes and a cry out into the night air.

Jon’s face distorted with a muffled grunt, giving them both time to adjust. He blew out a few long breaths, but she was too needy and languidly rolled her hips, stretching her arms as far down as she could and filling each hand with his marble-soft cheeks, gently encouraging him to move. She was out of her mind delirious as he set a pace that had them each panting and sweating, the mechanics of his ass under the grip of her hands and the slight burn of his cock pumping from root to tip and filling her entirely.

His responding, wolfish grunt and groans spurred her on, and she could tell he was trying to be gallant and hold back, but by the way his muscles were tensed and his movements became erratic, plus the twisting of his beautiful face, he was ready to let go and she was ready to fall with him.

Dany tilted her hips so that he was grinding over her clit, which sent her in a restless frenzy below him, whimpering and moaning and squirming with the build. "Fuck," he breathed, eyes fixed on hers, his teeth clenching and jaw muscle flexing. Dany lifted her hand above her head and braced it against the door, the other carding through his hair. She gave a soft tug to his damp locks which he seemed to enjoy, if the way his hips were snapping against her was any indication.

“Jon…,” Dany warned, he throat constricting against any more words she thought to utter, but it was enough for him to understand, the corded lines of muscle prevalent in his arms as he steadied himself and ground into her, and she broke in fragmented gasps and pleas of his name, a second wave overwhelming her already tender body as he leapt right after her.

His head fell against her shoulder with throaty grunts and groans, thrusting and then stilling as he spent inside of her. It was music to her ears. Her arms weakly found him, securing themselves over his back and easing his tired body down onto hers. He went without protest, carrying the brunt of his weight on one knee so he didn’t entirely crush her,

Part of her foggy mind wished they'd waited the extra ten minutes and taken this back to one of their houses so they could sleep right then, but the other parts of it were too thrilled by the idea of just going for it. "How am I to get through the work day without wanting to lock you up in my office?” Dany mumbled against his shoulder, pressing a kiss thereafter.

A groggy huff left him, the warmth of his breath tickling up her neck. After a moment and finally evening his breaths, he lifted his head, several damp strands of springy black curls falling over his face. “I know of a few less populated conference rooms with far less windows that we could sneak off to,” he smirked, her hands lifting to smooth away some of his hair so she could get a better look at him. Then, his expression morphed into one of mock sternness. “To go over our presentations without interruptions, I mean.”

With one brow arched and a sleepy giggle, she asked, “and how long have you been dreaming of using said rooms for these particular “work” activities?”

Jon sucked air through his teeth. “Longer than I’d ever admit,” he confessed.

“Sounds like I ought to report you for indecent thoughts,” Dany muttered, her head rising to kiss him softly.

He sighed against her and thumbed away some hairs at her temple, speaking against her lips when he needed air. “S’pose we ought to get out of here before someone finds us and we get reported for public indecency.”

Dany nodded, a tiny motion, pecking his still-swollen lips. “Okay,” she whispered. He pulled out of her with a wince and when he sat up, she bit her lip, getting a fuller view of him. Or, as much as she could in the slightly cramped backseat of his car. He was too much to resist, and she was quickly snatching his shirt out of his hands before he could pull it on over his head. “Wait,” she said, straddling his lap and easing his frown as his hands slid up her ribs. She braced her hands on his shoulders, smiling devilishly while his pupils grew dark and fat with want. “Let’s do it again.”

#jonerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys quote drabble unquote #to the other anon that sent me two prompts i promise i also didn't forget you #working on that one next!#my drabbles

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lightdancer1 · 2 years

Text

A sketch from the Fire Sage Azula AU:

Azula would always remember the time that the understanding she'd begun to forge of the Deep Truth through a younger child's age was deepened. From the time she was seven till now, when she was eleven each night of the Summer Solstice, when the lines between the worlds were thin Agni walked in the Temple of Roku. She had seen enough of the truth to know that Agni's favor was nothing good, that the being the Fire Nation worshiped was a monster of stupendous power and devastating force without true loyalty to her people or concern for them.

This much of the truth she understood.

It was three days after the summer solstice that the second part of the Deep Truth made itself known when she rounded a corner and saw something strange. Ivory-gold trailing along the wood and a strange wrongness and sickliness beneath the ivory-gold, as of a decay that could not conclude in or end in death.

She saw a great dais and a gilded throne shaped like an enormous dragon-skull, two of the horns turned into arm-rests. A being sat upon the throne clad in a sari the color of blood, as if blood had been transformed into fabric and wrapped around a body too immense to be real. The tallest people in the Fire Nation were between six and seven feet tall, this entity was four times that size, with bulk to match.

A match for Agni in height, in other words. Yet she was not as Agni, her skin was very pale, paler even than those of the far northern islands of the Fire Nation. As pale as the colorless embodiments of purity in scrolls depicting the Sun Goddess Amaterasu and Tui, Lady of the Moon. Hair like gold or straw trailed down her back in a pattern that was unkempt and matted, more the hair of a feral demented beast than a person. Her ears were pointed, and there were eight eyes on that face, each of them like a small bonfire or star.

Thirteen thousand six hundred and seven universes searched, spoke the being in two voices as she turned her right palm up, the left gripping the horn-armrest with a grip that rasped the air, and you're the first like you I've found who isn't stark raving mad in an asylum somewhere or fucking dead.

Azula paused. "First like me?"

The elder daughter of Ozai of Caldera and Ursa of Ryukyu, wielding blue fires. If you do not fight you are mad or dead, for yours is a power meant for war and death. It is predisposed to that, because that is what you are. A monster wearing the flesh of a person.

Azula stood very still, recognizing at a subconscious level what it was to be in the sight of an apex predator as the air rasped when the thing's lips peeled back to show a fanged grin.

I forged this gate in another world and it fell to me to be the first within it, to offer my insight and my visions. I who found the world of ashes and remade it ivory and gold.

Mine the hands that heal,

mine the hands that kill.

Mine the hands that stilled the wine-dark sea.

Mine is the lightning-flash,

Mine is the House of Pain.

And then the entity raised herself from the throne, spreading her arms wide.

I am the Undying Flame, Azar of the Fire-Temple, great foe of Angra Mainyu. All shall know my name and weep tears of blood and joy for the hour of my ascension has struck and the bell of fate has chimed.

I am Eldest and Fatherless, the Firstborn.

And then there was a malevolent grin on her face and as she took a step down from the dais it was not the straw-haired giant that moved with footsteps like peals of thunder but a version of her mother. Ursa, tall and domineering, with starlight-eyes and teeth that were too sharp.

The other versions of you react so very differently to this face, said the entity as she picked at her fanged teeth with a nail that looked like a claw, spoiling some of the effect of the shape she'd taken and blissfully unconcerned with it. I know all things in Heaven and in Hell, and many things beyond that. Mad as a hatter, for that is the price of Power, of being Eldest and Fatherless of Chaos when the Angra Mainyu slew all other beings that could have become it lest he face the competition.

And then the talon-nailed hand moved from fangs that would have suited a good-sized dragon in a human-like face, lips like Ursa's closing around them. The hand began to move for her on the edge of a cataclysm that struck the shrine on Ember Island more terrifyingly than the meeting post-divorce of then-Dragon of the West Iroh and his estranged wife and head of this Temple.

The first sign of it was a sudden terrible heat in the air and then Azula could barely breathe for her lungs were drying out and for a moment the not-Ursa with starlight eyes looked with first shock and then a vicious grin as the face donned began to grow back to its full height wearing a dark green armor.

#atla aus #fire sage azula au

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seiin-translations · 3 years

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2.43 S1 Chapter 3.5 - The Dog’s View and the Giraffe’s View

5. READY FOR SUMMER

You think Aoki reads shonen manga?

This is the end of the first half of the first season, a.k.a the first tankobon volume. I’ll be going on a short hiatus for a few week before coming back.

Stan Odacchi!

Previous || Index || Next

Thrusting a CalorieMate bar into his mouth and holding a sports drink in his hand, when he rushed to the washroom near the gym, he suddenly ran into Aoki. Aoki took one look at Oda’s face and widened his eyes for a moment, then cautioned him with a disgusted look on his face.

“You should stop it with that…in my opinion.”

“Can’t be helped. I didn’t have the time to eat lunch or go to the washroom.”

The CalorieMate had sucked up his saliva and was sticking to his mouth. He put the box that still had some left and the bottle on top of the urinal and lined up next to Aoki.

Immediately after serving as an assistant referee on the courtside, he immediately jumped into his own team’s match, served as an assistant referee again on the same court as soon as it was over, plus he had to keep an eye on the progress of the entire boys’ volleyball division, support the participants and instruct the other members… Needless to say, he didn’t have time to take a lunch break, and he wasn’t allowed to go to the washroom since morning. Still, Oda only had to watch the gym, but Aoki was frequently pulled back by runners from the executive committee’s tent on top of that. This was the first time he was able to make time to talk to Aoki face to face.

