[ There is no pretending that although their species are distinct and different from one another, that were he capable of fatherhood, it would not matter. But, he is not. The ability to have children was taken away from him the moment he considered the splendor of fatherhood, perhaps it had ben stolen away long before he knew what it was he could ever desire. Nothing will be born to him, ever. Save for the beautiful, strangling vine that digs its way throughout his soul, and whatever awaits him at Osiris's side in Duat.
They are so alike. He cannot read her mind, but her revulsion at the idea of being used to father children on makes his skin crawl and his throat close up, nauseated immediately by his own — his own experiences. The things he's heard people say about him, the things he's lived through — hundreds of things, the agonies of vulnerable women. For a moment, he turns his head from her, closing his eyes in both irritation and private need. He and Hayame would rather their bodies be seen as dangerous, than desired.
He regrets his choice of descriptor of her. Desirable, it's disgusting. ]
His name is Anubis. Nephthys and I loved him from the moment he was born. I taught him how to fight and when he should love instead, I taught him of war and mercy, I showed him every corner of Egypt and we used to sail the Nile together, where he'd tell me the name of every plant and animal he could see. He loved cats the most, would always beg me to keep every stray he'd ever see and he'd cry that he needed something warm to remind him of me when I was far away, fighting wars instead of holding him.
[ He says it slowly, peeling his eyes open one by one, to look at her as she recovers (if it is under his watchful gaze, he will not say; for both their sakes, as well as their pride and independence). And slowly, he offers her his hand. ]
no subject
[ There is no pretending that although their species are distinct and different from one another, that were he capable of fatherhood, it would not matter. But, he is not. The ability to have children was taken away from him the moment he considered the splendor of fatherhood, perhaps it had ben stolen away long before he knew what it was he could ever desire. Nothing will be born to him, ever. Save for the beautiful, strangling vine that digs its way throughout his soul, and whatever awaits him at Osiris's side in Duat.
They are so alike. He cannot read her mind, but her revulsion at the idea of being used to father children on makes his skin crawl and his throat close up, nauseated immediately by his own — his own experiences. The things he's heard people say about him, the things he's lived through — hundreds of things, the agonies of vulnerable women. For a moment, he turns his head from her, closing his eyes in both irritation and private need. He and Hayame would rather their bodies be seen as dangerous, than desired.
He regrets his choice of descriptor of her. Desirable, it's disgusting. ]
His name is Anubis. Nephthys and I loved him from the moment he was born. I taught him how to fight and when he should love instead, I taught him of war and mercy, I showed him every corner of Egypt and we used to sail the Nile together, where he'd tell me the name of every plant and animal he could see. He loved cats the most, would always beg me to keep every stray he'd ever see and he'd cry that he needed something warm to remind him of me when I was far away, fighting wars instead of holding him.
[ He says it slowly, peeling his eyes open one by one, to look at her as she recovers (if it is under his watchful gaze, he will not say; for both their sakes, as well as their pride and independence). And slowly, he offers her his hand. ]
Would you like to see him?