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madimpossibledreamerDid you really think Thief King would stay away for long? *crazed laughter*
Main Points:
Yugioh Paparazzi!Verse
Chapter Summary: The Pharaoh is starting to learn his place in the world...
Word Count: 830
Rating: teen
But, wait, am I actually Yugi, like Kaiba says? I’ve never known him to be wrong, but. It seems…right, and wrong, at the same time.
But now he’s more aware, and realizes when he’s awake and in control. He doesn’t realize if Yugi knows he’s different, but it’d seem like the kind of thing Yugi would be oblivious to.
And he’s aware now. He’s sitting on an Ancient Egyptian Throne, courtiers and viziers and his people before him. The Egyptian thing had just been a gimmick, something for the stage. It helps that it looks impressive, just the sort of sex appeal that would sell, and he doesn’t mind the outfit at all. But here it feels…natural. Like he’s always been a Pharaoh, in more than just a singer’s stage name.
There’s a man bowing, asking for his advice on a disagreement, and he smiles and speaks. He’s calm, measured, kind but stern, and it’s different than he’s ever been, but it feels just as natural. There’s a feast, tonight, a celebration of his reign.
But the doors slam open, and he feels an awful premonition before he sees the tanned face that is staring at him with an eerie grin, now. “Pardon the interruption, but apparently someone left me off the guest list. And I know it was a mere oversight; after all, the Pharaoh and I are such good friends.”
He finds himself standing, staring in horror and anger. A Pharaoh like him, friends with a defiler of tombs, one who would jeopardise not only a Pharaoh's soul but those of all his people over a few pretty baubles? “Perhaps it’s the fact that you don’t really have friends, but clearly you don’t know what they are. You’ve been terrorizing my people for too long.”
The smile looks familiar, but he can’t place it. “Well, you’re just so adorable. To really think you can stop me.”
He responds, calls something, but it all dissolves, and he’s in a chamber of stone. It’s cold. Cruel. And there are people rolling a stone in front of the door.
He coughs, runs to the door and pounds on it, but no one hears. He shouts himself hoarse, coughing more. The tomb is dusty.
It’s the stranger’s treachery, he knows this, somehow, instinctively.
It’s cold. He huddles in a corner, holding his arms, but they’re bare. He’s not wearing much. He doesn’t make it a habit of venturing out into the cold desert, and during the daytime it’s so warm. He’s Pharaoh. He doesn’t even have to complain, and men will jump to try to fulfill his needs anyway.
He’s not wearing the Nemes headdress, but then again, he doesn’t need to, not on a regular basis. Then again, it could be considered a ceremonial occasion, couldn’t it? Being buried alive.
He doesn’t remember much of his father’s burial, but there was definitely a lot more ritual involved. As would be expected, really, trying to guide a soul safely to the other side.
He doesn’t even have a Book of the Dead. Will he even make it to the Weighing of the Scales, or will he wander, a spirit lost, returning now and then to his body until it disintegrates and can no longer house a soul, even for a brief time?
It starts to get warmer, and briefly he comforts in that before he realizes it’s getting stuffy due to lack of air. He’ll probably suffocate.
His people. There is no Pharaoh in line. Will the neighboring kingdoms, sensing weakness, invade, killing many of his people and enslaving the rest? Will there be internal unrest due to the tragedy? Will they entreat Horus, protector of the Pharaohs, and his father, Osiris, on his behalf? Will they even know what became of him?
He feels the instant that everything stops, and utter oblivion falls. Feels his heart stop, along with all thoughts.
He sits up in bed, gasping for air. He closes his eyes and feels Yugi somewhere in their mind, tucked into a corner and still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the fear and pain in his heart.
“D’ya wanna talk about it?”
The only reason the Pharaoh doesn’t scream is because he doesn’t have enough breath to manage a scream. It comes out as more of a strangled gasp.
Otōto. I can’t involve him—I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.
“Just a nightmare,” he answers, voice low but hopefully reassuring.
“…I miss her too,” Mokuba admits, and shrugs. “If you wanna talk about it, I’m always here. Somewhere.”
He’s out of the room before the Pharaoh finds his voice once more. “Thank you.”
Main Points:
Yugioh Paparazzi!Verse
Chapter Summary: The Pharaoh is starting to learn his place in the world...