It was finally the day of the Seiin Ballgame Festival. Luckily, the last few days were breaks in the rainy season, and the event was held on a day that didn’t interfere with outdoor events. In fact, the weather was so favorable that the temperature has reached July-like levels, and the executive committee has been repeatedly urging people to be careful about heat stroke.

Boys’ volleyball had managed finish four of their six group games without incident on the stage side of the gym. According to gossip, from the first group Team C, led by Aoki, had two wins, and from the second group Team F, led by Oda, had two wins, so it had already been decided that they would clash in the finals. The remaining two games would be elimination games that didn’t make it past the preliminaries, whether they win or lose, but since points were added depending on the points won, the overall winner was still unknown.

“It’d be interesting if we train Okuma to be a center.”

Aoki said next to him as he relieved himself. As ever, Aoki’s shoulder was at the corner of his vision.

“Okuma’s on the rugby team, isn’t he?”

“Well, it’s just an idea. If we had a burly guy like that, we’d look a bit stronger, right? Suemori-san said boys’ volleyball is soft.”

“It’s all about looks?”

“It’s important to look scary, you know?”

Well, when he puts it that way, it’s true that even though Aoki is the tallest guy in school, he’s more “long” than “big,” so he doesn’t look all that burly. He’s a center whose traits are height and dexterity. Okuma’s likely to be a different type of center than Aoki though…

“Well, enough about Okuma. I want Haijima more.”

“You’re pretty fixated on Haijima.”

“What kind of guy wouldn’t fall in love with that play? You’ve seen him play two games, didn’t you?”

“I know he’s good, but that’s not enough. It’d be nice to have a character who can speak up and get the team going, but he’s the complete opposite of that. Your team isn’t attracting any amateurs, right? For events like these, it’s better to have a noisy guy like Okuma.”

“So you want Okuma more than Haijima? Aren’t you being pretty cold to him?”

He couldn’t help but sound grumpy. He understood Aoki’s objective point of view. However, he got angry when he was told things objectively.

“Hmm? No.”

Aoki’s voice was light, and his shoulders turned slightly towards him.

“I’m talking about the ballgame tournament. The captain of this team is you, and if that’s what you want, then I won’t object to it and cooperate with you. If you want, I can find Haijima’s weakness so he can’t refuse no matter what.”

“I don’t need that kind of shady business.”

When he glared at him sideways, his shoulders shook with laughter. “It’s a joke.” It’s scary because this guy actually does those things that seem like a joke.

“We don’t need Haijima’s weakness for him to join. The problem might be Kuroba. He’s doing well so far today, but I don’t know what’ll happen when he comes face to face with Haijima in the finals.”

“Just have them match up. A feud between freshmen would be all cleared up if they just punch each other once hard and tell each other their true thoughts, don’t you think?”

Aoki said carefreely while lightly shaking his hips up and down, then tucked his thing back in and left the urinal.

In the case of you and me, we missed our chance to go through the process of punching each other and saying our true thoughts, and now we’re here… Oda watched the tall silhouette disappear across the label of his plastic bottle with a look like he wanted to say something.

Even though he and Aoki had their disagreements, they always ended up sidestepping the issue instead of getting into a serious quarrel. Even though Aoki would attack others with a sharp tongue as much as he wanted if necessary, but when it came to Oda, he would take a step back. He didn’t have to retract his opinion if there was something about Haijima’s acquisition he didn’t like. I’m not such a tyrant that I won’t respect the opinion of the vice captain.

Oda still wasn’t convinced about how he was chosen as captain in the first place. Whenever Aoki gave him his due because he was the captain, it stimulated a deep sense of inferiority within him.

When the grade before them retired, Aoki was to be appointed as the next captain. He had a mild and calm personality, able to keep an eye on the whole team. He was the natural choice.

At the same time, Oda was advised to switch from attacker to libero. The introduction of the libero system had opened up a place for people with short statures to play an active role. They could only substitute with a back row player and couldn’t participate in the spikes and blocks in the front row, but a receive specialist was an essential position in modern volleyball. It wasn’t that the previous captain had any ill intent, but rather that he knew that Oda poured more passion into volleyball than anyone else.

However, right with that timing, Aoki jumped into the student council. As though he was purposely creating a situation where Oda was compelled to be the captain—he couldn’t hold an important position on the student council and be a team captain for club activities at the same time. That was why Aoki couldn’t take on the role of captain. And under the current rules, the libero couldn’t in effect be the captain. In other words, as long as Oda had no choice but to be captain, he couldn’t switch to libero. Oda truly felt humiliated at being stripped of the attacker position. Because Aoki had sensed that.

What’s with you? Was that pity for me, who never grew taller? Or was it the freedom of a tall guy? He was angry. However, he was unable to lay bare such ugly emotions in front of Aoki and in the end, it didn’t turn into a serious conflict at the time. The comfortable relationship that they had since they started high school had somehow created a wall instead, and there was an atmosphere where it would be too awkward to share their feelings at this point.

Although Aoki was his best friend and a trustworthy partner who was more easy to get on with than anyone, he also harbored a strangely twisted gloominess towards him.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

It was awkward, so he purposely waited for Aoki to leave the washroom before he did so himself, but he saw a tall and narrow back staying in the corridor in front of the gym. From the other direction, Suemori appeared and suddenly spoke in a reproaching tone.

“Oda-senpai, why were you taking your time in the washroom? Please don’t make me wait here.”

“I don’t remember telling you to wait…You could have given me a shout if there’s anything to take care of.”

“I don’t want to go near the boys’ washroom.”

Oda nonchalantly put his hand behind him, feeling that the food and drinks he brought out from the washroom were dirty. I’ve been slightly thinking this for a while, but I wonder if Suemori hates men. But she seems to be able to talk to Kanno normally.

“So, what’s up?”

“The old teacher collapsed.”

Aoki answered in place of Suemori.

“What!?”

The advisor for the boys’ volleyball team was an elderly teacher, just as Aoki called him. They’ve heard that he was rehired on a part-time basis once he reached retirement age. Apparently, he used to play volleyball when he was a student, but the form of the game of volleyball should be quite different between then and now. He was like a fossil from his generation.

The advisor had been the referee for the entire competition without a break since this morning. Even they, as active high school students, were likely to collapse from the hectic bustle, so it would be even harder on the elderly.

It seemed that he was feeling dizzy from the heat due to the temperature in the gym having risen. They said it wasn’t serious, but the referee’s chair was now vacant. There were still three matches left. Either Oda or Aoki should be the referee for the remaining two games in the group league, but the problem was the finals where C and F would encounter each other. Since the other positions also had the bare minimum amount of people in them, there were no extra hands.

“Well, I’ll do it.”

Aoki said without missing a beat.

“Aren’t you competing?”

“I don’t mind. From the start, I prioritized administration, so if there’s not enough people, I was going to pull out and head over there, but…ah, there’d be a problem with me refereeing a match with my own team.”

“You say that, but there’s no other way. I want to give Kanno a chance to be in a game, and there’s no reason to bother pulling Kuroba out. On the contrary, isn’t the balance better now that we have two experienced people on each team?”

“Even if it was still three on two, we won’t lose. It’s not that…it’s no fun if you’re not gonna be playing.”

He felt like he was the only one being childish and having a tantrum at a time when everyone had to back each other up, and his voice got quieter and quieter. He couldn’t bear knowing that Aoki and Suemori were exchanging worried-looking glances over his head. But he still didn’t like Aoki’s quick and easy way of splitting them up. Was I the only one who was looking forward to the match…?

“If that’s the case, let’s make it a little more interesting.”

Aoki proposed in a light tone. When he looked up with suspicion in his eyes, Aoki had a pensive look on his face with a faint smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. He looked like that when he was about to plot something.

“In other words, you’re saying it’s boring because you’re not in it. In the first place, you say ‘take’, but do you even have their approval…?”

“I’ll persuade Okuma. Of course that’s if C wins. If F wins, you’ll persuade Haijima. However, if you lose, you’ll have to give up on Haijima once and for all. —Kuroba!”

Aoki suddenly yelled. Kuroba, who had suddenly been poking his head in from the metal doors on the gym side of the corridor, made a “Mrp” sound and ducked his head.

“You and Nagato both don’t want Haijima to join, right? You were listening in on our conversation just now. Since it’s like that, crush them to bits. Treat this match like a real game.”

***

The chief referee for the finals was Aoki. The assistant referee, the point displayer, and two linesmen were all members of the team who weren’t playing in the game. The other two linesman and the ball retriever were help from the girls’ team, including Suemori.

It was past four o’clock in the afternoon, but heat was coming down the roof, which had been scorched by the midday sun, and accumulated indoors. The windless court wasn’t just completely covered in heat, but also some kind of strangely oppressive atmosphere.

