Do You Ever Just Have A Pairing That's Everything To You But There's Critically Little Content Of Them

horuseth butch4butch

Slightly Christmas something

He'll be okay

he drives me crazy

Was at my grandma's without internet or anything so my hands decided that instead of drawing what I really need to draw I'm going to draw some toons

I don't really know if I want to keep goob clothed or not. Whatevs!!! He got his lazy eye charm regardless

Omg I forgot to post my Bill Set ⚠️

(word count: 1,548)

From a lonesome, hidden balcony located somewhere on the outskirts of the palace, one could see a familiar sight: Seth, being heckled by his adoring wife into visiting the servants, trailed by their hesitant son. For many of Egypt’s regulars, this was a normal sight to behold—the fearsome desert god, He Who Has Caused Destruction, the murderer, transformed into something better. Greater.

It made the elder Horus scowl deeply.

If Seth felt his presence—he surely did, he must have—he did not react. Instead, his attention was solely focused on rebuking Nephthys, his tail swishing furiously. Horus knew all too well that it was nothing more than playful deceit, and he could only narrow his eyes as his gaze drifted over to the goddess. His sister had always been the simpler out of the two, but to see her laugh so casually with him was…

“Uncle,” a quiet voice startles him, causing the older god to whip around. Horus bristled; not a single soul on this earth knew of this place, unless of course you were—

“Nephew,” Horus the Elder nods simply, turning his back on the younger and adjusting his gaze. By now the trio had long since moved on, but he kept his eyes glued upon the spot where they once were—where he once was.

The younger Horus moved silently to stand beside him, a mutual understanding blossoming between the two. If Elder Horus could, he’d laugh at the absurdity of the situation: Isis, giving birth to Osiris’ son, and naming the poor, weak babe after him. It was as though the universe had taken his Ba and stuffed it into the young god before him. He was practically a walking, living, breathing carbon copy of his uncle—a great offense, seeing as how he was very much alive and well.

Horus the Younger let his own eyes meet the spot the Elder was staring at, and although he had arrived at the scene of the crime far too late, he seemed to have grasped what had occurred. Leaning onto the railing, he kept the tense yet peaceful silence for a moment before speaking.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

Again, if Elder Horus could, he’d start cackling.

“... Yes,” the older god acknowledges slowly, his fingers flexing against his palm. If he had been much younger, much more arrogant, he would’ve punched the younger square in his jaw for even mentioning him. Uttering Seth’s visage upon one’s tongue was a heinous crime and deserving of a fate worse than death. Now though, he no longer had any right to think so. Thus, he kept his mouth rightfully shut. “He had always been.”

This causes the younger Horus to tilt his head slightly—inquisitively. Curiously. Hungrily.

He decides to indulge him.

“He hasn’t changed in thousands of years,” elder Horus mutters, searching for the sandy red hair amongst the crowd. “He couldn’t have changed in thousands of years. I know him like I know the back of my hand, little one. Seth’s a stubborn mule, you’ve come to find out. Not many things worm his way into his heart.”

Horus thought for a moment. “Do you think that…?”

“God’s no,” the older exclaims in disbelief, “Not a chance. Nephthys—gods bless her—she’s not exactly… his type. Too boring, too plain. Words taken out of the horse’s mouth.” Horus frowns, clenching his hand into a tight fist. “That’s why I don’t understand. He’s not… He’s really not…” He falls silent, turbulent memories swirling within his heart.

It’s true, the younger had to admit—the god before him knew his uncle far too well; even on a scope that not even he, himself, could ever achieve in his lifetime. The thought makes him feel uneasy; a pang of unwarranted jealousy flooding his body. Horus wishes he could take his uncle’s place—perhaps then things might’ve been better, no matter how irrational he thinks otherwise. To hold him, to worship him… it should’ve been him doing that. The feeling makes his guts squeeze and mash together in a hot mix of adoration and lust that he struggles to hold down. Horus the Elder’s chuckle is the only thing that snaps him out of his reverie, his face one that of understanding.

