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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach
Closing his eyes, this time in exhaustion, Danta lets himself be directed towards the plush sheets and furs of his bed, such that the kiss that finds his lips is something of a surprise. Melting instantly into the affection, it's with his fingers already slipping up and through the back of Asta's hair that the backs of his legs hit the bed, and the Maverick immediately sinks down and draws the other man over the top of him.
"My track record thus far is much better than yours, when it comes to not-dying," he points out, brushing his nose against a bearded cheek even as his hands slip around to start unbuttoning Asta's shirt. It's not even sexual at this point - Danta is in no state, and panic isn't one of his kinks, apparently - but as he makes short work of the garment and draws it back over the butcher's shoulders, his eyes are drawn, as if in evidence, to the still fading scars against his collarbone and forearm.
"This is, what, the third time for you?" Between his bloodbane, what had happened with Maea, and the tree anyway. "I'm going to need you to start taking better care of yourself."
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
He goes easily as Danta pulls him down with him, hands bracing on either side of the Theocrat as he presses a fraction harder into the kiss, soaking in the warm hands that run through his dark hair. Parting so that the blonde can speak, hovering so that his hands can work to deftly unbutton the butcher’s clean shirt. “Sure, sure. The point still stands, darling.” He drawls, pressing his bearded cheek into the lips that trail there, along the small little scrape.
Asta’s hands lift while Danta pushes his shirt back, running up under the Maverick’s own shirt in order to remove it easier, fingertips craving the warmth of skin to skin.
“Mm, something like that.” He says by means of near death attempts, not following Danta’s thought process to a complete and utter T. “I have not used my bloodbane since then,” that’s one attempt, “I will apparently be more cautious around sentient trees,” there’s the second, and in a move of misunderstanding (or perhaps not giving Maea the satisfaction of kicking his ass so well,) “and I do hope that there will not be a witch hunt over my proclivities with how little I indulge these days.” Not even thinking of Maea, Astaroth thinks his third near death attempt had been before he’d turned Ancient, when he was tied down in the Climb as punishment.
Either way, the butcher sits up a bit straighter, slipping Danta out of his shirt before he folds it nicely and sets it aside, then shrugs out of the rest of his own shirt to do the same with it, letting the Maverick work at the button of his pants and his belt, should he wish to.
all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach
Grumbling something under his breath - because the point may still stand but until he’s managed to panic the shit out of the butcher in as many occasions as Asta has done to him, Danta is convinced that things are very much one-sided here. Luckily enough, he’s distracted by removing the other man’s clothes, by his warmth and the weight of his body pressed down against him.
Shifting just enough to allow Asta to get him out of his shirt, Danta manages to remove his belt before his fingers are distracted by the patchwork of scarring that covers the butcher’s chest. With gentle, almost reverent touches, he explores the silvery marks as if seeing them properly - along with the meaning behind them - for the first time. ”No witch hunt if I have anything to say about it,” he confirms. ”And even if there was, they’d have to get through me to get anywhere near you.”
A little too true, maybe; a little too close, but Danta had dropped the invisibility shrouding him and had placed himself between Asta and the wicker woman before he’d even noticed he was doing it.
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
The shirts are removed, neatly folded, and in that time the Maverick has slipped his belt off before the warmth of his hands smooth against his chest, over the patchwork of scar tissue. This time, the blonde’s touch feels different, a gentle touch like he’s committing each and every press and swooping swipe of rough scar tissue to memory.
His dark gaze scans Danta’s face, listening to the words that slip out even as he tries not to read too deeply into them. He’s starting to realize it, though, even more so than he had previously in Levinsward. This time, though, the butcher knows better. So instead, his hands find Danta’s shoulders, running his warm palms up the sides of his neck before drifting back into his blonde hair.
“They would have to get through me to get to you as well.” He hums, a mutual agreement, not voicing the truths that week after week seem to become more relevant.
Cupping Danta’s face, Astaroth presses his chest harder against the hands against his scars, leaning in to share his warmth and to steal another kiss, like a vow that neither of them would be subjected to any of the torture they’d gone through before. Not if they had anything to say about it.
07-27-2024, 02:22 PM (This post was last modified: 07-27-2024, 02:24 PM by Dantalion.)
all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach
Leaning up to meet the other man’s lips, Danta doesn’t realise how much he craves and enjoys Asta’s touch until he receives it. Once he might have lied said it could be anyone, that any warm body would do, but it’s a slowly dawning reality that the Maverick craves the calloused hands and honeyed words of the butcher more than anyone else’s. Parting just enough to snatch in a breath and to let his hands drift up and around Asta’s shoulders, Danta leans in to press his forehead against the other man’s.