Word Count: 830
Rating: teen
The Pharaoh is aware he’s dreaming. That’s a rare occurrence in itself. Usually, as he realizes now, it was Yugi, sweet, kind Yugi, yet one…a little more bittersweet, a little more jaded. And it’s not as if he doesn’t have cause. I never met his Grandfather, yet I miss him, as if I’m actually related to him…
But, wait, am I actually Yugi, like Kaiba says? I’ve never known him to be wrong, but. It seems…right, and wrong, at the same time.
But now he’s more aware, and realizes when he’s awake and in control. He doesn’t realize if Yugi knows he’s different, but it’d seem like the kind of thing Yugi would be oblivious to.
And he’s aware now. He’s sitting on an Ancient Egyptian Throne, courtiers and viziers and his people before him. The Egyptian thing had just been a gimmick, something for the stage. It helps that it looks impressive, just the sort of sex appeal that would sell, and he doesn’t mind the outfit at all. But here it feels…natural. Like he’s always been a Pharaoh, in more than just a singer’s stage name.
There’s a man bowing, asking for his advice on a disagreement, and he smiles and speaks. He’s calm, measured, kind but stern, and it’s different than he’s ever been, but it feels just as natural. There’s a feast, tonight, a celebration of his reign.
But the doors slam open, and he feels an awful premonition before he sees the tanned face that is staring at him with an eerie grin, now. “Pardon the interruption, but apparently someone left me off the guest list. And I know it was a mere oversight; after all, the Pharaoh and I are such good friends.”
He finds himself standing, staring in horror and anger. A Pharaoh like him, friends with a defiler of tombs, one who would jeopardise not only a Pharaoh's soul but those of all his people over a few pretty baubles? “Perhaps it’s the fact that you don’t really have friends, but clearly you don’t know what they are. You’ve been terrorizing my people for too long.”
The smile looks familiar, but he can’t place it. “Well, you’re just so adorable. To really think you can stop me.”
He responds, calls something, but it all dissolves, and he’s in a chamber of stone. It’s cold. Cruel. And there are people rolling a stone in front of the door.
He coughs, runs to the door and pounds on it, but no one hears. He shouts himself hoarse, coughing more. The tomb is dusty.
It’s the stranger’s treachery, he knows this, somehow, instinctively.
It’s cold. He huddles in a corner, holding his arms, but they’re bare. He’s not wearing much. He doesn’t make it a habit of venturing out into the cold desert, and during the daytime it’s so warm. He’s Pharaoh. He doesn’t even have to complain, and men will jump to try to fulfill his needs anyway.
He’s not wearing the Nemes headdress, but then again, he doesn’t need to, not on a regular basis. Then again, it could be considered a ceremonial occasion, couldn’t it? Being buried alive.
He doesn’t remember much of his father’s burial, but there was definitely a lot more ritual involved. As would be expected, really, trying to guide a soul safely to the other side.
He doesn’t even have a Book of the Dead. Will he even make it to the Weighing of the Scales, or will he wander, a spirit lost, returning now and then to his body until it disintegrates and can no longer house a soul, even for a brief time?
It starts to get warmer, and briefly he comforts in that before he realizes it’s getting stuffy due to lack of air. He’ll probably suffocate.
His people. There is no Pharaoh in line. Will the neighboring kingdoms, sensing weakness, invade, killing many of his people and enslaving the rest? Will there be internal unrest due to the tragedy? Will they entreat Horus, protector of the Pharaohs, and his father, Osiris, on his behalf? Will they even know what became of him?
He feels the instant that everything stops, and utter oblivion falls. Feels his heart stop, along with all thoughts.
He sits up in bed, gasping for air. He closes his eyes and feels Yugi somewhere in their mind, tucked into a corner and still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the fear and pain in his heart.
“D’ya wanna talk about it?”
The only reason the Pharaoh doesn’t scream is because he doesn’t have enough breath to manage a scream. It comes out as more of a strangled gasp.
Otōto. I can’t involve him—I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.
“Just a nightmare,” he answers, voice low but hopefully reassuring.
“…I miss her too,” Mokuba admits, and shrugs. “If you wanna talk about it, I’m always here. Somewhere.”
He’s out of the room before the Pharaoh finds his voice once more. “Thank you.”
