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— i'll say a prayer, as i cast it to the flame
WHO: set & others
WHERE: around the netherworld
WHEN: check headers for specific dates/times
WHAT: a catch-all for everything during his time in-game
WARNINGS: physical violence, mentions of sexual abuse, hanahaki syndrome, etc.
WHERE: around the netherworld
WHEN: check headers for specific dates/times
WHAT: a catch-all for everything during his time in-game
WARNINGS: physical violence, mentions of sexual abuse, hanahaki syndrome, etc.
no subject
Set wracks his own, upon being asked such a strange question. One did not question a divinity on matters such as this; the gods did not want, not in the way that others did. To want was to have desires, to seek 'more' or 'other', as though their existence themselves did not set them apart from beings that lacked and needed improvement, who yearned for something different. The most he had ever desired was a family, a band that stood with him under the banner of his name and might -- and even that, was not a thing that the gods should have naturally desired. They were independent creatures, equal regardless of generation and form, who could do all things without the support or sentiment shared between them.
( Are you sure? )
He steps closer to D, once more. This time, to fold his hand over one of D's own. The one he'd remembered the voice of the parasitic entity was centered in. ]
I made my decision.
[ Wanting has nothing to do with it.
He has decided, and that decision would stand untouched and unwavering no matter what came his way; it would last through time, last through the scourging efforts anyone might make to dissuade him. It would even outlast D, should he eventually come to reject it. That, in itself, was the fabric of Set's divinity. Resolve, and tenacity. An unshakeable, eldritch thing tethered to the foundation of existence itself. ]
You'll have to be the one to deny me, if you have any doubts. For I don't.
[ Reckless, wild, and unflinching. He begins to lead D along, inviting him to follow -- they'll need to go to the Harbors, to the Ferrymen. They'll get this done, and return to Stygia's relative security as though taking a day trip to a spa or something! ]
Does it bother you that much?
no subject
Alright.
[He allows Set to take his left hand, the only one of the two that isn't covered by a glove. The pale, ashy skin is still warm, and the plane of the palm is normal (and lacking a face for now thankfully) if a little calloused from eons of use. This hand links them as he follows after Set's lead toward the Stygian harbors.
It sounds so easy, put that way. Go there, link together, come back. Will it be?]
Not really, [he admits in his quiet voice. And then:] I want you to tell me about who it is you keep thinking I may be.
[The partial crumb of a name Set keeps murmuring here and there when seeing him. And it seems like an out of place question at first, but with the denial of Set's willingness bothering him... Maybe it's what really had him asking for certainty in the first place.]
no subject
The Ferryman keeps him busy, tasking Set with upholding his end of the bargain that would allow them the passage at a fair rate -- the redhead leaps and moves through the rigging, attending to the sails while they're en route, while they're docking at the harbor that leads deeper into the wild, oil-slick land of the dead. If Set avoids the question asked of him by D during that time, it is only because he cannot stop working alongside the skeleton crew. He's not made of funds, using most of them to care for the youth in his company - to ensure Jonas has what he needs in life, so that he may be a boy and enjoy the freedoms that ought to be afforded to children.
It is also because, when D asked it, Set's jaw clenched and his eyes slid away. With shame? With the overwhelming thing he feels, confronted by the sin of viewing D in a particular light -- the fact that Set's decision to assist him was not born of altruism, perhaps. He'd needed to think about his answer, to deliberate over what to say and how to phrase it so that perhaps, perhaps, D would not turn on his heel and find reason to deny him. Saving his answer until they're across the sea is also a cruelty, it is Set's entrapment of the other. He is not a kind creature, nor a good one, after all.
Once on land, he finally turns to answer the other. ] I do not -- think of you and he as the same.
[ There, Set averts his eyes again. Painfully hesitant, before he steels himself. ]
You resemble my son, Anubis. Or - you resemble the hopes I had for him.
no subject
Also, you are so valid, Pax.
The water doesn’t scare him so much as it annoys him. Being in it causes him to suffer a little weakness, and he has already been weakened by this accursed place. So he prefers to avoid as much of it as possible. But when he’s needed, he offers what assistance he can provide from place to place.
On the shores of the Shadowlands, he thinks Set may continue the game of not answering for now, but is a bit surprised when Set turns back to him again. And offers a response. It clarifies a lot of the ways Set treats him, but he tries to not put so much stock into it.