”I don’t think I could do this without you any more, you know.” he mutters. ”This whole Theocrat thing, I mean. So it’s probably in the best interests of the Grounds for you to keep yourself safe.” And me, of course. Always me.
Letting one hand slip between them, Danta makes short work of unbuttoning Asta’s pants and follows suit with his own; it doesn’t much matter how it’s done, only that the Maverick soon wriggles free of his clothes and settles himself in the crook of the butcher’s neck, lips pressed to the place where he can feel the dull thud of his pulse. He doesn’t care if it’s dangerous given the nature of Asta’s nightmares - Danta can handle anything after the afternoon’s horror show, as far as he’s concerned.
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
The kiss soothes any lingering doubts or worries once again, enough that the butcher presses into it however long that Danta can stand it – after all, Astaroth still felt like he was buzzing with starlight in the face of the panic attack the blonde had just gone through. So when he parts, their foreheads meet, his horns careful to not knock into Danta’s own, his arms move to slide down the blonde’s sides in a gentler, more reverent touch. “We have been meaning to begin training again.” A playful reminder that leaves his lips, moving just enough to rid the both of them of the rest of their clothes, until their warm bodies can press against each other again.
To this, Asta fights with keeping Danta pressed up against his neck and simultaneously trying to drape the blankets and furs over them, tangling his legs with the Theocrat’s and his tail like an anchor, his bearded cheek presses in against the top of blonde curls. “You should get some rest, darling.” He hums, arms winding around Danta’s middle, one walking his fingertips up his spine to the blonde that he runs his fingers through in gentle, soothing strokes.
all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach
”Tomorrow, then,” Danta confirms, of restarting their training. ”Or perhaps the day after. I did make those plans for you with Flora, after all.” Normally such a remark would have been accompanied by a playful smirk from the Maverick, but of course currently he can only feel a mild sort of resentfulness about it. It’s of no fault of Asta or Flora of course, and he’ll still insist that the butcher goes - he just selfishly wants him to himself for now.
As such, he’s entirely compliant in Asta’s attempts to drag the furs and blankets over them, shifting as best he can until they are caged in heat and comfort, though the taller Ancient’s prompting draws a grumble of protest from Danta’s throat. ”I’ll do my best,” he says through a sigh, nestling further against Asta’s neck. From this angle he can see and hear the blood pumping through the butcher’s veins, the rise and fall of his chest, and while Danta would have liked to watch it all night to ensure his safety, he’s fighting a losing battle, and in only a few minutes, he’s passed out and snoring into Asta’s neck.
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
“I do owe her now, don’t I?” He says with a soft huff of a laugh, still under the impression of it being nothing more than a friendly get together (which he will learn was simply misreading the entirety of it because it was an actual date. Remaining blissfully unaware, though, was better for the butcher, especially when his focus was entirely on the shorter Ancient in his arms, tucked in against him to keep him as close as can be, while trying to ensure that he keeps his teeth to himself.
As Danta gets more comfortable, Asta still feels the thrumming of starlight fading in his veins, and it keeps him up long enough to hear and feel the snoring of the Maverick in his arms and against his neck. "Goodnight, Danta, darling." His hand continues to stroke gentle patterns into his shoulders, a silent little lullaby until he manages to set aside the vibrating starlight to nod off himself.
It isn’t so much of a physically exhausted sleep that the butcher finds himself in, as it is an emotionally exhausted one. Hours pass without the butcher doing so much as moving, aside from breathing. Until in the early hours of the morning when the light starts to filter through does Astaroth start to twitch and try to toss and turn – made more difficult with how his arms have wrapped around Danta, as if to drag him with as he grows suddenly restless in his sleep, his jaw clacking suddenly with a sharp snap of sound that thankfully is no where near the blonde Ancient's face or extremities.
all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach
Joke’s on Asta, because Danta has no chance of sleeping well beyond the initial couple hours of exhaustion that seize him, letting the adrenaline settle into his bones like ash atop a recently extinguished fire. Soon after, though, he’s awake enough that he can track the rise and fall of the butcher’s chest as he sleeps, and once he starts, he absolutely can’t stop - just in case, understandably. If Danta looks away, perhaps the other man’s heart will stop and his body will still; he doesn’t make the rules of anxiety, after all, he’s merely a slave to them.
As such, he’s already levering an elbow beneath him as he feels Asta start to toss and turn, seizing his opportunity to bully his way against the other man’s back and shoulders just as his teeth lunge and snap around the empty air. ”You're dreaming,” he whispers into the soft space beneath Asta’s ear, his arms snaking around him to pull him close. ”Wake up, I’ve got you.”
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
It might be a slow rise and fall of his chest at first, but it isn’t something that lasts. And Danta’s anxiety would be greeted with the tossing and turning, the sharp inhale of his breath and the way he seems to hold it in ways that suggest that in his dreamlike state that he isn’t sure whether or not he can actually breathe.
