we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different
the same old things expecting something different
It isn’t really his place to interject with idle chatter – instead settling back in his chair beside the one he’d pulled for his husband, gaze glued to the Ascended’s back. Sunjata’s certainly not the one to make any kind of coffee that’s palatable, despite his attempts at getting better, and he’s content to watch while Nate speaks and gestures around the kitchen as if it were nothing more than a simple get together.
That’s what it is, isn’t it?
His lip twitches and his gaze flickers back to Locke at the question, but ultimately settles when Nate speaks, nodding along. “We were simply getting more familiar with the area when we stumbled across it. Tried to save her too but she didn’t get far. Found the twins, though, and brought them home.” He also intentionally leaves out their waffling over the idea of raising more children together, content to offer a brighter smile toward Locke and a huff of a laugh, lips parting to rumble a good, when Nate’s setting the mug in front of Locke and the words that leave his husband’s lips have an uncomfortable flare of pure and surprising jealousy twisting in his gut.
The amused smile turns bitter for a split second, the Flood slipping up that mask again to try and drown it out from the bond before either of the two men in the kitchen sense it, pouring all of his focus into the mug placed in his hands with a hum of a “thank you, Skatjie.” Lifting the mug to his lips with one hand while the other drops to Nate’s legs settled in his lap, cup lowering once he’s finished his sip and cradled easily between both scarred hands. And he’s silent once again, gaze rising briefly to Locke to see how he answers it – if it spurs on another one of those bitter, angry arguments that they’d shared on the Last Step over just how much Edmund looked more like the Flood than it did Locke.
And internally he tries to war with the spike of jealousy, a small anxious tick in the way he rubs his thumb along Nate’s calf, twisting his wedding ring with the movement.
That’s what it is, isn’t it?
His lip twitches and his gaze flickers back to Locke at the question, but ultimately settles when Nate speaks, nodding along. “We were simply getting more familiar with the area when we stumbled across it. Tried to save her too but she didn’t get far. Found the twins, though, and brought them home.” He also intentionally leaves out their waffling over the idea of raising more children together, content to offer a brighter smile toward Locke and a huff of a laugh, lips parting to rumble a good, when Nate’s setting the mug in front of Locke and the words that leave his husband’s lips have an uncomfortable flare of pure and surprising jealousy twisting in his gut.
The amused smile turns bitter for a split second, the Flood slipping up that mask again to try and drown it out from the bond before either of the two men in the kitchen sense it, pouring all of his focus into the mug placed in his hands with a hum of a “thank you, Skatjie.” Lifting the mug to his lips with one hand while the other drops to Nate’s legs settled in his lap, cup lowering once he’s finished his sip and cradled easily between both scarred hands. And he’s silent once again, gaze rising briefly to Locke to see how he answers it – if it spurs on another one of those bitter, angry arguments that they’d shared on the Last Step over just how much Edmund looked more like the Flood than it did Locke.
And internally he tries to war with the spike of jealousy, a small anxious tick in the way he rubs his thumb along Nate’s calf, twisting his wedding ring with the movement.
but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste
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.
