[ Not ever? What about when they lead Meridian to victory, and he delivers his promises to those who have received them? What about when he returns to Egypt, and has to know those who share a world with him ( even a potential world — ) are so far beyond his reach. In time and space, both. What if they aren't part of his world at all, and return to their own? He will be alone, then. Even if he is not, for a time.
His hands hook into the ends of her hair, drop low to the warm skin of her waist as he is brought up, to look into her eyes. The weight of her words is unmistakable; a warm thing, but something with the bearing and audacity of a god, and his own instincts cannot deny such an oath. Just because her conviction is spent on him, does not mean he can ignore it any less than Cassian pledging to protect him ( protect? him? what the hell does that even mean! ) or Hayame taking him by the hand to urge him to be better.
He cannot ignore the convictions of those who oppose him, so why is it such a struggle, when that conviction is focused upon him? He feels — difficult, and lethargic. In his throat, a stone-like weight bobs as he swallows coldness down into the root of his ribs and his hands tremble against her. What does one say, when a fellow god pledges something so simple but so deep to another? What can he say, when protest dries up in his mouth and he can do nothing but push his face through the firm hold she has upon it and find the line of her shoulder, hands rising, arms sliding around her to feel the powerful muscle of her back.
Unmistakably, his brother's poison lingers. A curse rooted so deeply within him, powerful because it was made from him and designed to act as shackle and collar. The leash was never attached, though. But, it was there. Waiting. Yet, in Kenos — for as long as possible, he is free from the threat. The potential is there, but at the very least? Quetzalcoatl is at his side. ( Horus, was once at his side. He doesn't know why he keeps thinking of his nephew, either. ) ]
— okay. Okay, I hear you, Quetzalcoatl. I believe you.
[ While tenuous, and fleeting, he accepts her conviction. ]
no subject
His hands hook into the ends of her hair, drop low to the warm skin of her waist as he is brought up, to look into her eyes. The weight of her words is unmistakable; a warm thing, but something with the bearing and audacity of a god, and his own instincts cannot deny such an oath. Just because her conviction is spent on him, does not mean he can ignore it any less than Cassian pledging to protect him ( protect? him? what the hell does that even mean! ) or Hayame taking him by the hand to urge him to be better.
He cannot ignore the convictions of those who oppose him, so why is it such a struggle, when that conviction is focused upon him? He feels — difficult, and lethargic. In his throat, a stone-like weight bobs as he swallows coldness down into the root of his ribs and his hands tremble against her. What does one say, when a fellow god pledges something so simple but so deep to another? What can he say, when protest dries up in his mouth and he can do nothing but push his face through the firm hold she has upon it and find the line of her shoulder, hands rising, arms sliding around her to feel the powerful muscle of her back.
Unmistakably, his brother's poison lingers. A curse rooted so deeply within him, powerful because it was made from him and designed to act as shackle and collar. The leash was never attached, though. But, it was there. Waiting. Yet, in Kenos — for as long as possible, he is free from the threat. The potential is there, but at the very least? Quetzalcoatl is at his side. ( Horus, was once at his side. He doesn't know why he keeps thinking of his nephew, either. ) ]
— okay. Okay, I hear you, Quetzalcoatl. I believe you.
[ While tenuous, and fleeting, he accepts her conviction. ]