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+---- Thread: witching hour (/showthread.php?tid=9854)
witching hour - Dantalion - 07-24-2024
Everything is fine, objectively. Right? Nothing to complain about. Void-tainted wicker woman, dead. Asta, dead fully healed by a busty, starry-eyed goddess. All is well with the Outer Brambles, the Hollowed Grounds, the world. For now, anyway, according to everyone they pass and the patrons within the Dusklight. And so Danta has been fine, too, if not a little manic, a little too much, like there's something trying to burst out from the seams of him and it's all barely contained.
But they muddle through. Flora heads home, back to tropical cocktails and sandy beaches, night falls, and things just keep ticking on.
Danta doesn't know when it happens, exactly, or at what point his legs are taking him away from the festivities that the Dusklight's main floor has to offer, but he finds himself having slipped away and up the stairs towards his rooms. It shouldn't take as long as it does to unlock his door, but his hands won't seem to stop shaking, and it feels as though someone has placed a large stone on his chest that he has to try to breathe around somehow.
Either way, the door does open eventually, and he leaves the keys where they fall as his fumbling hands can't quite keep hold of them. Exhaling a breath he can't seem to catch again, he shakes out his fingers and moves to the fireplace so he can brace his arms against the mantelpiece and just think for a second.
RE: witching hour - Astaroth - 07-24-2024
Confusion flares for hours within the Butcher’s mind. So much so that he can tell something is off from the way the Maverick moves, the way he takes part in the festivities in ways that are not inherently characteristic of himself. But he isn’t concerned just yet, not as he vanishes to his room to clean up, to come to terms with what happened, how he was perfectly fine now despite being very much not fine.
So much that when he emerges again, new clothes, dried blood cleared from his skin, he notices one thing immensely wrong. Danta’s vanished. There’s a yawning void in his stomach that burns and grows rapidly, enough that he asks those in the front of the Dusklight, where the Maverick has gone.
So he finds himself drifting up the path to the other Ancient’s room after many minutes allowed for the blonde to think, his hand reaching for the door knob, twisting it to find it unlocked and promptly closes his eyes upon opening it further. He doesn’t want to ruin the day more should Moira be within the room. “[say]Danta, darling, is everything alright?[/say]” He asks softly, the subtle undertones of is Moira here? Should I go??
RE: witching hour - Dantalion - 07-24-2024
Flinching and not knowing why at the sound of the door, Danta swallows hard around the thunder of his own heartbeat, glancing over his shoulder towards where Asta's voice had come from. [say]"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"[/say] he asks, his voice rougher than he would like. [say]"It's fine, I-- it's just me,"[/say] he clarifies, forcing in another trembling breath and wondering why it feels like the walls just crept ten feet closer at all angles, or why his body can't decide if it's too hot or too cold.
Squeezing at the stone of the mantelpiece and forcing himself to straighten up, he rakes shaking hands back through his fair hair and closes his eyes, as if the darkness might somehow illuminate the things he doesn't understand. [say]"You don't have to wait on me,"[/say] he says hurriedly. [say]"You can... I'll be down in a bit."[/say]
RE: witching hour - Astaroth - 07-24-2024
“[say]You just vanished.[/say]” He supplies instantly, with no judgment but an air of concern to hear the roughness of the other Ancient’s voice. At the clarification, though, he steps in further, opens his eyes and as he closes the door behind him while remaining facing the Maverick, he takes in every single instance of just how much Danta is off.
The shaking hands, the stuttering, all of it scream a sort of panic in his mind that has that void widening, yawning, sharp teeth churning within him. He breaks the distance nearly immediately as Danta speaks again, reaching out with a featherlight touch to his elbow as he joins him at the fireplace, his fingertips warm to the touch. “[say]I would prefer a quiet moment, personally.[/say]” Or a quiet night. “[say]Something tells me you might like one too.[/say]” His gaze drifts from the shaking Maverick to the fire, even as he opens up his arm to try and allow Danta to slip in against his side, against his warm embrace.
RE: witching hour - Dantalion - 07-24-2024
[say]"I said I'm fine--"[/say] Danta snaps without meaning to, his arm jerking away from the other man's touch as if it's something unexpected, but of course that only adds a slick layer of guilt into the other storm of feelings churning in his gut. [say]"It's just... it's been a long fucking day, Asta."[/say] The words rush out in one breath, because he can seem to remember how to regulate speaking and breathing at the same time, which is stupid because when has he ever had to think about it?
[say]"I just need a - a second, okay? It's... it's fine, I'm fine, you're the one who--"[/say] Fuck, he can't even say it without seeing it behind his eyes again, but what's the problem, Danta? The butcher was fixed up lickety-split, by a goddess as well, no harm done, no big deal. [say]"It's not... it's not about me. I didn't - you almost-- fuck."[/say]
Accompanying the curse by a swift kick to one of the logs stacked and ready to go into the fire, evidently it's a lot heavier than the Maverick has been expecting, and he bites back an even worse stream of swears to stumble conveniently into the butcher's side.