As the team members took their positions around the court, they sensed a strange tension in the court that went beyond a mere school event, and their expressions tightened. Only Aoki had his usual relaxed expression, and he wondered what he was scheming. The way the already-tall Aoki stood on the referee’s stand and looked down at the court already somewhat made it a “tower.”

There were some spectators gathered along the walls and on the stage. The gallery installed on the second floor was also overflowing with students in sportswear. He thought that since it coincided with the futsal and softball finals, the spectators would be drawn to that, but it seemed that a surprisingly large number of people had come just to watch. Across the partition net, on the other side of the court, the girls’ basketball game was being held. The random bouncing of a ball other than a volleyball was jarring to his ears—he might be getting a bit nervous himself. He shrugged his shoulders up and down to release the extra energy. He was already sweating just by standing.

Team F got the serve through rock-paper-scissors. Haijima would serve from the right back row, and Oda would start diagonally from him at the front left. The opposing Team C’s starting order had Kanno at the front right and Kuroba in the back left. With two volleyball veterans placed diagonally from each other and sandwiching and supporting the amateurs, both teams had the most suitable formation.

Kuroba, getting ready to receive, kept pulling at his T-shirt and wiping the sweat off his face an unusual number of times. He wondered if it was just his imagination that the movement of his legs seemed heavy. Even though he was always jumping around on the court even when there was no need for it, now his feet were clinging to the floor. He’s pretty nervous. The fact that the crowd was much bigger than for the group league no doubt played a role.

What are we going to do for this game? He felt like it had become a farce starring the boys’ volleyball team, but of course he wasn’t going to lose on purpose. We’re going for the win. It was out of the question to give up on getting Haijima because of a single loss in a in-school match. If that was the case, he shouldn’t have taken this bet, but it was also out of the question for Oda to not buy a fight that had been sold to him.

He called Haijima, who was heading for the service zone, to a stop and he turned around and asked him something.

“It’s okay now, right?”

“Yeah. Do it with all your power.”

He heard the sound of the safety lock inside Haijima disengaging. In the previous two games, Haijima was banned from doing jump serves. It would no longer be a game against an amateur team if he did so, and someone were to get hit in the face, they risked injury.

“…Eleven months.”

Haijima muttered in a low voice, cast his gaze to a point on the other side of the net and narrowed his eyes.

“Did he get a little better?”

He smiled faintly. The depths of his eyes were boiling, as though he was even taking in this heat and transforming it into a part of the heat within him. Stimulated by that fighting spirit, Oda also felt his entire body trembling.

Just you watch… He glared at Aoki, but couldn’t meet his gaze with Aoki on the referee’s chair.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Haijima’s jump serve even drew the eyes of the first-timer spectators. He placed the ball in his left hand, stretched his arm directly before him and stood still. A beat of dignified silence that took the watcher’s breath away. The moment he tossed the ball up high with a spin towards the ceiling, there was a big “Ooh.”

From his graceful and refined form, as though he was dancing in the air, he let loose a sharp jump serve. Contrary to the slickness of his form, Haijima’s serve was quite unpleasant. It had a unique twisting spin, partly due to him hitting left-handed, and the one who was receiving was under immense pressure. Drawing a curving arc, it accurately aimed for the area Kuroba, who was positioned in the back row, was guarding. Kuroba, who didn’t say he was good at serve receives, managed to hit it with his arms with a panicked look on his face. Fortunately, it went up high, so his teammate went right below it and waited. Who was going to hit it?

Was Kuroba, who received it, going to hit it himself?

“Right court!”

He was astounded by the instruction that came from the referee’s chair.

Oi, wait a minute!? Is that even allowed!?

The ball was set to Kanno on the right court. Oda jumped to block in surprise, but Kanno dexterously shifted the core of the impact and changed it to a straight spike from the angle of a cross-court hit. Tch, he’s good… The spike that was as sharp as a needle went through a narrow course.

While landing, he turned his head to follow the whereabouts of the ball. He thought it might have been on the border of the sideline, but Nagato the linesman didn’t hesitate to indicate that it was in. The person who enthusiastically shouted “Yes!” from outside the court in place of Kanno, who had landed soundlessly, was…Suemori. I get the feeling that there’s a lot of officials that are emotionally attached to the opponent’s side, but…?

Team C’s first point was engraved.

“Oi, why is the referee giving out instructions?”

He snapped at the referee’s chair.

“If there are any objections, you can write them down on the record sheet later.”

Aoki said calmly, then quickly blew the whistle to prompt Team C to serve. There was no way they were going to prepare a record sheet used for official games for a ballgame tournament.

“Do it in one go, Haijima.”

He turned his back on the referee’s stand in indignation and said that aloud in order to calm himself down. However, Haijima only sullenly muttered, “You haven’t gotten any better at defense though,” and it seemed that he didn’t care about the noise around him or the subtle and complex actions of the staff members. The intensity of his concentration after entering the court was astonishing, but…he felt that he was slightly different from the previous two matches. Isn’t his mind too focused on one point?

At the end of where Haijima’s eyes were fixed on, Kuroba was, as ever, looking around restlessly while worrying about sweating profusely. The complete opposite of Haijima, his concentration was scattered. It was a face that screamed that Aoki’s implication was bad.

Team C, under Aoki’s instructions (which he still couldn’t wrap his mind around), had adopted the strategy of gathering the ball to Kanno. The scene where Kuroba hit didn’t return immediately, but even so, that scene came when it was 3-3 in the beginning, the rotation moved three at a time and Kuroba in the front right was directly facing Haijima in the front left over the net.

The first setting of this set came from Kanno to Kuroba.

At Haijima’s instructions, a triple block was set up. Oda in the back row prepared to back them up. “That’s a hell of a jump from that guy!?” The jumping power of Kuroba, who was high enough for his chest to comfortably show up over the net, made the crowd go wild. Completing the rotation of his shoulders by arching his whole body in midair, his body bent back and his arms swung out, as though releasing a nocked arrow. This dynamic spiking form, which could be called the splendor of volleyball, was the usual Kuroba, but…he’s not looking at the blockers at all. The ball didn’t pass over the net, getting caught on the white band and falling to Team C’s side.

Right when F-team took the lead with 4-3,

“Time out.”

The head referee requested a time-out.

Oi…I’ve never heard of this.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

“Why hasn’t he fixed that habit of his yet?”

Haijima turned on him as soon as they gathered courtside. Team C was making a circle around the tower that was Aoki. So why was the chief referee coming down from the referee’s stand and being on the bench of one team? After glaring at the other party who made his temple spasm, Oda turned back to Haijima.

“It already became solidified within him when he joined in April. There’s no problem in practice games, but he always gets like that when it’s a game with a lot of pressure, and to be honest, he’d be useless in an official match.”

For last year’s middle school prefecturals, Oda only went on the second day, so Kuroba, who apparently only participated on the first day, went unchecked. When he first joined the club, Oda was simply excited that an unexpected find had burst in. In fact, when he was used in the May practice match, he couldn’t find any problems. There was an inconsistent feeling to him, like he was developing, but his energetic play was pleasant to watch, and his strangely likeable character also helped to energize the whole team.

Although they haven’t acquired Haijima yet, he was confident that their attacker lineup was in good order with this, and then the prefectural tournament in the start of June—

The god of volleyball seemed to like secretly digging pitfalls.

An odd habit had begun to show up. He either failed his spikes entirely that got caught by the blocks and got himself out, or it got trapped by the net. It wasn’t like his form was messed up, but he couldn’t settle it. Even when he asked the person in question, he vaguely answered with a somewhat spaced-out expression, like his feet weren’t on the ground, that even he didn’t know why it was like that.

“…Why…”

Haijima grumbled, glaring at his feet with a gaze that could scorch through the floor.

“Stumbling over something like that…”

Haijima, that’s exactly how I feel about you, Oda thought. If you ask me, I’m jealous of the both of you, and just looking at you makes me irritated.

“Hey, we have to do something about him. It seems that it has something to do with Nagato and the second round of the middle school prefecturals?”

At this point, I should create a front that would make Haijima take a step closer to us, even forcibly. Thinking that, he tried inducing him.

“The middle school prefecturals…?”

Haijima raised his head and furrowed his brow.

“Sometimes players fail in their debut matches and suddenly fall to pieces.”

“They said it was my fault? But…”

His voice jumped up for an instant. He immediately closed his mouth sullenly and looked down again, fiddling with the taping on his fingers in front of his stomach. He thought of him as a player who didn’t have the habit of making other people read his mind, so that behavior was unexpected.

“What was I supposed to do…I was waiting, on that day…but, he was the one who didn’t come…”

He felt like the view before him was suddenly blocked by a thin, but hard, shell.

***

Even after the timeout, Kuroba’s play was lackluster. It would have been excusable if he had been blocked by the volleyball team members, but he was messing up because he was minding the blocker, who was an amateur ten centimeters shorter than him and just standing in front of him. Really, when he was good, he was great, but once his gears went out of whack, he quickly fell apart on his own. To be honest, he thought it was better for him to withdraw, but Aoki, Team C’s captain as well as the referee (this dual role was strange no matter how you look at it), didn’t seem like he was going to replace him.

