SUNJATA
angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free
She gives him an answer that he doesn’t necessarily need – but one that bolsters some wound deep within him all the same. He wonders if he remembers that day, the one where she’d shown up later than usual, the one when she’d come through the door and he’d asked her how her learning was going, how she’d answered with a simple ‘it was fine!’ and a snicker that he thought nothing else of.
He wonders what else he doesn’t know about his daughter.
It’s passed by quickly though, tucked away deep into his drunken mind as the conversation swings to something so much harder, so much more difficult as her rage and his sorrow collide in a form of a dance as they always had. Sunjata, the self sacrificer, the one that took what fate had to give him and wonder which would be the final straw to break him, taking it all in as if he deserved every second of the pain and torture he went through. And Hotaru, the one that held all the rage for the both of them, the flame and words and ability to fight back, to make everything make sense in a way that balmed Sunjata’s wounded soul.
It's no surprise that he moves the pillow, tugs her close, lets the warmth of his furnace of a body soak into her cold bones. Her arms rise and snake around him, holding him close, and Sunjata can’t help that instinctual part of him affected by his shifts the most to wrap his own arms around her, to bury his face into the curtain of damp, golden hair, inhaling her ozone scent like a lifeline. “I never wanted it to come to this.” He manages, weakly, choking on his breath the same way that she chokes on her words.
Her face is pressed against his throat, against his scars, against a pulse that rabbits his anxieties even as the rest of him tries to remain mostly calm. She cuts herself off from what thought she was planning to continue and Sunjata’s hanging onto every word, waiting for the one that makes sense as she had always done, the ones that opened his eyes and made things feel more possible.
“All children?” He asks quietly, his warm breath pressed against her pale neck where it hovers above the scar Nate had left there, his scruff of a beard brushing against her soft skin. Her fingers press into his spine and his tense shoulders relax with each and every touch, his arms sliding around her to press her harder against him as if he’s worried this is all some sort of nice dream, a fear that he can’t trust it or trust her.
Or even trust himself.
He takes a few more deep breaths, steadying himself, letting the war play out within him. “She’s directly tied in with Nate, too. I wonder if she’s trying to influence Kamaria into slipping further away from him when they’re directly tied to one another.” He frowns. “I don’t even know if the deal is still good.” He manages hoarsely, his thundering pulse quickening. I don’t know how to ask her.
He wonders what else he doesn’t know about his daughter.
It’s passed by quickly though, tucked away deep into his drunken mind as the conversation swings to something so much harder, so much more difficult as her rage and his sorrow collide in a form of a dance as they always had. Sunjata, the self sacrificer, the one that took what fate had to give him and wonder which would be the final straw to break him, taking it all in as if he deserved every second of the pain and torture he went through. And Hotaru, the one that held all the rage for the both of them, the flame and words and ability to fight back, to make everything make sense in a way that balmed Sunjata’s wounded soul.
It's no surprise that he moves the pillow, tugs her close, lets the warmth of his furnace of a body soak into her cold bones. Her arms rise and snake around him, holding him close, and Sunjata can’t help that instinctual part of him affected by his shifts the most to wrap his own arms around her, to bury his face into the curtain of damp, golden hair, inhaling her ozone scent like a lifeline. “I never wanted it to come to this.” He manages, weakly, choking on his breath the same way that she chokes on her words.
Her face is pressed against his throat, against his scars, against a pulse that rabbits his anxieties even as the rest of him tries to remain mostly calm. She cuts herself off from what thought she was planning to continue and Sunjata’s hanging onto every word, waiting for the one that makes sense as she had always done, the ones that opened his eyes and made things feel more possible.
“All children?” He asks quietly, his warm breath pressed against her pale neck where it hovers above the scar Nate had left there, his scruff of a beard brushing against her soft skin. Her fingers press into his spine and his tense shoulders relax with each and every touch, his arms sliding around her to press her harder against him as if he’s worried this is all some sort of nice dream, a fear that he can’t trust it or trust her.
Or even trust himself.
He takes a few more deep breaths, steadying himself, letting the war play out within him. “She’s directly tied in with Nate, too. I wonder if she’s trying to influence Kamaria into slipping further away from him when they’re directly tied to one another.” He frowns. “I don’t even know if the deal is still good.” He manages hoarsely, his thundering pulse quickening. I don’t know how to ask her.
every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?
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.
