SUNJATA
look who's digging their own grave
this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
He thinks it has hurt him, though he doesn’t know for sure. His focus had been on the fact that Nate didn’t come home, didn’t come with the party that had returned. Not with Amun, not with Wessex, and he had spent the weeks after wondering until Wessex had informed him of his options. But he doesn’t comment on that either, it wasn’t Nate’s fault anyway as far as Sunjata’s concerned, focusing so much more on the fact that he was here now, and now is what matters most.
The fact they’re in the Grounds. The fact they’re together. The fact he didn’t lose his other half. The fact their twins are sleeping soundly in the other room. The fact that Sunjata hadn’t burnt himself out. (Though if Nate looks too closely he’ll still likely be able to see the fresh healing Ascended bites along his neck, muddled into the mixture of scars he’d left behind himself.)
There’s some surprise there, brows rising at the admission, unsure what to do with the initial information other than hold his husband, watching as his fingers press little indents into Nate’s skin. “I know. I should’ve known earlier and I didn’t. I’m sorry too.” It’s an accented whisper, another shaky breath inhaled as he swallows against the next wave of burning in his eyes, the steel open and light but fragile. “I… Everyone knows I chose a side in this now. The Voice knows too. I wanted–” He cuts himself off the second his voice starts to twinge, the second he knows that he won’t be able to make any sense, sucking in a sharp breath. “Part of my deal with Frey when I became their demigod was to keep you safe. I had to get the Voice’s permission, though. Which I… I didn’t get. And… And that’s okay.” He wasn’t over it yet, but he knew realistically it was the answer he’d always get.
Nate was strong. He is strong. And the Ascended need all the help they can get. And Sunjata needed to get used to it. “But I brought up an idea I posed to Frey before the attack, like a neutral zone. You know the one.” They’d talked about it once, if he remembers right. “The Voice agreed to that.” But you can’t come.
The fact they’re in the Grounds. The fact they’re together. The fact he didn’t lose his other half. The fact their twins are sleeping soundly in the other room. The fact that Sunjata hadn’t burnt himself out. (Though if Nate looks too closely he’ll still likely be able to see the fresh healing Ascended bites along his neck, muddled into the mixture of scars he’d left behind himself.)
There’s some surprise there, brows rising at the admission, unsure what to do with the initial information other than hold his husband, watching as his fingers press little indents into Nate’s skin. “I know. I should’ve known earlier and I didn’t. I’m sorry too.” It’s an accented whisper, another shaky breath inhaled as he swallows against the next wave of burning in his eyes, the steel open and light but fragile. “I… Everyone knows I chose a side in this now. The Voice knows too. I wanted–” He cuts himself off the second his voice starts to twinge, the second he knows that he won’t be able to make any sense, sucking in a sharp breath. “Part of my deal with Frey when I became their demigod was to keep you safe. I had to get the Voice’s permission, though. Which I… I didn’t get. And… And that’s okay.” He wasn’t over it yet, but he knew realistically it was the answer he’d always get.
Nate was strong. He is strong. And the Ascended need all the help they can get. And Sunjata needed to get used to it. “But I brought up an idea I posed to Frey before the attack, like a neutral zone. You know the one.” They’d talked about it once, if he remembers right. “The Voice agreed to that.” But you can’t come.
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it
and what will you have left?
and what will you have left?
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.