RE: witching hour - Astaroth - 07-24-2024
Danta’s snap reaches the butcher’s ears and he is completely and utterly unphased by it. He gets it, even as the Maverick jerks away from the touch, though it doesn’t stop him from trying later on. If anything, Astaroth is numbed right now. Like he hasn’t come to terms with anything just yet or even thought about much aside from the fact that he was alive, some other goddess had healed him completely, and he got absolutely rocked by a stupid fucking tree. “[say]Trust me, I know.[/say]” He comments softly, slowly starting to piece together what the blonde is going through.
He's panicking.
Which only serves to make the please he wasn’t sure if he truly heard earlier all that much more real. And it reminds him of the way they had strayed too close to the fire too many times and shied away time and time again. So he stays silent, because the moment calls for it, letting him speak and wind up and spin out, only to kick a log that doesn’t budge (to which the butcher winces slightly at the sight of it), before the Maverick is stumbling into his side.
This is his opening. The arm tightens around him and drags him into his chest, his other hand propped on the mantle because he knows better than to completely trap the Maverick. He gives him the potential of an out should he want it. He’s learned. “[say]I have not processed it completely just yet. What I do know, darling, is that I am here.[/say]” Living, breathing, in the flesh, as it were.
“[say]And that it is very strange to have Safrin heal oneself. I feel like I may bleed starlight.[/say]” It’s fading now, of course, but he can still feel it lingering. He wonders if that’s part of the mental fog of not coping with it yet. “[say]But my ego is quite fragile and I am not ready to come to terms with the fact a fucking tree got the best of me.[/say]” His voice dips a little into the Whitebrim tones, grittier and a touch playful as if to say; come back from that edge – listen to my voice – I am here, I am here, I am here.
RE: witching hour - Dantalion - 07-25-2024
Not expecting the arm that folds around him, Danta almost falls into the offered embrace, his head buried against the crisp, clean collar of Asta's new shirt, hands clutching at the fabric that bunches near his lower back. With his fists clenched the trembling in his hands feels as though it vibrates through his entire body, and even as the butcher stands here, alive and warm and solid, the Maverick still feels the urge to try and put him back together, as if the glamour might fall away at any moment.
[say]"No, you don't--"[/say] Understand? Feel real? Seem bothered by any of this?
[say]"And I can't--"[/say] Breathe? Shrug this off? Lose you?
All but gasping out a breath into the crook of Asta's neck, something claws up Danta's throat and scrapes against the backs of his eyes, and he presses himself away from the other man as if needing to hold him at arms length without entirely letting him go. Blinking quickly, it's with a pulse to rival that of a hummingbird's that he glances fleetingly up towards the butcher, cold blue eyes made warm by the firelight. [say]"I thought you were about to die."[/say]
RE: witching hour - Astaroth - 07-25-2024
He lets Danta sink into him, he lets him react however he wants to (or doesn’t want to), content to let him push him away or pull him in, allowing him the space to come to terms with everything that’s happened. A low hum leaves him in response to the initial comment, letting the vibrating, stressed out man decide what he needs in the moment. He hopes it’s him.
He really hopes it’s him.
His arm is warm and solid against Danta’s shoulder, holding him tight as he can before the blonde is pulling away abruptly, the firelight reflecting in the space opened between them as he drops that arm from Danta’s shoulder, both hands moving to rest on top of the other Ancient’s hands that hold him at an arms distance. “[say]I know.[/say]” He drawls softly, head tilting as the fire reflects in his eyes and the fiery sheen his dark horns produce. “[say]I thought I was about to as well. But I didn’t. I am here. It will be okay.[/say]” He steps forward into that space Danta’s created, hands both lifting to try and cup his jaw, spreading his fingertips through blonde roots, pressing against a rabbiting pulse. “[say]Breathe with me.[/say]” Comes the quiet hum, before the butcher takes a long and slow inhale, exhaling it long and slow after.
RE: witching hour - Dantalion - 07-25-2024
[say]"It doesn't feel that way--"[/say] Danta objects. It doesn't feel okay, or as though everything has been tied up in a neat little bow. It's as though his body is still back in the woods in the handful of seconds prior to Safrin's appearance. He can smell Asta's blood in the air, hear it bubbling in his lungs with each breath, feel the way his body is broken and wrong even as he helps him to his feet, and gods there's just nowhere for him to put those sensations now that they're wiped clean as if they didn't happen.
Still, with the butcher's hands as anchor points over his own, and then the distance closing between them, the Maverick closes eyes that are starting to prickle with unwanted emotion. He's at least still himself enought to scowl and swat at Asta's chest with a bitten out, [say]"I don't want to fucking breathe with you--"[/say] before his body is complying for him.
Forcing a slow inhale into protesting lungs and letting it out in a shuddering sigh, it takes a handful of repetitions where the only sound comes from the crackling fire, before Danta is relaxed enough to step properly back into the other man's space, winding both arms and tail around him as if to fit perfectly against his body. [say]"That really scared me, out there,"[/say] he admits in a whisper.