Teeth lunge and snap, his body tenses hard when Danta maneuvers him, bullying into holding him, pulling him close. Despite Danta’s shorter stature, he is stronger than the butcher, and when he struggles in his sleep against it, there’s a deep guttural whine that escapes his throat, twisted now onto his side where hands find Danta’s wound around him and grip onto them tight, face and horns pressed into a pillow that certainly does not last with the way the prongs of his horns tear and how his sharp teeth bite down hard against the very same pillow, tearing through the fabric. Despite Danta’s attempts so far, nothing has gotten through to him just yet.
all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach
”Hey, you’re okay,” Danta murmurs into the space just beneath the butcher’s bearded jaw, stroking gentle fingers across skin cross-crossed with scar tissue, despite the grip the other man has on his arms around him. ”You’re safe, I promise.” He knows better than to shake Asta awake, the Maverick shifting only a fraction as sharp horns and sharper teeth make short work of yet another of his pillows, sending feathers scattering across the sheets with Asta’s movements.
Adjusting only enough to nose into his dark hair, it might be a surprise to some that Danta has done his best to learn about night terrors since the first one that had almost taken out his throat. And despite how he wants to try and nudge the butcher towards wakefulness, if Asta does fall back into a deeper sleep (so say the medics, anyway), he isn’t likely to remember this nightmare.
And so, providing the taller Ancient doesn’t wake himself up, Danta is content to continue to whisper reassurances until the moments play themselves out to a conclusion.
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
A whisper of sound in the back of his mind, one that fades amongst the nightmare that’s got him in its grip. Despite the plush comfort of the bed, to Astaroth in his dreaming state, it’s nothing more than the hard volcanic ground of the Climb, of arms that are bound by his wrist in metal spikes nailed to the ground. And no matter how much the butcher tries to pull his arms to his chest, to try and ward off the crows and the heat, it does nothing but dig into the sensitive flesh just beneath his palm.
So he does what he can, snapping teeth, destroying a pillow in the aftermath, the soft feeling of the downy feathers that erupt from the pillows bloom across his skin, adding another kind of feeling to the nightmare that seems off and enough that it can start to drag him out of it. The careful touches the Maverick provides, the gentle words, it all lulls him away from that edge, so much that the tension starts to bleed, his heartbeat starts to smooth from its rapid pace, and in this combination of sleep and a small amount of lucidity, his arms immediately crash into his chest hard enough to wake him up, his hand wrapped around his wrists as he blinks awake with a shivering gasp.
Blearily he takes note of the feathers all around, the white downy feathers and the destroyed pillow coating his arms and sticking to his beard in varying places, he’s silent as he moves his wrists into view as if expecting them to be coated in blood, relaxing only when he sees them perfectly unharmed.
all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach
Flinching a fraction as well at Asta’s sudden and jerky movement, Danta is instinctively ready to have to hold the other man down, just in case his subconscious has decided to fight more actively against the nightmarish assailants. But with the shuddering intake of breath he hears, the Maverick realises it’s quite the opposite, and he relaxes his head into the crook of Asta’s neck, adjusting his grip into something gentle and almost protective.
”You’re safe,” he reiterates, a hand slipping up to encircle one of Asta’s wrists, thumb grazing against the soft skin there. ”Safe in the Dusklight in the Grounds, away from The Climb. It’s the middle of the night, and there’s nothing and no one else around.” It’s as much as he can try to give in terms of context, the Maverick nuzzling closer against Asta’s back and exhaling softly into his shoulder.
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
Coming to terms with all of his surroundings is a lot, but at least he isn’t outwardly aggressive this time. Danta’s secret lessons on how to deal with nightmares has worked, even if it hadn’t dragged him back into a deeper sleep. Instead, he’d woken up surprisingly gently all things considered – even if his chest feels a little sore from where he’d smacked his arm into it, but with the realization that he’s on a bed, not in the Climb, no sticky blood or pain to be found aside from that, and with the warmth of Danta wrapped around him – well, it makes for a relatively tame cannibal.
Dark eyes track the hand that circles his wrist and he exhales a slow sigh, clinging to the words and Danta’s voice like they’re a lifeline, to the warmth that blooms against his shoulder from the Maverick’s exhaled breath. There’s no scent of blood in the air, just a destroyed pillow, and that also helps to relieve his mind as it starts to come back to him. “I didn’t—” He starts to say before a feather tickles precisely in the wrong spot where it was stuck in his beard, poking at his nose, immediately sneezing and interrupting what he was trying to say.
Which then only sparks the butcher to start trying to swat away the feathers around and on his face.