What’s more, he is not shocked by having any comparison to Anubis. In fact, this seems… expected. After the many times people have spoken to him about how he has felt to them, to the ones who can sense his energy, being likened to Anubis isn’t surprising. Perhaps he is, in some far distant way. Perhaps he is Anubis, and his father…
Well, the similarities are there, divinity and all.]
What happened to him?
no subject
It will likely be the same way, when they return.
For now, he seeks his room. Tracing the tug-and-draw of it with his mind, as he addresses D's questions. He returns to the hunter's side to retake the warm, scarred hand he'd previously had; the slide of his own unblemished skin across it accompanied by the feverish, burning heat of his own form. ]
He disappeared.
[ The answers are slow, terse. Set is trying not to elaborate. ]
Then he returned, and he was a god. He didn't remember me.
[ Briefly, he winces; the heel of his hand pressing to his temple as if the recollection has caused him some measure of intense pain. The memory of Anubis, there, denouncing him and attacking him -- the sobbing thing he had become, begging and pleading. The way he would carve himself open for his child, knowing he had made a mistake. Knowing he had been weak and manipulated, and truly, he'd lost everything. ]
no subject
...
[The way Set tiptoed around the conversation, he hadn't expected much less than the answer he receives. It also explains the stunned, mistaken recognition on Set's face when they initially met. In that moment, he had been Anubis.
His eyes settle on Set's profile around the scarlet hair, studying it. Would his father ever wince in regret to remember what had been done to him for the sake of an everlasting science? He doesn't know, he doesn't think so. Would some divine creature like his father even understand morality or empathy? If the answer is no, then why did a godly being like him help some humans and slay some vampires in an attempt to retain order?]
You miss him.
no subject
[ To have seen D upon his arrival, stunned and staggered by the circumstances and so fresh, so recent from seeing his son's face; older, beautiful as his mother, but so remote and unknowing -- it was agony, the purist of. He'd seen D, so close and dark and lovely, and had been stricken with that memory. The cold gleam in Anubis's eye, the way he had denounced Set to his face ( -- I know my father. ), the way nothing he said would reach Anubis and shake him free of whatever must have taken hold of him.
( Osiris's cruelty was so distinct, in that he saw everyone Set loved as a means to achieving his goal of isolating and owning the god of war. Even his own son, raised by his treasured brother; loved to the brink of madness, by that same brother. )
D deserves more than the hesitance that Set speaks with, and he chews on the fullness of his bottom lip, considering what more he could say. What more is there to say? ]
Everything I do, is for him. All I ever truly wanted in existence was a child, and he is mine!
[ Perhaps that is too much to say, as his heated vehemence turns cold, stricken. Self-reflection is not his way, nor is foresight; consequences have always been born by him long after he decides something, or does something. They're never fair, they're never in his favor, always violent and sudden and unseen by him. ]
I'm not doing this for him, though. I don't -- you resemble him, but you're not him. Anubis doesn't remember me, he only knows his true father. The one who isn't me, who raised him and loved him. I cannot have children, but I would never think of him any other way.
no subject
He does not personally know the weight of fatherhood, but he has been alive long enough to see almost every aspect of it in others, in humans especially. A powerful and immeasurable thing.]
He may not remember who you are for now, but it does not stop you from being his father. I think he will remember in time if who you are to him holds true.
[Which is about all he can offer for the situation, not knowing the full context of it actually. Only hearing one side, not that he disbelieves Set at all.
Still with Set's hand in his own, he slows to a stop, holding Set suddenly back. He peers at Set for a moment, and then he turns without any words and begins to lead Set by the hand instead, unhurriedly walking in another direction through the forest of doors.]
no subject
They are so hopeful, so infinitely kind in the face of Set's lack of surety. It is true that Set does not not think of himself as Anubis's father still, albeit and failure and a monster of a father, who mistreated his own child - and for what reason? Because he thought he needed to be strong, to have no attachments, lest he lose the throne of the gods? Lest he be proven infinitely small and weak, a father and husband who would hold no sway over his family ( -- we innately know that which is strong, Osiris had said, Nephthys knew where true strength lay -- )?
Though he follows D's path, his body shivers, expression stricken and flayed in a way that speaks volumes of where his mind might have gone.
Dread.