He could see the frustration building up in even Haijima every time Kuroba made a mistake. Even so, the thing that differentiated Haijima from Kuroba was that his play never wavered, or rather, became frighteningly sharp. Not necessarily in a good sense, as he even covered his teammates’ minor mistakes all by himself and ended up excluding the amateurs. It felt like the sullen aura emanating from Haijima’s entire body made it seem as if the temperature on only their side of the court had dropped down a notch. It was out of the control of even Oda and he called to him less and less, and he thought that he could imagine the atmosphere in the second round of the prefectural tournament Nagato was talking about now.

His irritation towards the two who didn’t appreciate at all the value of the treasures that had been given them became stronger. If it were those two, there was no doubt that they would be able to stand at the forefront for the next ten or twenty years. Was it asking too much of freshmen to be less small-minded when they had such high physical potential? But, if he had those two’s potential, he definitely wouldn’t waste it. A super-ace who was trusted by his team for his solid decision-making ability as well as enlivening the team as a mental pillar…He knew that he couldn’t be that kind of player anymore, but he still dreamed to this day.

The fifteen-point system was shorter than he expected. When Haijima rotated from the back row to the front row and match-upped against Kuroba with the net between them again, they entered the final stage of the first set. Kuroba, obviously bending back, took a receiving stance like he was shrinking away from the net. While glaring at Kuroba’s disgraceful behavior with a gaze that could burn the net to ashes, it was perhaps at this moment that a circuit somewhere in Haijima’s mind snapped.

The serve was Oda’s. His thoughts were so focused on the two of them that his aim was a bit fuzzy, so the easy and half-hearted ball ended up falling right in the middle of the opponent’s court. He ran back to the court, fed up with himself as he thought that he might not be better than Kuroba today. That was when it happened.

“Hit the ball, Kuroba!”

Haijima shouted. His carrying voice suddenly pierced through the court where all talking had decreased, and everyone on his own team was startled.

As in the first round, the set flew from Kanno to Kuroba. Almost as if by spinal reflex, Kuroba suddenly did a run-up and leapt. Haijima blocked it perfectly.

However, this time as well, Kuroba’s spike didn’t even go over the net before it was blocked.

They both landed on the floor at the same time, the net between them. Right then,

“Stop screwing around!”

Haijima kicked the floor right after he yelled that, and then barged into the other court from under the net and tackled Kuroba. At this unbelievable situation, Oda froze in the receive stance, unable to move. It’s different for baseball game broadcasts, but I’ve never seen a brawl at a volleyball game, and I didn’t think he was the type to lose his temper like that!?

Everyone on his own team was dumbfounded, and everyone on the other team jumped out of the way, startled. After blowing Kuroba all the way to the center of the court, Haijima immediately went to straddle him and grabbed him up by the collar as Kuroba was hitting his back and coughing.

“Don’t run away! At least give one decent shot! If you’re this nervous for just a ballgame tournament, you’re not cut out for this, so just quit!”

He was yelling at him, looking like he was about to bite his nose off.

Kuroba’s back lifted off the floor.

“Hey…stop it, Haijima!”

Oda came to his senses and hurriedly passed under the net.

Right when he was about to pin Haijima’s arms behind his back, Kanno wedged himself in between them and said, “Senpai.” While keeping Oda back, Kanno looked at the referee’s stand. Oda widened his eyes and looked up at the stand, where he saw Aoki leaning against the top of the pole and grinning down at the two first-years on the floor.

“If they had just one big fist fight and told each other how they really felt…” Their conversation in the washroom flashed across his mind.

Hah!? No way, don’t tell me you were expecting this!?

Kuroba, who he thought was just going to let this happen, surprisingly grabbed Haijima’s wrist and yelled back.

“I’ve never been in a game where I had to lose successfully, and I don’t know how to do that, so of course I’m not cut out for this!”

“What are you talking about…”

Haijima was speechless. Kuroba, hesitating to say further, glared at Haijima at point-blank range as he moved his lips soundlessly. Then, he suddenly cast down his eyes, drew in his chin, and pressed his fist that was grabbing the front of Haijima’s chest to his forehead. It looked like a gesture of prayer.

“…’Cause, he said that you’d come back if we lost… Hey, isn’t this enough… Come back already…”

Come back already.

Those were words that Oda couldn’t think of or say in his position. They made him realize he didn’t need any pretense, and that all he needed was such clumsy, straightforward words.

Haijima, having lost his outlet for anger, just looked bewildered. His face, looking like those straightforward words didn’t penetrate his stubborn heart very well, made Oda irritated again.

“Hai…”

Right when he was about to interject, unable to keep quiet anymore,

Beep!

“Oh, you guys done yet? It looks like you guys pretty much said it all.”

A fake cough and Aoki’s voice, dampening the tension, came down from the referee’s stand.

“If that’s the case, the two of you, leave the court.”

He said, calmly holding up a red card.

“Fighting in volleyball is unheard of. And freshmen, don’t say that this is just a ballgame tournament, because this is a lively event that I worked myself to the bone to prepare for without sleeping. They really do need to pay me for this.”

***

After seeing the overall results at the administration tent with his own eyes, he returned to the gym. The gym, where the partition net was removed and cleanup had ended, was empty, but the net and poles still remained on only the stage-side court where the boys’ volleyball match had taken place. It was as if only the net wouldn’t admit that the match was over. The enthusiasm for the finals that had engulfed the court had now been cooled by the evening air, and he suddenly felt lonely.

There was a figure standing before the net. Like the net in front of them, it seemed like they still wanted to continue the match. Well, he was kicked off the court after doing one set, so I guess I can’t blame him for wanting to rampage more. The taping on his hands hanging down on the sides of his body still haven’t been undone yet.

“Haijima.”

Though his back reacted slightly to his call, he didn’t attempt to turn around. He goes at his own pace, eh. Oda smiled wryly as he approached him.

“They didn’t put the net away?”

“I asked them to leave it. I’ll put it away.”

Just like on the first day of team practice one week ago, Haijima lifted his chin and looked straight at the white band of the net. The sunlight shining through the window weakened and it dimmed considerably in the gym, but he could see a light in his eyes. A dazzling light that welled up within Haijima, as though he couldn’t contain his feelings of dissatisfaction.

“This wasn’t set up at 2.4?”

“Oh, we only raise it to 2.43 at the finals. ‘Cause it’s a game full of experienced players.”

With his hand on the net, stroking it sideways, Oda walked to the edge of the court and put his hand on the pole. Since the protective mat was removed, his palm touched the cold metal directly. The surface of the old bronze-colored pole was rough with copper rust stuck to it.

“We’re going to a family restaurant for the team’s afterparty, so meet us at the school gate at six-thirty. Don’t worry, us third-years are paying.”

“Please don’t count me in.”

He was given an annoyed reply. There are still not enough reasons? Oda sighed. Even though it’s so obvious that he’s longing to play volleyball, what exactly is holding him back? Is there something else besides the Monshiro Middle incident? This guy who’s fundamentally arrogant and seems to not care about other people’s feelings is clearly afraid that something is going to happen.

“You know, volleyball really is a sport that chooses people. Well, what you do in it depends on the person. It’s not a sport where you can carry the ball by yourself, and even if one person is skilled, you can’t win. I’ve told you this before. Remember it.”

“I got kicked in my ass.”

Since Haijima was pouting with a bitter look on his face, a laugh unintentionally slipped out of his mouth as he recalled it. He immediately stopped when Haijima was getting more and more sullen.

“There’s also the fact that the difference in our sizes frankly makes me cry. It’s a cruel story, isn’t it. No matter how hard a guy like me works, even if I think I won’t lose in athletic ability, skill, attitude, or anything, I just can’t beat a big guy in that one factor, height. Why did I fell for volleyball, of all things?”

Too many of the words people hurled at him came from his own mouth. When he explained it to people, they made doubtful faces and couldn’t sympathize with him very much, so these days he had learned to ignore that kind of talk. Aoki wouldn’t understand this much either. They might show their understanding for me, but they wouldn’t have any sympathy for me.

Haijima didn’t worry over his answer. He tilted his head, as though thinking,　This guy’s asking something weird, and stated it definitively. He said it like he was talking about the completely natural activities of living beings, like saying,　Don’t calves stand up after they’re born?

“Isn’t it because there’s nothing more interesting than volleyball?”

Aah…I knew it.

I had a feeling he’d say that. What’s for us, the very simple truth of the world.

I wanted words from someone other than me. I wanted someone to affirm to me that it’s okay for even someone like me to be devoted to something. If a man with much more talent than me, who possibly loves volleyball more than me, said that to me, then I can believe that the time I dedicated to volleyball was never a waste.

