i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide
being pulled by the moon in a high tide
Oh he spots the pink as it blooms in her cheeks, some darkened part of him brightening at it, drawn to it as if it were the light out of the dark tunnel he’s found himself in. And with it, he watches, keeps that smile, listens as she spins the tale for him to essentially devour all while watching her with so much more light in him that he hadn’t thought it could be possible after the disasters of the past years.
He’s still broken bits and pieces, hanging on by threads, but at this moment the sharp edges seem to hurt a little less.
Her eyes glitter and his own brighten in response, shaking his head with soft little tsks in agreement that there’s little pity to be found. As for the sister imagining that she could do better? He huffs an amused sound out of his lips and nods. “You will have to let me know how it ends.” Like a story still being written out; Sunjata’s already awaiting the next chapter.
He sits back, though, relaxing and growing softer, and when her leg brushes against his as she does it in return he wonders if she can see the way the tension in his shoulders loosen, in how he hasn’t needed to work his jaw since they’d gotten breakfast, how much brighter he seems. Perhaps he doesn’t need to, because the feeling of sunlight and air drifts from the sharply closed off attuned bond toward her.
“They don’t tend to do things small. It sounds wonderful, though.” A part of him wonders if it might have helped the disastrous trips he’d taken into Halo years ago. But realizes that none of it matters anyway.
He’s still broken bits and pieces, hanging on by threads, but at this moment the sharp edges seem to hurt a little less.
Her eyes glitter and his own brighten in response, shaking his head with soft little tsks in agreement that there’s little pity to be found. As for the sister imagining that she could do better? He huffs an amused sound out of his lips and nods. “You will have to let me know how it ends.” Like a story still being written out; Sunjata’s already awaiting the next chapter.
He sits back, though, relaxing and growing softer, and when her leg brushes against his as she does it in return he wonders if she can see the way the tension in his shoulders loosen, in how he hasn’t needed to work his jaw since they’d gotten breakfast, how much brighter he seems. Perhaps he doesn’t need to, because the feeling of sunlight and air drifts from the sharply closed off attuned bond toward her.
“They don’t tend to do things small. It sounds wonderful, though.” A part of him wonders if it might have helped the disastrous trips he’d taken into Halo years ago. But realizes that none of it matters anyway.
the flood
that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?
am i a villain or a saint?
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.
