don't try to follow me, i would hold you down if i could make you the enemy,
Oh no, it isn’t that Sunjata’s horrified. It’s anything but that.
Because so much has happened all at once that he rarely had the moment to process it between pinning the stranger – not stranger, named George, the George that Sunjata’s only partially familiar with from Hotaru – to the confusion that seems to swarm from the man, the warning uttered out, Sunjata’s own warning that something isn’t right, to the sharp sinking pain of a needle sunk between the thick dark plates that interlock up his neck like a turtleneck, to the warm blood he can both smell in the soft falling snow and feel as it finds channels in the scarring of his draconic plates and pours down, to the buzzing itch and tremor that her lightning magic sparks in him unbeknownst to him at the time.
There’s a part of him later that will realize that George would have had to try much harder to kill him. People have done worse and he’s survived it. But through the bond as he stares at Hotaru, as he sees that sharp and wild ferocity that Hotaru holds before it melts into something terrified that he might think she’d gone too far. And even still, she heals him, leaving the blood to dry against his skin, the little wound leaving a pale scar behind.
But this was self-defense, wasn’t it?
He pulls back, wings flared and hands leaving George’s shoulders if only to reach for Hotaru the second her shakiness reaches him, the murmured quiet hitting his ears. He grabs her, pulls her in and away from George, pushing himself up to his feet with her in his arms, wings wrapping around her to take her away from the lifeless body that remains in the darkness. He doesn’t go far – obviously they have to deal with the body – but it’s close enough to try and get her closer to the House of Midnight for its warmth while also keeping George’s body in sight. “He tried but didn’t succeed.” A brief pause before he continues. “Thank you.” He murmurs to her gently, as if it would alleviate any of her fears, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he gets her to stand on her own, if only so that he can inspect the wounds to her arm and to her side, the blood that pours from it and his side of the bond that’s open and burning with possessiveness and relief that she’s alive, and the unbridled fury that she’s been hurt under his watch.
Because so much has happened all at once that he rarely had the moment to process it between pinning the stranger – not stranger, named George, the George that Sunjata’s only partially familiar with from Hotaru – to the confusion that seems to swarm from the man, the warning uttered out, Sunjata’s own warning that something isn’t right, to the sharp sinking pain of a needle sunk between the thick dark plates that interlock up his neck like a turtleneck, to the warm blood he can both smell in the soft falling snow and feel as it finds channels in the scarring of his draconic plates and pours down, to the buzzing itch and tremor that her lightning magic sparks in him unbeknownst to him at the time.
There’s a part of him later that will realize that George would have had to try much harder to kill him. People have done worse and he’s survived it. But through the bond as he stares at Hotaru, as he sees that sharp and wild ferocity that Hotaru holds before it melts into something terrified that he might think she’d gone too far. And even still, she heals him, leaving the blood to dry against his skin, the little wound leaving a pale scar behind.
But this was self-defense, wasn’t it?
He pulls back, wings flared and hands leaving George’s shoulders if only to reach for Hotaru the second her shakiness reaches him, the murmured quiet hitting his ears. He grabs her, pulls her in and away from George, pushing himself up to his feet with her in his arms, wings wrapping around her to take her away from the lifeless body that remains in the darkness. He doesn’t go far – obviously they have to deal with the body – but it’s close enough to try and get her closer to the House of Midnight for its warmth while also keeping George’s body in sight. “He tried but didn’t succeed.” A brief pause before he continues. “Thank you.” He murmurs to her gently, as if it would alleviate any of her fears, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he gets her to stand on her own, if only so that he can inspect the wounds to her arm and to her side, the blood that pours from it and his side of the bond that’s open and burning with possessiveness and relief that she’s alive, and the unbridled fury that she’s been hurt under his watch.
the flood
i would let you d o w n
totally sniped from odd ilu
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.