Is there anything in this world that is as interesting as this, that can make me as passionate as this? The exhilaration when you release a powerful spike. The feeling of solidarity when a brilliant combination play is executed. The sense of accomplishment when you persevere and break away a rally with your teammates. The feeling of conquest when you force the opponent’s ace to yield with a kill block. That intoxication, when your concentration is at its peak and the team’s hearts are one, and you can clearly see the ball’s trajectory as an unbroken line——

Something hot welled up in his throat, and he suddenly felt like crying. But, it was too early for that. He still hadn’t accomplished anything yet.

So he bared his teeth and smiled instead.

“That so? Well, for me, I love volleyball to death. It’s the only thing where I’m confident that I won’t lose to anyone.”

It was funny that Haijima countered with an extremely serious expression, “I won’t lose either.”

“…Haijima. To be honest, it was for my convenience that I wanted you to join. I’m a third year now. Even so, I want to play as many games on the court as possible, even if it’s just one game. Even if it’s just for a day…even just for a minute, just a second, I wanna play volleyball. Can I borrow your strength for that reason? All of your strength…”

Wouldn’t I get the opposite result with that way of talking? No, it’s fine. These words shouldn’t make Haijima build a wall around himself. He seems to be terribly stoic to me and everyone else, but he won’t reject someone who’s facing volleyball seriously. Ultimately, it wasn’t about whether you were skilled or not, or whether you were tall or short. Whether you are serious about volleyball or not—that was the only line Haijima drew.

That’s why there was no reason to hesitate to step in. I’m holding the key to the door.

He really felt like he was gripping a small key in his right hand. Of course, when he opened his palm, there was no key actually there. However, he turned to Haijima and held out his hand as though to show it to him.

“Won’t you believe in me, Haijima?”

Haijima was silent for a while, staring at Oda’s hand with downcast eyes. He loosened his tied lips.

“…Spring Inter-High.”

A whisper slipped from his mouth.

“…You’re serious about going there, I see. A weak team that has never won a proper game within the prefecture is aiming for it, thinking they can seriously go there. The 2.43 meter net is for that reason, I see.”

Those eyes with a sharpness that seemed to pierce through anything before them were directed towards Oda’s face. He was surprised that something he only mentioned briefly a week ago seemed to have remained in Haijima’s mind. However, he was also convinced that just showed how strong his feelings were. By all rights, he shouldn’t be the kind of athlete who was stuck smouldering in a place like this.

He wasn’t saying it in a way that was making fun of him. On the contrary, if he was the one who poked fun at him even slightly or was ambiguous in his answer, he would without a doubt slap his hand away on the spot.

Neither deception nor half-hearted seriousness was allowed in front of this guy.

“Yeah. Now, all the actors are in place. I seriously believe that this year’s Seiin will definitely become a team that can go to Nationals.”

Oda also looked back into Haijima’s eyes with a piercing gaze and answered.

If you take this hand, I will have to meet your expectations with all my power. I’ll repeat it again with force in order to convey that resolve. There’s no need for complicated reasons. I’m sure that only straightforward words would reach his heart.

“I want you to believe in me. Lend me all of your strength.”

***

“Why the hell are you smiling? Did Haijima say he was going to join?”

Aoki jeered at him when he stopped by the administration tent. Am I smiling? Oda wondered, patting his cheeks. He might be.

“Who knows. Well, he’ll be coming to the next practice, won’t he?”

“Hoo. Personally, I don’t like it, but well, that’s good I guess.”

Aoki said that in a twisted and unstraightforward way. Oda, while wondering in astonishment, Weren’t you the one who set this up?, dragged a free folding chair over and sat diagonally across from Aoki. He leaned over the long table, thrusted his face at him and lowered his face, as though it was an interrogation in a detective drama.

“So, from when and how much of it all was within your calculations? Since you brought up that betting match in front of Kuroba, right? Since you stirred me up by saying you were more interested in Okuma than Haijima? No way, you’re not gonna say you were the one who arranged for Haijima to be in volleyball, are you? I don’t think it’s possible, but does that mean the ballgame tournament itself is a huge charade…”

“I must be the world’s greatest swindler then. You’re giving me too much credit. Originally, I planned to have Team F win the championship, and I wanted to go to the lodging house on the refreshing highlands and getting Haijima while we’re at it…that was all I was thinking. Well, the dream of the highlands lodging house is completely gone now. I really did want to go there.”

All but one of the administration tents that were lined up with their eaves side by side in a corner of the first sports ground were dismantled, and the lower grade members of the executive committee were clearing away the steel frames and sheets while bickering noisily. All of their voices had a listlessness to them, like they had finished burning, and they didn’t sound grating to his ears. Rather, the noise soaked pleasantly into his tired body.

On the grounds, members of the baseball club were doing somersaults. The clock tower behind the back net displayed the time of 6:15. The brightness of the sky dimmed, and grey clouds started to appear. According to the forecast, apparently it was still going to be clear during the day, but the rainy season was going to return during the night. There was the scent of approaching rain. The warm wind, which contained moisture, made his arms and body sticky again after his sweat had finally receded.

The uncoated paper with the overall results for today was posted on the tent’s support. If he thought that there was more enthusiasm about this year’s championship than last year, there was apparently a secret prize that was going to be given to the supreme general of the winning team. The contributor was the executive committee—of course Aoki was the one who was holding the wallet. That prize was the group accommodation at a lodging house on a highland area in the prefecture for summer vacation. It was a form of taking advantage of the fact that the captains of the major sports clubs were spread out across each of the third year classes and stirring up the competition between each team.

In the boys’ volleyball division, Oda’s Team F defeated Team C to win the championship. The referee Aoki’s blatant support for Team C in the first half was camouflage, and after ejecting the two first-years, he devoted himself to making fair and impartial judgements in the second half—or that was how it seemed. Skillfully weaving in a few advantageous judgements for Team F, he manipulated the outcome. He’s a crook through and through…but since it’s a school event, I can just barely forgive him, but if he pulled this kind of thing somewhere else, I’ll be done with him.

However, they didn’t perform so well in the other events, and in the end, Team F had to settle for second place overall. The guesthouse on the highlands was to be given over to another club.

“Aaah, I guess we’ll have to do it at school this summer too. It’ll be harsh without air conditioning though.”

“You know, you’re pretty practical even though you don’t look it…”

“Dunno what you mean by not looking practical, but I’ll accept the compliment. Well, the things you can get with cheap tricks aren’t that important, and there are plenty of things you can’t get...” a loud yawn slipped out from his wide mouth.

“Are you going to the after party? The first and second-years worked hard today, so we gotta thank them.”

“Sorry, but I’ll have to pass. I don’t mind splitting the money in half. I didn’t sleep for three days to finish up preparations.”

“Three days? And yet you managed to get in two games.”

“It’d be tough to do three games. When the old teacher collapsed, I thought in my head, ‘I’m saved.’”

He leaned back deeply on his folding chair, causing it to creak, and when he bent his neck and tilted it left and right, there was a cracking sound. Though he wondered if it was okay to speak that way about an elderly person, it seemed that after he rested in the infirmary for nearly an hour, he had readily recovered and went along with the teachers to their after-party, so perhaps it was okay for Aoki to say that, considering all his toil.

During this ball game tournament, which included preparations, while Oda was just saying he wanted Haijima like a spoiled brat, just how hard was Aoki working, even using his influence, for the sake of the whole team? When it came to Haijima, even though he wasn’t supposed to have agreed to it, he considered Oda’s feelings and took action like it was a matter of course. It had completely slipped from his mind, but it was time to think about summer training camps.

Since they knocked on the door of the boys’ volleyball club in April two years ago, he had helped him one-sidedly until now. The prodigy who had student council duties, and who on top of that could get accepted to Kyoto University, probably had any number of things he could do besides volleyball, unlike Oda. He felt a deep sense of guilt that because he invited him that day—because they were “Aoki” and “Oda”, an unexpected intrusion ended up coming into Aoki’s life.

“Ah, hey…thanks for everything…”

It was too embarrassing to say it now after two years, and he couldn’t look him in the eyes. He was grateful for the gap between their lines of sight right then. Every time he was covered for, it only deepened his own sense of inferiority, and he had never thanked him face-to-face until now.

Good grief, it’s not just my outside, I’m also tiny and worthless on the inside.

“But, sorry…you’re going to have to go along with my selfishness for just a little longer.”

His debt would increase even more in the future. It seemed that Aoki won’t be able to concentrate on his exams for a while yet.

“…That’s just like you.”

Aoki mumbled to himself, his head still turned away. From Oda’s position, he could only see his chin moving slightly, and he had no idea what expression he had on his face.

“You’re giving me too much credit. I’m feeling guilty now. Playing volleyball with you is what I want to do right now, and I’m not doing it unwillingly. I don’t need to be thanked at all. I’ve been saying this since before, but me not liking Haijima is completely my personal feelings, and I’m the one who’s just being selfish. I don’t really care about going to university or not, and I don’t mind if you want me to lower my rank so we can go to the same place…I’m basically just driven by my ulterior motives.”