A mote of a memory. Perhaps the last one, before he'd torn himself from his dark shroud in the Shadowlands and begun the task anew in Stygia. Anubis's face, so remote and hateful of him. No, not hateful; angry and indifferent towards a foreign, evil god that was nothing like his father. Anubis-now saw the line of his parentage in Osiris and Nephthys, not within the impotence of a red-haired scion of mischief and murder.
( Anubis had thought them something else to one another. Intimate still, but incorrect. ) ]
-- it doesn't work like that.
[ There is a learned despair, in Set's words. An irrevocable curse that has flourished within him, since his own ascension to divinity. ]
It didn't work like that. I tried, I -- how can I be a father to a son who thinks nothing of me at all? How can you be so sure and gentle in your convictions, D?
no subject
Still with Set's hand, he winds through the doorways, not searching so much as being pulled by his own.]
As long as there is any sliver of a future, [he says quietly,] then there is always a possibility.
[Whether something like fate exists or not, D doesn't move through life guided by what he thinks may be fate. The control of making a path of your own life, this is what he wants to believe.
If Set has changed, if Set is willing to acknowledge the regret and change, and if there is a future for them beyond what's here: there is a chance for Set and Anubis to reunite under better circumstances perhaps. He'll believe that.]
If you give up, it will never be so.
[All manner of doors bend away. One towers a bit over the others in the area: double doors with an alabaster marble frame carved into intricate, elegant Gothic designs, steepled into a gentle arrowhead shape; the wooden doors are varnished dark, almost black, and threaded through from the outside hinges to the middle seam with sturdy, decorative iron; the backing of the door handles are equally elegant while the handles themselves are loose curved rings.
D slows to a stop in front of it and glances back at Set.]
no subject
I wish to believe that, D.
[ It is difficult, for him, to communicate the immutability of a god's nature. From the moment Set ascended, he was bound to certain requirements found within the fabric of the world and obedient before the orderliness of existence; to work against it was to be unmade. Divine nature was nothing like that of mortal nature, for to exist freely as a god was a threat to creation. The first act in the entropy of the universe.
While bound by his vow and desperately willing to change in so many ways, there is a distinct hopelessness that plagues Set -- for he quiets when D speaks of possibility, of giving up in the face of difficult, and shame clouds his expression. Pale and wan, until he must cover his mouth with the palm of his hand and stifle the pervasive cough that heralds carmine flowers-upon-vines he must tug free from his throat and throw aside.
It is normal, now, for so many of them, to suffer the floral plague. The act serves as a break in his sudden crisis, the cold mote of despair that continues to seize at him even now. Anubis will remember, or Anubis will not, there is no future where they will reunite as father and son anymore; yet, he still holds fast to the memory, to the promise he'd made him.
The promise is the only thing keeping him from conceding, he thinks. ( But, if that were the case, how had he died? How had he perished, in the realm before Stygia? )
At the door, he lifts his head and steps closer to D's side. Enough misery, enough of being pathetic before the eyes of someone he is attempting to provide and care for; he presses his palm to the ornate door and tests it, curious. When it does not budge, he knows the formality he must adhere to. Guest-right and welcome, in a sense, is the way of the doors in the Shadowlands. ]
It looks austere, [ he says, as aggreeably as possible. ] While I don't doubt this will be difficult for us both, will you let me in? It's about time we conquered this task.
no subject
The twisted ring D lifts sounds as heavy as it feels. Easily, the door on the right gives way to him and his command, opening outward and yawning to allow them in.] You may enter. [He lets Set go first.
The interior does not at all match the exterior. It's simple, humble in the modesty of all the glamour it lacks. A small, dated room that is neither exuberant nor grand. A little lonely in how so few things are gathered here; it's not hard at all to see what is a tether and what isn't. A nomad's dwelling, never filled for very long. The door D shuts behind them is now lackluster, homely and wooden with a small round knob.
The only brilliant thing about the room is the too large portrait taking up the wall above the desk; the first thing that will draw Set's eyes with how out of place it seems hanging there. The man painted on the canvas looks as if he has been imprinted on it alive, a beacon of perfection and distinction. There is dark divinity in him; this man is definitely something like a god. And his face, the shape of his eyes, the long hair all look unnervingly familiar.
There is an addition now, too: a smaller wooden box on the desk with the other tethers, closed but with a lid which parts on a hinge.
