[ It isn't the first time he's brought Gen to the oasis. The heat of the desert, apathetically murderous and crisp around them is soothed only by the wind-breaking trunks of towering trees and scrubby brush; the water pooling in the center fed by a natural underground spring, supporting life in a hostile, red wasteland. Set is the desert god, but the desert contains all sorts of unique elements — and in some ways, he is also a god of small mercies hidden by the horizon. While Gen tries to flee him, he pursues. A step forward, to grab at his arm. Another step to pressure him towards the water, until Set can feel his own feet dipping into the warm, clear banks as he swings the young man along with him.
In a way, it doesn't matter what Gen says he wants or doesn't want. It's the pathetic thing inside of him that Set thinks is the truth, the true "him". That's the real voice he wants to hear, and attend to. That difficult child, who says one thing and means another, who hurts others and regrets it so much. The one who just recently helped slaughter Meridian's leader, and clearly is conflicted over it, even as he dedicates himself to accepting it. Miserable. Wanting it to end, faster than ever. ]
I'm asking that of you, yes. You will suffer, but you will know satisfaction.
[ Within Gen's mind, he can feel the sticky-hot press of a woman's body. The oppressive heat within the closet, the sobbing of a child ( and he wants to lunge out, to wrap the crying thing in his arms — but, is it because he cares for the child beyond those doors, or because in that moment he is envisioning the fragile canopic jars he needs to save and protect ) and the ugly press of a body along his-Gen's spine. Osiris looms over him, the same as Gen's abuser looms over him. They're both made smaller than they should be, haunted and frozen with indecision and made to feel pleasure where they don't want to.
He understands Gen, so much more, in this moment. And gently tips his own memory into that closet as well. The grasp of strong arms, green and greedy, running across Set's body — oppressive heat, and the sly whisper of a voice he'd once loved urging him: What can you do? What will you do, for him? ( For Anubis. ) ( For Reiji. )
He rests in Gen's mind the vision of Yima, taking the green, greedy hands of the man who had abused Set into her arms. Happy to invite him into her new world. Happy to see him, heedless of the pain he had caused or would cause again. Set interposes it with Yima reaching her hands out to the faceless body that holds Gen in the closet and brings him to unwanted pleasure, with Yima inviting the hands that had made the child beyond Gen's closet cry into that world. ( Because if they choose her, that's all that matters, isn't it? ) With Set, opening the closet door with blood on his hands and face, with the expression of a murderous parent upon his face — seizing the ghost behind Gen's childlike form to strangle it with his own, violent hands.
]
I can prove to you what Zenith can only say happened: that your shitty little hometown is destroyed. You only need to trust that I'll do that for you, Gen. That I would have, when you were Meridian. Faction matters less to me, than ensuring you are treated preciously. Because I can understand what you are, were and want to be — and love you, very much.
[ He tugs on that hand clutching at his, to fully reach his arms around Gen and drag him into an embrace. To hold him tight and warm, but not sticky-wet. Just dry, skin soft as silken sands, stroking the back of Gen's hair and down to the spot between his shoulderblades. ]
cw joins you, maybe a little unwitting gaslighting added???
In a way, it doesn't matter what Gen says he wants or doesn't want. It's the pathetic thing inside of him that Set thinks is the truth, the true "him". That's the real voice he wants to hear, and attend to. That difficult child, who says one thing and means another, who hurts others and regrets it so much. The one who just recently helped slaughter Meridian's leader, and clearly is conflicted over it, even as he dedicates himself to accepting it. Miserable. Wanting it to end, faster than ever. ]
I'm asking that of you, yes. You will suffer, but you will know satisfaction.
[ Within Gen's mind, he can feel the sticky-hot press of a woman's body. The oppressive heat within the closet, the sobbing of a child ( and he wants to lunge out, to wrap the crying thing in his arms — but, is it because he cares for the child beyond those doors, or because in that moment he is envisioning the fragile canopic jars he needs to save and protect ) and the ugly press of a body along his-Gen's spine. Osiris looms over him, the same as Gen's abuser looms over him. They're both made smaller than they should be, haunted and frozen with indecision and made to feel pleasure where they don't want to.
He understands Gen, so much more, in this moment. And gently tips his own memory into that closet as well. The grasp of strong arms, green and greedy, running across Set's body — oppressive heat, and the sly whisper of a voice he'd once loved urging him: What can you do? What will you do, for him? ( For Anubis. ) ( For Reiji. )
He rests in Gen's mind the vision of Yima, taking the green, greedy hands of the man who had abused Set into her arms. Happy to invite him into her new world. Happy to see him, heedless of the pain he had caused or would cause again. Set interposes it with Yima reaching her hands out to the faceless body that holds Gen in the closet and brings him to unwanted pleasure, with Yima inviting the hands that had made the child beyond Gen's closet cry into that world. ( Because if they choose her, that's all that matters, isn't it? ) With Set, opening the closet door with blood on his hands and face, with the expression of a murderous parent upon his face — seizing the ghost behind Gen's childlike form to strangle it with his own, violent hands.
I can prove to you what Zenith can only say happened: that your shitty little hometown is destroyed. You only need to trust that I'll do that for you, Gen. That I would have, when you were Meridian. Faction matters less to me, than ensuring you are treated preciously. Because I can understand what you are, were and want to be — and love you, very much.
[ He tugs on that hand clutching at his, to fully reach his arms around Gen and drag him into an embrace. To hold him tight and warm, but not sticky-wet. Just dry, skin soft as silken sands, stroking the back of Gen's hair and down to the spot between his shoulderblades. ]