“Ulterior motives?”

There was the sound of water drops hitting the roof of the tent. The people working outside the tent looked up at the sky and exclaimed, “It’s starting to rain?”

“…You don’t have to understand.”

Aoki raised his head slowly, like a giraffe stretching its neck to find leaves that were just right, and stifled another yawn. Then, he turned towards him and lifted the edge of his mouth.

“Let’s go to Spring Inter-High. I’ll follow you until the end.”

For Oda, that thin, ironic smile was more reliable and trustworthy than anything.

The prefectural preliminaries would start at the end of September, two months later. If they won there, his retirement would be extended until the final representative deciding match in November. And if they managed to win the representative deciding match, then it would be until the nationals in January——. Just one game more. Just a day, a minute, a second longer. In order to delay the “end” just a little bit longer, they third-years would clumsily make every effort with all their ability.

When the rainy season ended, their final summer would arrive. There was no doubt that that summer would be like a condensed version of the rest of their lives after graduation. His doubts about his career path cleared up. He would put all he had into everything he could do and wanted to do right now. He didn’t care if the next few decades would be the rest of his life. Even if he burned out here and had nothing left within him, he wouldn’t regret it now.

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#2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43 book 1 #2.43 translation #2.43: seiin high school boys volleyball club #2.43

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poptod · 4 years

Text

Miscreation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adom nodded a yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of changes happened?”

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

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

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

“Are there any downsides to this whole thing?”

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

“Will I not starve?” You asked quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“I should say the same t-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glad you came?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? What did he do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. But don’t phrase it like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m 15,” you answered.

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

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

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

“Sounds a fair rule,” you replied.

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

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

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

“Brother! Come help with this!”

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

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

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

“Yes… that harpist is rather good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None at all. What time?”

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

“Alright, I’ll join you.”

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

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

“Fraternizing with the prince?”

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

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

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

“Um - I just…”

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

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

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

What a relief, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

“You seriously call it court?”

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

“Really?”

“Yes!”

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

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

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

“Good exercise, yeah?”

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

“You’re serious?”

“Of course!” He replied immediately.

“You’re an idiot.”

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

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

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

“That’s about right, my friend.”

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

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

“This could kill you.”

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Those ones are. Not wild ones though.”

You stopped, staring at him.

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

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

“Half your heart*** obviously has.”

“Don’t be rude.”

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

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

Giggling, you elbowed him, partially unbalancing him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something humorous?”

“Sort of,” he snorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Win what?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t make me do anything.”

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

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

“Fair game.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to eat it.”

“No you aren’t.”

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

“Oh Gods.”

“I told you.”

“Oh my Gods that’s… that’s awful.”

“I definitely told you.”

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

“You’re an idiot.”

“I am not!”

“You just ate skin medicine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that not my job?”

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

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

“Now we’re getting into realistic fears.”

“I - I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

“Again with the insults?”

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

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

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

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

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

“A little. My parents love me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“When’s the festival again?”

You set your scroll flat on the table.

“You’re joking, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s good, I think,” you said.

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

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

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

“You look regal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, now get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And are you a mathematician, dear brother?”

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

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

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

“Do you propose a better plan?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did not reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Selma, daughter of Ahaouty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s… a good.. name.”

“… Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just do it, okay?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

“Thanks,” he said.

“You look awful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Disgusting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… what was it?”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking..?”

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Piye?”

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

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

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

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

“Why’d you ask to sleep in my room?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure about that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not stopping you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And a crew to man each boat?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously? That’s what you miss?”

“Well they’re very beautifully done!”

“… Uhuh.”

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

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

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

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

“Here we are indeed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To whom it may concern;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

Text

Overgrown Metal

Series Summary: Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden

Chapter 5: Bow With Hope

Summary: Enter Patton.

Trigger Warnings: death mention. If i missed any please let me know.

General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck (if you’d like to be tagged for all works or specific ones feel free to ask!)

Patton sighed gratefully as the great doors closed behind him, quickly straightening before anyone could see and hurrying down the main street to the tallest building before anyone could catch him and ask too many questions. His jaw clicked painfully as he tried to subtly stretch it out and hoping no one would notice just how fast he was blinking behind his rather large glasses. Too many potential questions, too many potential conversations, too much of everything and honestly why wasn’t he there yet he was in impeccable shape and walking fairly quickly and-

He nearly crashed into the front doors of the building not having noticed tripping his way up the steps. Blinking a few more times he shifted his pack to one shoulder somewhat painfully considering its weight and nudged the door open slowly and just enough for him to fit through, slipping in fast and shutting himself and the inside away from any potential prying eyes. Dropping the pack carefully he slumped against the frame and let his eyes adjust, the milkiness nearly cleared from his vision as he stretched his mouth open as wide as it would go. Being mute outside the walls didn’t give you many opportunities or use for that matter for opening it very often, defaulting to clenching his jaw an unhealthy amount and making it a relief when he finally returned to his city and no longer had to worry about keeping up any pretenses.

Looking around revealed an unsurprisingly empty lobby, the converted hotel expanded almost impossibly wide and making the light fixtures work twice as hard to banish the shadows from the furthest reaches of the room. Several staircases led up and away to various sections of the building, though only a couple led down into the depths where he and others of his current status were rarely ever permitted to tread. Waving away the sadness that threatened to swell at the thought he simply sighed again and hoisted the pack back over his shoulder, oddities from a nearby Undercurrent ratting softly within it. He wondered briefly what the residents of the underground towns actually called themselves- certainly something better than the blatant derogatory name Societies had given them. The nicer ones were nearly identical to Patton’s own city: well structured layers of markets and power plants and homes all buried safely beneath the ground to adapt to their rapidly changing environment.

Of course he wouldn’t care to live in one...he didn’t even really care to be living in a Society despite the “safety” it promised him especially being as high up as he was. Given the choice he’d be a wanderer as so many were now, refusing to settle down where either roots or branches would eventually chase you out or kill you as you tried to hold them back. Vast open plains were really only a temporary solution as wildlife continued to grow and shift and spread without mercy or care for what it was destroying to create whatever ideals were behind it. Shaking his head once again he made his way to the nearest staircase. There’d be time for thinking later...maybe. For now he needed to deliver what he managed to find and hopefully it would be enough to pay him with a day pass to the cemetery; his superiors didn’t want the past to hold anyone back which was fine with Patton- it just meant he worked incredibly hard to be able to earn his time with who he had lost.

Finally getting to the door he needed he took the time to give his jaw one final stretch, mouthing out a couple words to practice their shapes before he had to talk again. His vision had finally cleared fully leaving his dark brown curls the only thing obstructing his vision. Carefully they were pushed up and away, tucked neatly behind his ears before he smoothed the front of his still dirty tunic. Wincing he tried in vain to brush as much of it off as he could only to give up after barely half a minute as the dirt made it clear it was there to stay. Stern voices chiding him for his lack of professionalism were waved away quickly. His job was tough and dirty and there was really nothing he could do to help with that unless they decided to transfer him to a different purpose. These assurances fell somewhat limply as he sucked in a breath. He would never trade his purpose for anything, dangerous as it could be and even with the added drawbacks. He was free to roam out there- within a time frame but still. He could see how the world was progressing and how life was coping, he could see grass and “trees” rather than the industrial colors of his Society, and most of all he could look for-

Gripping the straps he straightened one final time and placed his hand on the door knob. There would be time for thinking later; right now he had a job to finish. Swinging open the door before he could change his mind he stepped in, head down and shoulders back before shutting the door behind him. Nothing happened for a full minute, the only sound in the room Patton’s own quickly beating heart and the gentle tinkling in the bag as the trinkets shifted with his fidgeting, Five minutes had passed before he slowly lifted only his eyes to scan the room, realizing with a start that he was completely alone.

Cheeks burning with slight embarrassment he walked forward towards the thin envelope with his name on it on the wide oak desk. Placing the pack beside him he opened to reveal a small wad of twenty dollar bills and a note most likely written by the direct herself.

Patton,

If your past findings have been anything to go by this should be enough to pay you for what you’ve brought back this time, though action will be taken if my assumption is incorrect. The day pass included was taken from your pay, I took the liberty of sparing you a trip.

Faris

Blinking in surprise he quickly shuffled his pay to find that there was, in fact, a day pass included. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably at the thought of his routine being known so well but the organization he worked for was a rather tight knit group so in the end he supposed it made sense. He nudged the bag closer to the side of the desk and turned to leave, only briefly wondering why the director hadn’t been there this time before quickening his pace back towards the way he came. If he hurried he’d be able to use it now; he’d scarcely thought of much else his entire trip outside the walls.