Carefully, D removes his hat, but he does not move from his place standing just beside the interior of the door.]
no subject
So, when he enters the room at D's permit, it is with the prickling of that morose sentiment still upon him. His eyes look along the length of the floor, until the juncture of the wall; then up, higher still, he rakes them even over the ceiling above. Eternally curious, attentive. There are many things in the room, some large and some small, and he gazes across them all. There's no yearning to touch them. There is a repressed shiver that rips down his spine, the unsavory urge to push something fragile over and watch it scatter into pieces.
It's too cold, too austere, and he finds himself wondering if tying himself to this man's soul will leave a chill upon his sun-warmed core as well. ]
I don't like how he looks down upon you.
[ The first thing he comes to say, as he turns at the waist - framed by the too-large, too-present portrait upon the wall. His expression is sour, a little petulant in some ways; the narrowing of his eyes suggestive more of his concern for D, than personal distaste. ]
This would be the image of your father, wouldn't it.
no subject
D does not answer the unasked inquiry with any kind of affirmation, though perhaps the lack of answer is an answer within itself. That Set is correct. The being in the painting is more than likely some kind of equivalent to a father, whether born directly from the loins, or whether, worse, experimentally altered on a genetic level.
The life-like burning eyes of flame peer down at Set below, bestowing upon him some strange kind of Divine Judgment understandable to Set, yet different all the same. There is an odd sort of sadness, however, lingering at the edges of the placid expression the longer Set looks at the man's face. The lonely ostracizing of godhood, of a being with immense power and societal hold everyone treats separately.]
I have been searching for that Noble for a long time.
[D looks at the portrait for a moment, and then he turns his eyes away from it, down under the lowering of his lashes.]
...He was the vampire who made all other vampires.
no subject
So, to look upon the portrait of this - Noble, as D refers to him as - Set feels cold. Alone. Infernally lost in the gaze of someone who did not have anyone. Even he, with siblings, had been apart from them. Alone, strange in his ways, a traveler with few things to bind him. Yet, the eyes also remind him of the abject loneliness of the former king of Egypt, the one who had held the throne of the gods before he'd usurped it.
( Osiris, he'd said one day, leaning in to his brother's ear during a wide, bountiful festival of celebration: you seem distracted.
I'm fine. The answer had been, with more warmth than Osiris had shown all day, even with the praise and adulation sung in his name, Better for your concern, I'd say. )
The Noble must have had no one like that, then. He also turns his face from it, from the eyes that remind him of his own kin. Instead, he crosses back to D, to where the dhampir remains just within the interior of his own room, and slides his hand into that dark hair. The familiarity of the motion is born not of knowing D, but of that super-imposed frame of reference that ghosts through his mind ( Anubis; beautiful as a god, dark and pale and severe ). Set is not a tactile god, without reason. ]
I don't doubt he was complex. Anyone can be lonely and tyrannical. Cover him, if you want; I don't wish for you to feel as though you've been made smaller right now.
no subject
He doesn’t lean into the touch, but he stands there without pulling away which is the most form of acceptance expected of him.]
It doesn’t bother me.
[It does perhaps, though not badly enough to conceal.]
Depending on who you asked, they would tell you different versions of him. Some humans owe him their lives, and some vampire’s lives he stole as punishment for their bloodthirst. I’ve never figured out why he seemed to be such a morose bastard.
[The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree… His eyes lift over Set’s head briefly and then lower again.
Aside from the wooden box, miniature horse, strange scroll, and photograph on the desk, there is something else a little more eye catching than the portrait: the holograph on the pedestal sitting atop the bedside table.]
no subject
[ What he does not say, is that when D swears, it is like a lash; a thing that reminds him this is not his towering, dark son before him, but someone else entirely. Someone unique, unto himself, who may look similar but will never be the one he misses most. Every inch of his existence desired a child, his Anubis, and D is not him. He is himself, and Set could never ask him to be anything but. ]
We are all just versions of the truth, seen through one another's eyes. I doubt you'll ever fully understand him, nor should you have to.
[ The thin smile that stretches across his face suggests he speaks from experience. History was rewritten in regards to Egypt's god of war, after all. No more meritorious tales, no knowledge of his good deeds in the past; all gone now. Finally, he tears his own eyes from D's haunting beauty and pushes himself away, in order to go and examine the other items within the room. Other tethers.
The photograph draws him in, notably; his terse smile softening at the seams as he hovers his fingers near the youthful faces. Yet, it is the holograph he stands nearest to - the woman with the gentle eyes. There, his hand hovers, as he asks his question. ]
Are you letting me pick which part of you I reach for?
no subject
The lashes lift, and he watches Set move about the room to inspect the other tethers like sculpted red clay. He waits for curious questions which never come. The young woman and boy look out of the photograph at Set, smiling, waving. A big sister and a little brother.
The woman's eyes are rounder than D's, but the demure, human look within them are familiar. The hair is the same, long and beautiful, but lacking the subtle wave. Life is full and warm in her fair skin, the slight flush under her cheeks. The miracle of her beauty is in the idea she seems to be a completely normal, ordinary human woman. By the expression she wears, it looks as if she might laugh happily about Set's company, like they are friends.]
You are free to decide.
no subject
Besides, there are some things one must not rush, though; learning of others being one of them. The woman is the one he focuses on, though he badly wants to point to all things and ask -- who? who are they to you? what does it mean that this is the form your tether takes? which items make you the most nervous, the most happy to see? ]
She is beautiful.
[ The woman, the one his hands hovers near to, as if it is this tether he is most strongly called to. Slowly, his fingers curl away from her, as he regards the warmth of her mortality. What right does a slaughterer of women have to choose her as the tether he will touch? Isis would scorn him, claw the flesh from his fingers for how presumptuous it would be of him to ever lay hand upon a woman again. ]
Is she -- your mother?
[ If so, he can see where D gets the sweetness in his heart.
Even as he asks the question, his feet carry him back - to the uncovered, cold portrait of D's ancestor. The cold-eyed, infinitely inhuman Noble. He'd made his choice, the moment he'd laid eyes upon it; this thing that could be covered politely, should D wish to hide the tie that will be forged between them. The similarity between himself and the creature that could be his father -- it calls, mournfully and sternly, to him. ]
no subject
She was.
[Though he still refuses to clarify whether or not the portraitSet returns to once more is his father. It isn't difficult to put together by any means, but D won't acknowledge it.
Like before, he watches Set linger in front of the carnelian-eyed man. This time, strangely, even with Set flush before him, the man seems almost like his gaze is turned toward the woman Set had left. Longing, sad.
It's difficult to tell exactly how D moves so quietly with so much cape and armor and with spurs on his boots, but he is very suddenly at Set's side. His bare fingers slip beneath Set's wrist and lift the hand up without capturing it. D places Set's hand gently on the elegant, elaborate frame of the portrait.
It's only a little different than the time Set had been in D's body. Set must accept the chaotic weight if him first, and vice versa, before all of it levels out. In reality, only a minute probably passes by.
The starving darkness Set felt before has been partially satiated even if it pours again through Set's bones. The energy snaking through is so powerful and sultry, it feels wicked. A genetic, natural aura, primordial, ageless. It's raw and sensual; pooling hot above Set's knees into the thighs, rushing up through the stomach, over the chest and into the neck. He is aware of how beautiful and seductive he is, how much power this holds over others. Hungry and dominate.
But following that is a tired, lonely wash of age. The sorrow which comes from seeing thousands and thousands of years of existence, and change, and loss. The shaping of a planet through civilizations, countless battles, leaving behind a person and returning later to find several generations down of their family instead. D's soul is old, and too is it human. As it fits itself into the nook of Set's own soul, the emotions D rarely shows are there: happiness, and fear, and anger, and sadness. It's all there in droves, being felt in silence.
The composed, quiet presence nestles in the pit of Set's body like a little ember, warm and bright enough to calm the ripples of Set's Shadow.]
no subject
[ In the wake of all he experiences, Set strangles the words out of his own mouth. His skin prickles into gooseflesh, below the guidance of D's warm hand, and something sour sits in the back of his throat at the flush of power that laps at him - a tide that rises, until he must tip his head back or be drowned by it. It leaves him dizzy, his head spinning as it rapidly begins to coordinate what is D's presence within him, allowing it purchase where he can stomach it, and urging it to be polite and not tread where Set cannot bear to permit it.
For a creature of Egypt, he is remarkably pale, and thus the warmness of his face is stark against his skin; he flushes red, fingers curling into half-fists as D's impatience leads to the knowledge of his sweetness, his loneliness, the kind of thing that perhaps only a fellow immortal may understand. Set has been apart from humans in ways that D never was, and so he does not track generations born of someone once beloved, though now - he knows that bittersweet agony.
