oh, i've been low, but damnit i bet it don't show // it was heaven a moment ago
Sunjata’s never been allowed to be taken care of. It’s something that had been ingrained from such a young age, with the repercussions his mother had faced when she’d extended too far, when she’d cared too much. But it was also why his mother had been the only thing of his youth – aside from Saartjie – to give him some semblance of understanding what it was like. And he can feel it now, despite his husband’s difficulties in wording what he wants to say, Sunjata can understand. He can read between the lines, if for nothing else but because they’re the same in that regard.
It should have been safe. It should have been safe.
It should have been hidden away in a space that so few knew of, tucked away. And yet? It had burned, crumbled, gotten destroyed, and it felt like his heart had been torn out over again. He wonders why it even matters, not when he’d never needed a lantern to remind himself of Lusea, not when he had Nate and this new family, one that he thinks she’d be proud of if she could see it, and yet the physical reminder felt like it was the only thing he’d had left of her.
In a way, it was.
He’s thankful for Nate’s voice that cuts through it, thankful that Nate’s never hated the fact he’d held onto it, that he understood what it meant for him to remind himself of her. It has his arms tightening around Nate, fingers clutching wherever he can reach. He recovers enough of his composure to simply feel sullen and still, like a stone deposited on the edge of a riverbank, smoothed by its tossing and turning.
Perhaps it’s Nate’s protective rage that flickers something else in Sunjata, something that soothes and stokes the protective flames of his dragon shift, this quiet approval that takes over the sorrow just before, enough for Sunjata to pull himself together and pull his head back, red ringed gaze finding Nate’s face, hand rising to thread through dark raven curls, before he’s crashing his face against Nate’s, cheek to cheek, holding him tightly there. I understand. There’s more resolve in his words than there had been earlier – as if Nate’s glue had worked in keeping him together, even if he doesn’t move an inch away from his husband’s lap, not an inch away from where he feels the safest.
But where do we start? He asks dimly through the mental bond, sniffling to try and draw everything back in, as if his tears and sorrow had leaked out too much and Sunjata’s shifting his focus into placing patches over the cracks and the holes in his composure.
And if Nate looks closely, he might feel the way Sunjata seems to slowly build that Korofi mask up, piece by brittle, broken piece.
It should have been safe. It should have been safe.
It should have been hidden away in a space that so few knew of, tucked away. And yet? It had burned, crumbled, gotten destroyed, and it felt like his heart had been torn out over again. He wonders why it even matters, not when he’d never needed a lantern to remind himself of Lusea, not when he had Nate and this new family, one that he thinks she’d be proud of if she could see it, and yet the physical reminder felt like it was the only thing he’d had left of her.
In a way, it was.
He’s thankful for Nate’s voice that cuts through it, thankful that Nate’s never hated the fact he’d held onto it, that he understood what it meant for him to remind himself of her. It has his arms tightening around Nate, fingers clutching wherever he can reach. He recovers enough of his composure to simply feel sullen and still, like a stone deposited on the edge of a riverbank, smoothed by its tossing and turning.
Perhaps it’s Nate’s protective rage that flickers something else in Sunjata, something that soothes and stokes the protective flames of his dragon shift, this quiet approval that takes over the sorrow just before, enough for Sunjata to pull himself together and pull his head back, red ringed gaze finding Nate’s face, hand rising to thread through dark raven curls, before he’s crashing his face against Nate’s, cheek to cheek, holding him tightly there. I understand. There’s more resolve in his words than there had been earlier – as if Nate’s glue had worked in keeping him together, even if he doesn’t move an inch away from his husband’s lap, not an inch away from where he feels the safest.
But where do we start? He asks dimly through the mental bond, sniffling to try and draw everything back in, as if his tears and sorrow had leaked out too much and Sunjata’s shifting his focus into placing patches over the cracks and the holes in his composure.
And if Nate looks closely, he might feel the way Sunjata seems to slowly build that Korofi mask up, piece by brittle, broken piece.
i had it, almost // we had it almost
SUNJATA
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.