Walking as quickly as he dared through the silent lobby he found the long familiar flight of stairs and hurried down them, barely stopping ;long enough to shove the pass through the slot before nearly crashing into the second door he hadn’t been paying attention to today.. Schooling his annoyed expression as the pass was logged he reached immediately for the door as he heard the beep, mood sobering immediately as the cold musty air hit his face. The cemetery was a quiet place, as they so often were, and hung heavy with the warm smell of earth contrasted just shy of unpleasantly with the crisp air of the underground cavern. Here the dead lay still in whatever a family could scrounge to wrap them with, most only in their best clothes laid as carefully and respectfully as possible in the holes dug by those who cared for them. Families weren’t allowed to see the dead laid to rest, too painful a thing to watch with the limited amount of technology they had, the director had said. Patton would have gave everything- he glanced up at where his feet had automatically taken him. His son’s grave.

His tight smile turned genuine as he kneeled in front of the stone, tears already pricking his eyes as he stared at the name written there. He brought his arm up slowly, palm resting on the corner of the smooth stone he had picked out himself: smooth and just big enough and slate gray with obsidian cracks spidering at the side. He always liked smiling in the cemetery, hoping that if God forbid his sin’s soul lingered he would see his father smiling and be comforted. He knew if he was ever a spirit he wouldn’t want to see his family mourn him, pain cracking their usually cheerful features. No. He’d rather them smile with the memories of their time spent together, and especially for his young child, he smiled as wide and as long as he could, simply absorbing the silence and trying his best to turn the cool indifference of the stone into warm comfort with the simple touch of his palm.

“I always wondered who it was you put all your hard earned savings towards. Though I’m deeply curious patton: if you’re mourning him down here, then why look for him up there?” Patton froze at the cold words tossed at him so carelessly, matching the rest of the room and sapping what little warmth he himself had left to offer. Standing carefully he schooled his face into what he hoped was an open expression and turned, meeting the deep brown eyes of Director Faris.

She really shouldn’t be this intimidating he thought to himself as he bowed his head. The director was his height and only slightly chubbier, dark suit with a crisp lab coat laying carefully over it filling the picture of professionalism. Really the only thing scary about her was the necklace she wore with their society emblem carved into a small pendant, the snarling muzzle of a dog glinting in the low light. Her stern gaze never wavered from him, much as he wished it would, and the air between them had grown incredibly uncomfortable by the time she cleared her throat to indicate he could answer.

“Blind hope I suppose.” He offered weakly. “Thank you f-”

She waited patiently for him to clear his suddenly very dry throat, trying desperately to clear the gravel of disuse from his voice before he tried to speak again. “Thank you for including a pass with my pay, the saved trip is greatly appreciated.”

“Blind hope that he survived and somehow escaped your notice for ten years?”

“A father knows.”

“So does a leader.” Faris stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You always have so much trouble simply letting go Patton. Let the past be.”

Patton bit back the retort of his purpose that was given to him by the director herself was finding relics of the past along with whatever could be made from present materials to bring back to the city. His purpose relied on the past and people finding new ways to innovate it so it fit into the future. That to simply let the past go- well, wasn’t so simple. He cast a longing gaze to the smooth stone sitting obliviously in the dirt, Faris’ eyes following sharply.

“Whose body do you think is down there if not your son’s? How little respect do you have for us if you think we would deceive you on such a personal level?” Patton felt a wave of guilt wash over him at those words, looking down shamefully. “Have faith, Patton. This world has no more room for questions.”

As the director's hand fell from his shoulder at last she gestured as she turned away, taking confident strides to the stairs. “Follow me when you’re ready; I have other things to discuss with you.”

Pressing his lips together, Patton took one last look at the grave marker. Doubt curled not for the first time in the back of his mind, an ever growing sapling digging its roots ever deeping in the bed of questions he had surrounding the Society in which he lived and the people put in charge of it. As one of the head researchers it didn’t sit right with him that Faris allowed so little to be questioned, instead offering up faith as the sole reason to follow whatever whim the higher ups decided to pursue. He worked only a small branch of the Society, so much was left behind closed doors he very rarely if ever had access to. There was always, always room for questions.

“I will never stop looking for you.” He whispered quietly enough so he was sure faris wouldn’t hear before turning and hurrying towards the steps. “I promise you, Virgil.”

This work is also available on AO3!

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#false writes #overgrown metal #patton sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #og charater #death mention #tw death mention

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antihero-writings · 3 years

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Premonitions

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Character Focus: Glen (Oswald) Baskervlle, Jack Vessalius, Vincent Nightray, Gilbert Nightray, Kevin Regnard, Oz Vessalius

Summary: Jack, Glen, Vincent, and Gilbert thought they were going on a relaxing vacation in the mountains, but a creature from The Abyss has a bit of an adventure in store...or is it a warning?

(Written for the Phmonth19 Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter.")

(For those who’d like some Glen, Jack, Vince, and Gil cuteness. There's at least a little of that here, which was super fun to write. )

Notes: If you can believe it, this is actually a fic for Phmonth19! It was for the Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter."

I liked a lot of the prompts during Phmonth19, and wanted to find a way to use multiple simultaneously. I liked the idea, but ended up struggling with where I wanted to go with it, and having too much to do during Phmonth19, so it didn't get written then. But I liked it enough to continue it and return to it eventually.

I hope you enjoy it even so!! Please know that when you comment you are both making my entire week, and motivating me to keep writing more fics like this one!!

Premonitions

A young boy weaved in and out of the crumbling artifices, hopping down from a half-broken wall to a mossy ledge on a lower level of the ruins. It was probably a room in the past. It wasn’t now.

They’d warned him not to go in here. But if forbidding something was incentive for most kids, it was practically a command to him.

They told him it was dangerous, unsafe, that anything could fall and crush him, or crumble beneath him, not to mention that there was a sort of energy here: it infected people, made them into madmen and monsters, and if said monstrosities didn’t attack and kill you…you might just become one yourself.

As if he needed a better invitation.

Most regretfully, he hadn’t found any horrifying monstrosities yet. Just a bunch of cracked stones and sewer rats looking for corpses to clean off. Occasionally something shimmered in the dirt, but more often than not it was just a rusted piece of metal, or cracked bit of glass.

He kicked up a board to see a dagger laying there. He frowned, considering it, before picking it up, examining the details on the hilt. Might make a nice souvenir if he could manage to clean the rust off.

He couldn’t help but wonder what happened here. People said this place was dropped into the Abyss, that it had become a hole to swallow all that dared to enter. But what exactly did that mean? He’d heard of the Abyss, and the Chains that lived within, but never of anything other than sinners being dropped into it. What kind of atrocities had everyone there committed to warrant the whole city being dropped into the Abyss?

He kicked another rock, before glancing up, his red eyes widening.

A wolf sat in front of him.

He hadn’t even heard its footsteps. It just sat there on the wall above him, swishing its tail. He took a few steps back.

It was gold and ethereal, its tail long and wispy, like a gust of wind frozen into flesh. Said tail flicked back and forth. White eyes left trails in the air—like slits in a mask, only letting the golden light inside it break through the eyes—yet they held no mal intent—(he’d learned to be able to see that, to feel it, almost). It seemed intelligent.

Was this one of the monstrosities they warned him about?

His hand tightened around the dagger.

The wolf stood, but after it took a few steps forward it looked over its shoulder as if to ask “Are you coming?”

The boy took a step forward himself, to run after its disappearing tail, compelled by some inclination; he knew he ought to follow it, that it wanted to show him something.

“Kevin! Kevin!” A familiar voice called from far away. “I’ll not have you sullying the Regnard name with another one of your insolent games! If you get eaten by some Chain you’ll only have yourself to blame!”

When Kevin looked back the wolf was gone.

*****

Jack breathed deeply through his nose, as he entered the cabin, then breathed out just as noisily.

“Smell that mountain air! I just love the snow, don’t you? I always feel like something’ amazing is going to happen!”

Glen rolled his eyes, dropping their bags—(which Jack had made him carry inside, citing the fact that he was carrying Vincent).

“Say, Jack…” the boy sitting on his shoulders spoke, “do you think we’ll see the northern lights up here?”

“I don’t know! …What do you think, Glen?”

“Probably not.”

“Aww!” Vincent pouted, bumping his fist on Jack’s head.

“Ow!” Jack reacted in an over exaggerated way.

“Eh! I’m sorry!”

When Jack had found out about the cabin the Baskervilles owned in the mountains he knew it would be the perfect place to spend a few days relaxing and playing in the snow—and what better way to remember how to have fun than to bring Gilbert and Vincent along?

When Jack brought up this idea, Glen had blatantly refused. Ever the responsible leader, Glen didn’t take vacations from his duties. But lately he had started having conversations with the rose bushes, and everyone agreed he could stand a few days off.

Glen was just starting to unpack their stuff when—

“You guys want to go sledding?” This was Jack’s voice, of course.

It was a resounding “yes,” from the kids, complete with jumping up and down and shouting.

