[ Set is not apologetic, as he breathes out the young man's name. Not even as he reaches under his knee, under his thigh, to pull it across Set's own belly. To bring the center of Gen's legs over his lap — so that they face one another, and he can hook one arm low on his back, the other high behind his neck ( holding to his spine, pushing his face into the warm crook of his throat ) and twist them. He holds Gen like one might hold a tired child, half-draped over him, and presses him back into the fold of the roots; an even smaller place, where he can be hidden away and not exposed to anyone who might wander in. It puts them closer, even closer. ]
The scale may be larger, but the crime is the same as any one you could commit. I simply — they expected better of me. And they [ the Ennead ] punish me for being what I am.
Like this, he can half-whisper, half-Commune in the dark, private corner where he hides Gen ( hides himself ). Like he is trying to obscure something precious from anyone seeing it, even if Gen is 'just' some human brat with too much anger and anguish. In the clutch of their minds, Gen's envy is tangible. And Set's response is not smugness, or pleasure. It is the flinch of someone who does not believe in his own words: no, no, he sighs, cracking at his rotting seams and tells him: they're not anymore, nobody is waiting for me, all I have is the promise left. The one who gave voice to that promise does not remember him. Looks upon him with the same hatred as any other god, the same judgment and distaste.
The face of someone he once knew and love swims between them: full of contempt, spitting you evil god, die and leave the world better than with you. ]
I am rotten, somewhere too deep inside. [ And he swaps hands, to the one with his Savant brand, to push hair back from Gen's brow and try to find his face. His eyes, wherever he's hiding away. ] Is that the same, for you? We both belong somewhere else, after all. So, why do you want to leave me?
[ He could care less about Meridian, in the end. His acceptance of Gen is steadfast, unyielding — to him, it was more important than any hope, real or false, that could be promised by the cruel light of Meridian. ]
no subject
[ Set is not apologetic, as he breathes out the young man's name. Not even as he reaches under his knee, under his thigh, to pull it across Set's own belly. To bring the center of Gen's legs over his lap — so that they face one another, and he can hook one arm low on his back, the other high behind his neck ( holding to his spine, pushing his face into the warm crook of his throat ) and twist them. He holds Gen like one might hold a tired child, half-draped over him, and presses him back into the fold of the roots; an even smaller place, where he can be hidden away and not exposed to anyone who might wander in. It puts them closer, even closer. ]
The scale may be larger, but the crime is the same as any one you could commit. I simply — they expected better of me. And they [ the Ennead ] punish me for being what I am.
[ Evil. Tyrant. Monster, victimizer. Cruel, angry, bully.
Like this, he can half-whisper, half-Commune in the dark, private corner where he hides Gen ( hides himself ). Like he is trying to obscure something precious from anyone seeing it, even if Gen is 'just' some human brat with too much anger and anguish. In the clutch of their minds, Gen's envy is tangible. And Set's response is not smugness, or pleasure. It is the flinch of someone who does not believe in his own words: no, no, he sighs, cracking at his rotting seams and tells him: they're not anymore, nobody is waiting for me, all I have is the promise left. The one who gave voice to that promise does not remember him. Looks upon him with the same hatred as any other god, the same judgment and distaste.
The face of someone he once knew and love swims between them: full of contempt, spitting you evil god, die and leave the world better than with you. ]
I am rotten, somewhere too deep inside. [ And he swaps hands, to the one with his Savant brand, to push hair back from Gen's brow and try to find his face. His eyes, wherever he's hiding away. ] Is that the same, for you? We both belong somewhere else, after all. So, why do you want to leave me?
[ He could care less about Meridian, in the end. His acceptance of Gen is steadfast, unyielding — to him, it was more important than any hope, real or false, that could be promised by the cruel light of Meridian. ]