so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
It is a reversal, and Asta likely will have a lot of moments to think about this and how to better handle Danta’s nightmares in the future. But for now? It doesn’t help anything. The blade is still sticking out of his chest, the blood continues to weep and wick into his clothing and onto his fingers, already having dried previously from the blood of their hunt. It’s slick and hot and he measures his breaths despite the adrenaline that wishes for him to start panting. Instead, Asta’s slow and careful to not push the blade deeper in, nor to take a big breath that might have it doing more damage than it already had.
“Okay.” He says at first, shifting a touch as Danta guides him to his knees, helping him up until he can press one hand down on the sodden, bloody ground, the other still pressed against his chest to keep the blade from slipping out. The grunt that leaves him is one the butcher tries desperately to swallow down but can’t. Danta’s hand is warm when it comes to help stabilize it. “You were dreaming.” Comes the weak protest, like he can’t truly blame Danta when it wasn’t really him.
Just like the butcher hadn’t really been the one the Maverick knows now.
He doesn’t hesitate when the option comes to get to his feet, the blade jostling only slightly in the attempt to stand, but he makes it with another growl and hiss of pain from the maneuvering. Expected as it was. It’s sharp and stinging and heavy with the blockade of the dagger still sticking out of him. His arm slips around Danta’s shoulders, and before they move further, the butcher’s tugging his lover a touch closer, pressing a clumsy kiss to the Maverick’s cheek. “I understand, darling.” He’d done it too. He gets it.
He understands how the regret will feel slick like oil, separating from the water of how things had been going. Coating anything that comes in and tries to escape. Perhaps his understanding will be a balm, the mix that makes it easier to swallow.
“Okay.” He says at first, shifting a touch as Danta guides him to his knees, helping him up until he can press one hand down on the sodden, bloody ground, the other still pressed against his chest to keep the blade from slipping out. The grunt that leaves him is one the butcher tries desperately to swallow down but can’t. Danta’s hand is warm when it comes to help stabilize it. “You were dreaming.” Comes the weak protest, like he can’t truly blame Danta when it wasn’t really him.
Just like the butcher hadn’t really been the one the Maverick knows now.
He doesn’t hesitate when the option comes to get to his feet, the blade jostling only slightly in the attempt to stand, but he makes it with another growl and hiss of pain from the maneuvering. Expected as it was. It’s sharp and stinging and heavy with the blockade of the dagger still sticking out of him. His arm slips around Danta’s shoulders, and before they move further, the butcher’s tugging his lover a touch closer, pressing a clumsy kiss to the Maverick’s cheek. “I understand, darling.” He’d done it too. He gets it.
He understands how the regret will feel slick like oil, separating from the water of how things had been going. Coating anything that comes in and tries to escape. Perhaps his understanding will be a balm, the mix that makes it easier to swallow.
Astaroth
so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