“I loved him,” he continues. “No, I still do. Even after all these years, I wish I could go back in time and not have thought so rationally.” Elder Horus shakes his head sorrowfully. “Many around me praised it; told me it was a necessary sacrifice. Without your father as king, they said, Seth would’ve ran Egypt into the ground, bathing Egypt in a sea of innocent red. But no, I don’t believe that, not even for a second.”

He turns to the younger, placing a hand gently upon his shoulder. “Do you know how long the events of that period in time keep replaying in my head? For eons now, it feels like. Once upon a time, it used to be a nightmare I’d struggle to wake up from. Now, though, it is nothing more than the comfortable blanket of grief I wrap willingly around my body. I’ve always dreamt of a time where I let him rule—sometimes we co-rule, other times he does so alone. But all in all, I am still there, still pacifying him.”

“In the end, he would’ve made for a fantastic ruler, believe me. It is because I would’ve been there, guiding him; coaching him. As impulsive as he is, he would’ve still come to me, even if I had ascended into the heavens; asking me questions well into the night, even if the candle had long since burned out.”

Closing his eyes, the elder shakily inhales. “I always picture what happens next: Seth, curled up into my arms. It’s the only haven he’s known for so long. He had always looked up at me so softly, so sweetly, you see. So lovingly; so unlike him to most. Did you know he could smile, that brute? His lips always curled upwards in a subtle way when he did, and his nose would crinkle slightly, along with his eyes. That smile had always been reserved for me.”

The air is deathly silent.

He hadn’t realized until the tears had begun to wet his cheeks that he had been crying, out of all things. It shocks even the younger Horus to see, who recoils slightly. To see the older war god, the pillar of Ennead after Ra, crying so easily… A weak-hearted man would’ve fallen to his very knees at the sight. Horus the Elder cherishes these tears, though; a weak, strangled laugh twisting out of his tight throat. He’s no stranger to crying—he doesn’t believe such things dictate masculinity—but to be so vulnerable in front of his descendant is… humbling, in a sense. For both of them.

It takes him a while to wipe those tears, his heart bleeding out and oozing for Horus to see. The younger acknowledges it, although hesitantly, reaching up and placing his hand on the opposite shoulder. His palm is warm, lacking the calluses of a true war god. The Horus before him is youthful; vibrant—nothing like the broken older god he had now become. It makes him feel even more bitter, but that bitterness quickly ebbs away into nothingness. He doesn’t let himself succumb to such things anymore—he cannot afford to.

“Little one,” he manages to rasp, lowering his head in defeat. “Let me warn you of the path you will inexorably take. It will not be easy—no, far from it. Too much time has passed for him to open up his heart again. Whatever vestiges of love he feels for Nephthys are nothing more than the little lies he tells himself. You are my shadow; my half. He will be haunted by me—by you—for as long as you both live. It’ll be hard for either one of you to become close; it is the lesson he has learned: never again.”

Horus the Younger nods solemnly, sincerely. “Uncle, I understand,” he replies, squeezing his shoulder. “I would be stupid to think I ever had a chance with him. But still, in my heart… you know it well, too: he’s the only one for me. I might not have had the same opportunities as you, but it’s still there—that fire, that passion. Even so, I want to understand. I want to be there for him—I know I can be.”

This time, his laugh is louder; a deep, boisterous sound that echoes throughout the air. It matches that of a powerful being who had once ruled the land with an iron fist and a strong heart; one whose Ba is full of timeless sorrow and a sense of inescapable acceptance. Horus feels the chills run down his spine, momentarily awed by the power the elder had once wielded—power that is now his.

“Ah, gods bless you, Horus,” Horus the Elder muses as he wipes away the remaining tears. He turns away from the balcony, giving the younger a firm pat on the shoulder. “You have my blessings, little one.”

Before he can even utter a question, the elder god is gone within a blink of an eye; the only evidence of his visit being the light wind that causes the linen curtains to sway gently in the breeze.

Something-something absolutely optional installation for art-class instead of correcting my geometry grades.

Drew them like that in purely theurapetical purposes

Not a lot of symbolism there but still

I need to draw them being tender more

Saw a post dissing Nephthys and this was my last straw. Got very mad so I had to draw this

Can't stand Nephthys slander in this house....