RE: witching hour - Astaroth - 07-25-2024
No, it doesn’t feel okay. And he knows that. He doesn’t feel okay fully either, not with the starlight still burning through his body. “[say]I know.[/say]” Comes the quiet rumble, even as he cups the Maverick’s face, makes his request, lets Danta throw as much of a fit as he wants. Luckily, he isn’t hurt anymore, so having the Theocrat swat at his chest, he’s met with the heavy scarring beneath the crisp shirt.
But then, he can feel the rush of breath, he can feel the other man’s fight give up, he easily opens up for the exhausted Ancient to crumble into his open arms, hands lowering from his face to slide over his shoulders and tighten the embrace against his chest, tucking Danta’s head into his neck against his mostly steady heartbeat. His tail winds around Danta in turn, both of them pressed as tightly together as can be.
“[say]I am sorry.[/say]” He apologizes on a breath, cheek pressing against the somewhat sharp spikes that bloom from the diamond horns, uncaring if they prick and leave marks. “[say]I didn’t realize what was happening until after, and I think I was more angry about it than anything. I still am.[/say]” He admits, his jaw setting tight right after.
RE: witching hour - Dantalion - 07-25-2024
[say]"You didn't do anything wrong,"[/say] Danta mumbles, his voice muffled against the other man's chest, his ear pressed against the steady thud of Asta's pulse as if he might try to match it to his own. Even as they stand together his hands can't stop their wandering now, pressing gently against places he knows were wet with blood or soft with shattered bones, and though it might look like the intimate pawing of a lover, the Maverick is almost scientific in his explorations.
[say]"Even the strongest of us get unlucky,"[/say] he points out, not that he expects it to do much against the butcher's fury. And there's little Danta can do right now to quell that fire, should it start to blaze out of control; emotionally drained to the point of it being physical, it's all the Maverick can do just to stand here now.
[say]"You don't... you can go and enjoy yourself, you know,"[/say] he adds belatedly, as if suddenly embarrassed by the intensity of the feelings that had seized him. [say]"You don't have to stay here with me."[/say] Suffice to say, though, that Danta is done with the festivities right now.
RE: witching hour - Astaroth - 07-25-2024
With his arms looped the way that they are, Danta is free to run his exploration. There’s no pain, no wincing, no gashes or wounds, no too soft spaces where hardened bone or scars should be. “[say]I know.[/say]” He says by means of not doing anything wrong. He knows he didn’t, but it felt right to say it anyway.
What the Maverick says next has a deep chuckle vibrating through him, exhaling in a sigh even as he presses his head down a bit harder against the top of his head again. “[say]I am not the strongest these days.[/say]” As evidenced by Flora’s ability to call down a literal goddess and the work done by her blades and strength.
Immediately shaking his head, Astaroth receives a small slice on his cheek for the trouble, though he cares very little. “[say]Darling, I do not wish to be anywhere else but here.[/say]” With you. What enjoyment is there out there when you’re not a part of it?
RE: witching hour - Dantalion - 07-25-2024
[say]"You are plenty strong,"[/say] Danta objects as his hands run the full length of Asta's spine as if to check that all is in order. [say]"It isn't either of our faults that the world is full of demigods and void creatures from outer fucking space these days."[/say] Wrinkling his nose, his fingers smooth around to check the butcher's ribs before finally dropping to loop gently around his waist.
It's the scent of blood - of Asta's blood, particularly, and it's true that he can likely pick it out in a crowd at this point - that finally has the Maverick peeping up at him, as if honing in on all of the injuries he's known were lurking just beneath the surface all this time. Feeling a fresh wave of heat flood through him and his breath stutter in his chest, it's blessedly only a cut to the cheek, one caused by the diamond spikes of his own horns, no less.
Huffing out the breath he'd been holding and trying (and failing) not to look relieved to hear that the butcher is staying put, Danta leans in to press his lips to the bleeding cut, as if to kiss away the crimson. [say]"Good,"[/say] he murmurs against the other man's cheek. [say]"Then will you please come to bed with me? I feel like I'm dying."[/say]
RE: witching hour - Astaroth - 07-25-2024
“[say]That’s true.[/say]” He murmurs, though he doesn’t seem too pressed by anything right this second. Perhaps it’s the starlight still in his veins, the fact he feels better than ever even as it fades hour by hour. Whole and knitted back together, the butcher nearly sags into the touch as Danta’s hands loop around his middle.
But he pricks himself and the scent of iron is a brief and fleeting thing in the air.
As the Maverick pulls back, Astaroth blinks down at him as the small bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He notes the relief, drawing some for himself as warm lips find the small nick, not that Asta was going to complain about having the Theocrat’s attention. “[say]Gods, yes. Of course, darling.[/say]” He breathes out his own relief, already starting to pull Danta with him toward the bed, angling his head enough to steal a proper kiss from the Maverick in the process. “[say]You’re not allowed to die either, you know.[/say]”