// the past is just a bridge we burned down behind us
when we left this town, running from the blinding heat //
when we left this town, running from the blinding heat //
She withers. And from forcing himself to watch her, he gets to see first hand the way she holds her breath, the way she exhales it slowly and shakily, and his jaw works harder, chewing at the inside of his cheek even as he keeps his fingers moving in her gilded hair as a distraction for himself that he desperately needs, instead of the cigarettes from a pack burning in his pocket. She looks away first, though, and he exhales his own quiet sigh, relieved to no longer have to hold her gaze while everything seems to stand still around them as he focuses so intensely on the small amount of feeling from her side of the bond, trying so hard to glean what it is she’s thinking.
And honestly? It’s all the same he has.
He nods, a quiet “yeah,” exhaled out on a breath, watching as his beautiful rose begins to sag and wither, sorrow overtaking her features in ways that hurt him now let alone the idea of it coming to pass. Her admission of it, of him outliving her settles like a heavy weight in his stomach, churning uncomfortably in the waters of their future and what this now means. But the fact that it makes her hurt for him only adds to his love of her, even in the face of such a feat that others would be rejoicing with. But between the two of them, they’ve already dealt with so much, he’s already lost so much.
A heavy sigh leaves him again as she wrinkles the fabric of his shirt, her comment of Nate hurting in a particularly strong way that sparks the lightning strike of his scars, visible now in the actual lightning strike scars that run by her face, lighting up the marriage scar in his hand where he can see, he withers too. His side of the bond opens up, not entirely, but enough to allow her into his thoughts to prove to her that it wasn’t what he wanted. “I never wanted to be immortal.” Prone to the self harm that he is, at least. Having an out was the only relief he had of knowing that he’d likely outlive his lovers.
It had been hard enough with Nate, had taken him years to come back from it, and even then he hadn’t come back the same. What would the third do to him? “I guess it’s sort of poetic.” He admits, though all the teasing playfulness of the irony is completely gone, left behind a dull quiet of exhaustion and quiet simmering frustration. “My father will get what he wanted after all.” He can’t refrain now, even with her standing in his arms, to withdraw and reach for that burning pack of cigarettes in his pocket, slipping one out and placing it between his lips, lighting it with a match that he conveniently douses with a flick of a wrist of water magic. “I’m sorry.” He says around the smoky inhale, though whether he means over his immortality, or his inability to quit just yet.
And honestly? It’s all the same he has.
He nods, a quiet “yeah,” exhaled out on a breath, watching as his beautiful rose begins to sag and wither, sorrow overtaking her features in ways that hurt him now let alone the idea of it coming to pass. Her admission of it, of him outliving her settles like a heavy weight in his stomach, churning uncomfortably in the waters of their future and what this now means. But the fact that it makes her hurt for him only adds to his love of her, even in the face of such a feat that others would be rejoicing with. But between the two of them, they’ve already dealt with so much, he’s already lost so much.
A heavy sigh leaves him again as she wrinkles the fabric of his shirt, her comment of Nate hurting in a particularly strong way that sparks the lightning strike of his scars, visible now in the actual lightning strike scars that run by her face, lighting up the marriage scar in his hand where he can see, he withers too. His side of the bond opens up, not entirely, but enough to allow her into his thoughts to prove to her that it wasn’t what he wanted. “I never wanted to be immortal.” Prone to the self harm that he is, at least. Having an out was the only relief he had of knowing that he’d likely outlive his lovers.
It had been hard enough with Nate, had taken him years to come back from it, and even then he hadn’t come back the same. What would the third do to him? “I guess it’s sort of poetic.” He admits, though all the teasing playfulness of the irony is completely gone, left behind a dull quiet of exhaustion and quiet simmering frustration. “My father will get what he wanted after all.” He can’t refrain now, even with her standing in his arms, to withdraw and reach for that burning pack of cigarettes in his pocket, slipping one out and placing it between his lips, lighting it with a match that he conveniently douses with a flick of a wrist of water magic. “I’m sorry.” He says around the smoky inhale, though whether he means over his immortality, or his inability to quit just yet.
the flood
// of our disaster when we left this town
you can rely on me, i will always let you down //
you can rely on me, i will always let you down //
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.
