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
“I told him I was concerned and he mentioned the last time he told Safrin no, she took all of his abilities away.” He mutters, refraining from mentioning the fact that he’d started to focus on training where he didn’t have to use his shifts. But the more he argues about it the more he feels like a spoiled, petulant child, and he works his jaw against those thoughts once again, drawing in a deep breath to steady him, exhaling it out slowly through his nose. “I’m trying to be better about split second decisions.” He admits, ruefully, thinking that he’s done a fairly good job thus far, having not made too many huge events since the results of the last one he’d caused.
Regardless, he shifts onto his back and she settles against his chest, his calloused hand running along her back in idle strokes as if it works to quell the anger and frustration building up within him. Sunjata’s never been an angry drunk. More often than not, he’s simply just sad, searching for any outlet to alleviate the issue. And right now? There’s little to none aside from the anchor that Hotaru offers in her words, in the pulses that slip from her end of the bond, trying to calm the stormy waters of his soul.
She wipes away the speck of blood and caresses his jaw and it tears his gaze away from a spot on the ceiling, to tilt his head to look down at her with those same tired eyes, the stormy steel reflecting in the flickering glow of the fire. She’s right. He knows she is. He knows she’s trying her best to not drag up a bunch of sorrow and bad memories, but he can’t help the way the muscles in his jaw flex, the way his hand stutters in its motions against her back when he accidentally lifts the threads of her shirt enough to feel her soft skin beneath it.
“You’re right.” He offers her, his throat scratchy and hoarse. He fails to try and get his mind to put together the words he wishes to say, instead choosing to let his fingers slip beneath the edge of her shirt, pressing those idle symbols into her spine as he thinks, a sudden shift of gratitude and his sorrow to her. “I’m sorry. For all the shit I put you through.” Because she’d always managed to be a guiding light, a northern star, the one that laid out everything in a way that made it feel far less daunting. She could speak and know the right things to say, the things that would burn and the things that would soothe, which perhaps makes tonight all that much more confusing and tender.
Regardless, he shifts onto his back and she settles against his chest, his calloused hand running along her back in idle strokes as if it works to quell the anger and frustration building up within him. Sunjata’s never been an angry drunk. More often than not, he’s simply just sad, searching for any outlet to alleviate the issue. And right now? There’s little to none aside from the anchor that Hotaru offers in her words, in the pulses that slip from her end of the bond, trying to calm the stormy waters of his soul.
She wipes away the speck of blood and caresses his jaw and it tears his gaze away from a spot on the ceiling, to tilt his head to look down at her with those same tired eyes, the stormy steel reflecting in the flickering glow of the fire. She’s right. He knows she is. He knows she’s trying her best to not drag up a bunch of sorrow and bad memories, but he can’t help the way the muscles in his jaw flex, the way his hand stutters in its motions against her back when he accidentally lifts the threads of her shirt enough to feel her soft skin beneath it.
“You’re right.” He offers her, his throat scratchy and hoarse. He fails to try and get his mind to put together the words he wishes to say, instead choosing to let his fingers slip beneath the edge of her shirt, pressing those idle symbols into her spine as he thinks, a sudden shift of gratitude and his sorrow to her. “I’m sorry. For all the shit I put you through.” Because she’d always managed to be a guiding light, a northern star, the one that laid out everything in a way that made it feel far less daunting. She could speak and know the right things to say, the things that would burn and the things that would soothe, which perhaps makes tonight all that much more confusing and tender.
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.
