SUNJATA
look who's digging their own grave
this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
The shushing is really what undoes him. He’ll say it was an overwhelming sensation of Nate being back, of dumping all this information (and not even all of it) into his husband’s lap, things carried, things remembered despite the state of his mind, helped only by the second little scrapbook he’s made for him, sitting under the lantern on the shelf in the corner.
Sunjata trembles, muscles twitching like a leaf as he presses in against Nate more, clinging to his voice and yet simultaneously trying to ignore the words. No matter how much he tries, though, they burrow into him. Little bullets shot straight through him, the ricochet adding to his trembling. There’s a gasp of breath so harsh in comparison to the plea, to the coo, a shake of his head as he grits his teeth hard. “Don’t.” Comes his own little plea.
He doesn’t want this. He’s never wanted this. It’s what makes him want to hide more despite Nate’s attempts to bring him into the view of those electric blues. He wants to fall apart, the glue keeping him together eroding under each and every tremble. But he does it anyway, another gasp of breath (he knows he should keep breathing, that it’ll make it easier to get the tears to subside, the tightness of his throat, but he doesn’t) held in his lungs until they ache by the time he finally moves his head to press his forehead against the Ascended’s.
It’s a stormy, glassy gaze as he looks at Nate, blurred with how close they are. “You’re here.” He croaks out weakly, feathers ruffling as he unwinds his arms from his husband’s neck, drawing his hands down Nate’s shoulders and chest to instead wrap around his middle.
Sunjata trembles, muscles twitching like a leaf as he presses in against Nate more, clinging to his voice and yet simultaneously trying to ignore the words. No matter how much he tries, though, they burrow into him. Little bullets shot straight through him, the ricochet adding to his trembling. There’s a gasp of breath so harsh in comparison to the plea, to the coo, a shake of his head as he grits his teeth hard. “Don’t.” Comes his own little plea.
He doesn’t want this. He’s never wanted this. It’s what makes him want to hide more despite Nate’s attempts to bring him into the view of those electric blues. He wants to fall apart, the glue keeping him together eroding under each and every tremble. But he does it anyway, another gasp of breath (he knows he should keep breathing, that it’ll make it easier to get the tears to subside, the tightness of his throat, but he doesn’t) held in his lungs until they ache by the time he finally moves his head to press his forehead against the Ascended’s.
It’s a stormy, glassy gaze as he looks at Nate, blurred with how close they are. “You’re here.” He croaks out weakly, feathers ruffling as he unwinds his arms from his husband’s neck, drawing his hands down Nate’s shoulders and chest to instead wrap around his middle.
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it
and what will you have left?
and what will you have left?
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.
