// a reminder, ready when you find her, i repress the iridescence of a fire
won't you mind him, steady when you find him, i confess the incandescence of a dyin' light //
won't you mind him, steady when you find him, i confess the incandescence of a dyin' light //
“Here. For you.” His lids shudder slightly as he watches Amun take his thumb into his mouth. It sparks and ignites the fire within him again, and it parts through the dizziness of the blood loss as he focuses on what comes next. The offering, an option to take, and though the illness racks through his body he doesn’t know whether or not to go through with it. But he wants to, hips pressing against Amun’s, a breathy whine of a sigh slipping past his lips against the potter’s own thumb.
A partially shifted forked tongue darts out as Sunjata pulls his head away, running along the iron to his lips as he considers it, his horned head tilting slightly as he tries to piece things together before simultaneously tearing them apart. A nagging sensation in the back of his mind reminds him of something important, of two people who might disapprove of this, but he can’t name them. He can’t remember.
“I don’t plan on going to heaven.” He says. He doesn’t know what it is, not really, but it seems like a place a person like him would be unwelcome — and he shies away from that particular thought as he runs his thumb along Amun’s cheek, smearing fluid and blood along his skin.
His own blood rushes and pumps through his body, trying to replenish what’s been taken, but before he can fully realize what’s happening, he’s dropping to a knee, arms as wings flaring slightly as he attempts to recover.
A partially shifted forked tongue darts out as Sunjata pulls his head away, running along the iron to his lips as he considers it, his horned head tilting slightly as he tries to piece things together before simultaneously tearing them apart. A nagging sensation in the back of his mind reminds him of something important, of two people who might disapprove of this, but he can’t name them. He can’t remember.
“I don’t plan on going to heaven.” He says. He doesn’t know what it is, not really, but it seems like a place a person like him would be unwelcome — and he shies away from that particular thought as he runs his thumb along Amun’s cheek, smearing fluid and blood along his skin.
His own blood rushes and pumps through his body, trying to replenish what’s been taken, but before he can fully realize what’s happening, he’s dropping to a knee, arms as wings flaring slightly as he attempts to recover.
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.
