SUNJATA
the flood
but is this what you want? what you wanted?
do you need love? am i enough for you?
do you need love? am i enough for you?
A soft hum of agreement is given to her as she shifts to let him use her as a pillow, and he does — resting his head along her skin, pulling the blankets up close and nestling in with his arm around her still but in a space where his head rests along her shoulder and the top of her chest. Content, comfortable enough.
“Alright.” He rumbles to her in agreement of both statements. That she could seek out the healer, that she wasn’t going anywhere, that he should get some sleep. All of those he believes, and he tries for her, though thankfully it doesn’t take much before his breaths deepen in a peaceful sleep.
Only, it doesn’t last. Because of course it doesn’t. And something with the way the wounds to his back and legs are, trigger nightmares long since gone. Ones he hasn’t had in years. And it’s likely been some time of peaceful quiet, quiet snores, deep breaths, before they hitch and he shifts his head, moving away to roll onto his back that only triggers it more.
Hands clench, and he tilts his head back in the pillow. Within the dream, it's his father pressing him back in such a way that keeps him held. The nightmare isn’t accurate to how it all went down, but that’s the strange part of dreams. To shift and adjust based off surroundings. And in this dream, his fathers the one that holds the knife to his throat.
His breathing picks up and his voice is rough, gravelly, parched and dry. “I know. I know.” The sound of a man backing down, fresh heartbreak in his voice. But there’s some silence there too, as if he’s listening, hearing the words his father spits back at him. “It changes nothing, you know that right? Nothing.” There’s a hint of venom in his exhausted tone that Maea’s likely never heard before, but he doesn’t realize he’s talking at all — too deep in the throes of the nightmare.
“Alright.” He rumbles to her in agreement of both statements. That she could seek out the healer, that she wasn’t going anywhere, that he should get some sleep. All of those he believes, and he tries for her, though thankfully it doesn’t take much before his breaths deepen in a peaceful sleep.
Only, it doesn’t last. Because of course it doesn’t. And something with the way the wounds to his back and legs are, trigger nightmares long since gone. Ones he hasn’t had in years. And it’s likely been some time of peaceful quiet, quiet snores, deep breaths, before they hitch and he shifts his head, moving away to roll onto his back that only triggers it more.
Hands clench, and he tilts his head back in the pillow. Within the dream, it's his father pressing him back in such a way that keeps him held. The nightmare isn’t accurate to how it all went down, but that’s the strange part of dreams. To shift and adjust based off surroundings. And in this dream, his fathers the one that holds the knife to his throat.
His breathing picks up and his voice is rough, gravelly, parched and dry. “I know. I know.” The sound of a man backing down, fresh heartbreak in his voice. But there’s some silence there too, as if he’s listening, hearing the words his father spits back at him. “It changes nothing, you know that right? Nothing.” There’s a hint of venom in his exhausted tone that Maea’s likely never heard before, but he doesn’t realize he’s talking at all — too deep in the throes of the nightmare.
in time you'll find i've got my baggage too
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.