“We just arrived,” Glen grunted. “Wasn’t the point of this trip to relax?”

“And what better way to relax then hurling yourself down a snowy mountain on a thin piece of wood?”

Glen blinked. “Reading.”

Jack grabbed his arm, pulling him out into the snow. “Don’t be such a fuddy duddy. Come on!”

Glen glared at his friend as he promptly dragged him off into the snow.

Soon they were flying up to the tallest hill they could find on Raven, then, after they successfully reached the top, they proceeded to push each other down it on sleds, with much giggling and whooping (from everyone except Glen). When they reached the bottom, they would fly back up on Glen’s chains—(who seemed to enjoy the show).

At one point, a little while into the festivities, Vincent was waiting for his turn when something in the corner of his eye flickered. He turned to see in the woods, behind a tree, a creature.

Vincent froze when he met the wolf’s gaze, a shiver running up his spine, more than just the cold, his face twisting in fear.

“What’s wrong, Vince?” Jack put a hand on his shoulder, glancing from the terrified boy to the empty air he was fixating on.

The wolf ran in a figure eight around two of the trees, brushing up against them, its form leaving tracks in the air. Then it paused again to stare at the boy with white, smoky eyes.

It didn’t look completely there.

Vincent pointed shakily towards it.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder. “…Where?”

He pointed more emphatically.

“I’m sorry Vince, I…I don’t see anything.”

“What’s going on?” Glen asked, hopping off Raven and landing beside them with Gilbert in a flurry of black wings.

Vincent just kept pointing, his finger a vibrating signal.

Glen’s eyes widened.

“What is it?” Jack demanded.

“It’s a wolf. Or at least…” he paused, noticing the strange color, and misty nature of the creature.

“I don’t see it,” Gilbert said softly.

“That’s okay,” Jack crouched down by him, “Neither can I.” He stood back up to his full height, reasoning with Glen, “If you two can see it, and we can’t…”

Glen nodded at him, before taking a few steps forward, and finishing the thought:

“I think, more likely than not, its something from the Abyss.” He squinted at it, watching it playfully thread the trees. “I think it wants us to follow it.”

Vincent tensed at the idea.

Glen looked over his shoulder, his eyes flicking to the boy. “I can always go after it by myself if you’d like to return to the cabin.”

“Oh it’ll be fine! Don’t worry!” Jack took the hands of both boys. “With Master Glen with us, nothing’s going to hurt us!”

Glen rolled his eyes, but Jack’s words seemed to comfort them.

Un-summoning Raven, Glen walked in front, the other three following a short distance behind.

When the spectral wolf saw they were going to heed its call, it moved further into the forest, always dancing around the trees as it waited for them to catch up.

They followed it quite some ways—(especially since they were tired from all the sledding)—until the trees stopped abruptly in a cliff edge. Jack had to put his arms out in front of the boys to keep them from walking any further.

As they raised their eyes, they saw across the gorge a plateau.

“I-Is it still there?” Gilbert asked softly, looking all around them.

Vincent and Oswald looked around but the wolf wasn’t anywhere close to them.

“There!” Vince pointed after a moment. The wolf was across the gorge, weaving in and out of a stone ruin on the plateau.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Gilbert asked nervously. “Maybe we’ve followed it far enough…”

Glen had already summoned Jabberwocky, and was currently climbing on its back.

“You coming?” He asked the group flatly, holding out his hand.

The three glanced at each other, before Jack helped the kids onto its back, and hopped on himself. Jack hugged the boys tightly, as Gilbert held just as tightly to Glen’s coat.

The wind was cold and biting as they flew through the air, but the ride was very brief, and they landed moments later in a puff of dust in the center of the ruins.

“What is this place?” Jack asked the air, and no one answered.

They ventured cautiously into the ruins, at first sticking together, but soon curiosity overtook them, and they each wandered in separate directions, captivated by different rooms. The place wasn’t too vast though, and thus didn’t allow them to stray too far from each other.

Glen found the throne room, or where it most likely once was; a huge empty room in the center of the ruins, empty, save for the collapsing chair, backed by the skeleton of a large window, holding broken pieces of colored glass. He slowly marched up to it, running his fingers along the ghost of the chair, looking out the window at the now frozen water far below, wondering what sort of king ruled here.

When he turned around, the wolf was sitting in the center of the room, swishing its tail at him. Glen was sure it wanted him to understand something, but he couldn’t quite discern what.

He noticed at the side of the room there was a large structure. At first he mistook it for a collapsed bit of wall, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was a piano. He set his fingers on a few of the notes, but they only gave a croak.

It’d been too long.

He lifted his head and raised his voice to ask the wolf about the place, and learn if it could respond, but it had moved on.

Gilbert found the old kitchen, the food there long since turned to compost for rats and roots. Then he found the servants’ quarters not too far from there, full of rotting bedframes and hungry mice, wondering what sort of servants were here, and if their king was as noble as Glen-sama.

He didn’t see the wolf pass beneath the doorframe behind him.

Vincent found a room that likely belonged to a child. It was faded, but there was paint on the walls: designs of flowers and vines. He almost stepped on a clay sculpting of a bird that may have served as a toy, once.

On a broken dresser he found a box which, once opened, turned out to play music, the notes discordant after years of rust and neglect.

He thought he saw something else, and lifted up the half-bug-eaten board. He immediately dropped it, wishing he hadn’t, the something that was there making him cover his mouth in shock and horror.

He felt a nudge at his back, and almost screamed, whirling around to see the wolf behind him. Fear glued his lips, welled his eyes with tears.

The wolf cocked its head to the side, as if confused by his fear. It licked his hand, and Vincent drew back, though it felt like a brush of wind.

“W-W-What do you want?!” He stammered.

But he could not understand the wolf’s words.

Jack descended a staircase a bit further out of the way and found—more in tact than much of the buildings—a dungeon.

It was a large stone room, lined with cells, sectioned off by rusting bars. He pressed one open with a creak and found an empty room, and a skeleton. He continued on until he found one without a skeleton, whose bars were bent, as if the person within had managed to escape through them. He entered through to find there was a journal in this one. He picked it up, brushed and blew off the dust and frost, the pages just as creaky and unwilling to budge as the doors.

He sat on the floor where he found it and began to read. Many of the pages were too damaged by time to read, the ink fading, the pages crinkling and crumbling, but he could make out at least bits of the story. It seemed the writer was in love with a girl, but, due to her being the ruler of this kingdom’s queen, they could never be together. As the pages continued, the writer seemed to grow more and more obsessed with her; his phrases containing less and less sense and sanity. Jack couldn’t tell exactly how he ended up in the dungeon, nor how he apparently broke out—if the bends weren’t made by weather or time—but in his not-quite-sane state, he must have done something very stupid. Maybe a lot of things.

When the final pages became too illegible, he looked up and saw in the waning sunlight, the tally marks on the wall. As he began to dust and defrost them, he realized the whole wall was covered in them. He ran his hand over the grooves, thinking of how long this person must have been left alone inside himself, and what that might do to a person.

He couldn’t see the wolf pacing around his feet, reading over his shoulder, couldn’t feel the wolf trying to nudge him, nor hear the wolf try to ask him voicelessly: “Do you understand? Do you understand?”

“There you are.” A deep voice broke the silence, almost making him jump.

Glen was standing in the doorway, Vincent and Gilbert at either side of him—(Vincent clinging to his coattails rather tightly).

“Did you find anything interesting?”

Jack set the journal on the floor beside him, standing and stretching, yawning the words: “Not really, no.”

Upon noticing the pink light cast on the floor through the small window, Jack asked, “Do you think we should head back?”

Glen gave a curt nod, turning around to leave, and Jack ran to catch up.

*****

A young boy with golden hair and green eyes stood in the midst of a ruin; a caved in part of the city—or what once was the city.

After putting his hand to his chin in thought, and a good dose of looking around, he pulled a watch out of his pocket. When he flipped it open it began to play the soft tinkling notes of a somewhat sad song.

“I still don’t know what exactly happened here,” Oz muttered softly to himself, “but…I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He didn’t see the wolf poking its head out from around a wall behind him, didn’t see its ears perk up, nor, now that someone had finally heard and headed its warning, hear its satisfied howl;

“Thank you, Dear Rabbit.”

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this-idiots-left-eye · 3 years

Text

Premonitions

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Character Focus: Glen (Oswald) Baskerville, Jack Vessalius, Vincent Nightray, Gilbert Nightray, Kevin Regnard, Oz Vessalius

Summary: Jack, Glen, Vincent, and Gilbert thought they were going on a relaxing vacation in the mountains, but a creature from The Abyss has a bit of an adventure in store...or is it a warning?

(Written for the Phmonth19 Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter.")

(For those who’d like some Glen, Jack, Vince, and Gil cuteness. I definitely enjoyed writing some! It's something I've wanted to write about for a while)

Notes: This is actually a fic for Phmonth19! It was for the Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter."