// ships are launching from my chest
some have names but most do not //
some have names but most do not //
She knows just what to say to meet in the middle with him, and his arms tighten around her a little bit tighter for that boon. “Compromise.” He rumbles gently, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek before they part to make the trek back up into the warmth of the House of Midnight – Sunjata craving the familiarity now that all the pieces are together. Now that he has the warmth and comfort of his home and her in it. Safe. It’s his utmost priority, and it soothes the dragon that lives under his skin.
It doesn’t soothe it enough to hide that awkwardness in the Attuned bond with her as he starts to remove his layers, as the scarf is removed and draped over his jacket on the back of the chair in their room, his steel gaze harboring a hawk’s eyed focus on her face as she finishes his comment, through the bond, the understanding she has clicking against each and every lock of his heart like she’s the smoothest lockpick he’s ever encountered.
He doesn’t answer, a simple exhale of agreement mixed with relief to her own understanding, even as Petronella mewls curiously at the new face, webbed paws gripping into Sunjata’s shoulder and shirt for purchase. In his side of the bond he feels discomfort, uncertainty, the lingering overwhelming sensation of guilt.
Hotaru is quick to smooth down his arms and cup his face and craving both her comfort and her understanding, he tilts his head into her hand, his steel gaze tired and wary as they meet her dual toned ones. And while the silent comment of it’s okay to not be okay with it, the only responding notion is the sudden pinch of his brows, the wrinkle forming there deeper the more he fights his emotions to keep that straight face.
He typically hides, however, when conversations get hard. But he’s mindful of it, forcing himself to try and keep his gaze on her, to face her when he responds, even if his eyes seem a bit distant. It’s made up with the fact that Petronella reaches out with one of those webbed, scaley paws that tries to crawl onto Hotaru’s own arm, wanting to trade one shoulder for another. It feels like getting cut open along a scar. He admits, though the shame in the admission is clear in the way the sensation intertwines, braiding around the thicker accented words.
It doesn’t soothe it enough to hide that awkwardness in the Attuned bond with her as he starts to remove his layers, as the scarf is removed and draped over his jacket on the back of the chair in their room, his steel gaze harboring a hawk’s eyed focus on her face as she finishes his comment, through the bond, the understanding she has clicking against each and every lock of his heart like she’s the smoothest lockpick he’s ever encountered.
He doesn’t answer, a simple exhale of agreement mixed with relief to her own understanding, even as Petronella mewls curiously at the new face, webbed paws gripping into Sunjata’s shoulder and shirt for purchase. In his side of the bond he feels discomfort, uncertainty, the lingering overwhelming sensation of guilt.
Hotaru is quick to smooth down his arms and cup his face and craving both her comfort and her understanding, he tilts his head into her hand, his steel gaze tired and wary as they meet her dual toned ones. And while the silent comment of it’s okay to not be okay with it, the only responding notion is the sudden pinch of his brows, the wrinkle forming there deeper the more he fights his emotions to keep that straight face.
He typically hides, however, when conversations get hard. But he’s mindful of it, forcing himself to try and keep his gaze on her, to face her when he responds, even if his eyes seem a bit distant. It’s made up with the fact that Petronella reaches out with one of those webbed, scaley paws that tries to crawl onto Hotaru’s own arm, wanting to trade one shoulder for another. It feels like getting cut open along a scar. He admits, though the shame in the admission is clear in the way the sensation intertwines, braiding around the thicker accented words.
the flood
// if you find one, please,
let me know what piece i've lost //
let me know what piece i've lost //
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