When he blushes, it is straight to his collarbones, as though drunk upon heady wine - mindless for a long moment afterwards, half-sagged against D's body while he blinks and blinks and tries to swim out of the heat. It is both a natural thing, and a shocking one, to find any part of D that is capable of capitalizing upon his innate beauty and sensuality. Having been told of his own desirability by many, he does not imagine that it is an ill-placed sensation. The redness of his soul continues to paw through the new thing there, the echoes of D's own, as if a little animal playing with another beast - similar but unlike it.
He hates that his knees do wobble, that he is sensitive to these things when he ought to be resolute and manly, that he has to put a hand back to steady himself and rasp: ]
I feel you. There is so much more to you than you show, I knew it -- but to feel it as though it were a piece of myself, it is... you are a very overwhelming person, D.
[ But, a person nonetheless, he decides. Ancient and sad, but as beautiful as human as he thinks Jonas to be. ]
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It’s bizarre to him… to fit so perfectly into the whole of someone else. The way he can feel Set in whatever equivalent he must have of his heart, or his soul, or his spirit. The regal, ancient power of the sands are there in him, filling a space he didn’t know he had at all.
Someone else knowing him, feeling him. It makes his skin prickle with worry and caution. His thought float in, choppy and erratic: it’s too much, probably; it’s too consuming; it’s too sexual and starving. It’ll make Set a monster. He should not have rushed it, thinking Set was hesitating, thinking Set had been unsure.]
Are you going to be alright?
[There isn’t any way he knows of to reverse it. He’d have to immediately run to do research—no, if he breaks the tether, would that break the bond between them? he wonders.
The Shadow in him is eerily quiet for once, and yet, this feels for the moment as if it may have been the worst thing he could have agreed to do.]
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Look to me.
[ Slowly, he turns himself around. Away from the towering portrait and into D's space, where he can rest his hands into the dark fall of his hair again, this time cradling the other man's somber face between his palms entirely. He jerks him forth, a little, animated and vicious in the motion. ]
If nothing else, you know now that I will survive you.
[ And readily so. Though there is something aching behind his teeth, and his Shadow is so very still -- he knows this is a different difficulty, a new one. One neither of them are prepared for, so they must navigate it both independently and together. ]
I, [ he falters, vision going hazy for a moment, his knees shaking as he fights the wash of D's aura. ] I don't know if I can keep this clinical, right now. Forgive me, if I act -- within my own nature.
no subject
Set surviving the weight of him is most of the reason why he agreed. If anyone made a good test for what all of this was like, it’s Set. If anyone needed an anchor, it’s Set. And, so far, it hasn’t been too terrible.
Minus the eclectic vampire side of him which he has burdened Set with, thirsty and carnal and proud.]
I’m not worried.
[He looks over Set’s face slowly, studying it. The sensuality in him is now unfettered in Set; he can feel it reverberated back to him, doubled. It isn’t unexpected to him. If he had bitten any human, this is not unlike what would have happened.
He brings both hands up to touch Set’s elbows, bracing the other man from giving out.]
Set.
anna,,, listen
[ ( In what way? Made? ) The words are similar to what he had told Horus, that night not so long ago. His intentions then had been wicked, cruel as could be, monstrous even. Born of a sensual drive and a hunger for power, for dominance. Now, he still feels the drive. He cannot untangle the nature of D's self from his own, hedonistic and eager and ever-given to carnal endeavors. His mind is a storm, a feral thing of heat and tactility that had been driven into corners, primed to revolt against the one thing he'd always sought out.
He wonders, briefly, if his heart will break the way it had when Anubis had brought their mouths together -- that irrevocable moment where his own son had formally admitted he did not know Set for his father, but thought of him in another way. He feels D's need, not only for something to feed upon, but for -- what is it, that he yearns for in the depths of his heart? Is it absolution? Absolution? Acceptance? Set would like to think that it is acceptance, for that is his deepest desire too. ( And unlike D, he will never receive it. )
His heart does not fail him, as he draws the hunter's jaw forth - meeting him halfway. The kiss is far from chaste, for Set is not a creature of withheld passions. It is rough, as much a battle as he would undertake in the field, and he pauses only to whisper across the corner of D's mouth - somewhere between waveringly coy and painfully natural: ] It's alright. I'm very much like you.
👂
we killed the game but im not done tagging this