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’s the tears that glint as they follow the already there tracks that hurt more than anything else has. It doesn’t even compare to the blade Danta had sunk in between his ribs. It’s a different kind of hurt. Physical he was used to. Half the time he hardly felt it anyway with the rope like scars on his chest.
Emotionally? It has been a very long dance of Asta pushing away everything just so he can be precisely the man that doesn’t feel this pain. So when it happens, it’s sharp. It’s blindsiding. It’s agonizing. But he’s standing, meeting Danta’s gaze with the quiet promise of keeping his haunt buried down so far that it’s almost like it’s completely gone. Like he can pretend it’s days ago when it hadn’t even registered on his radar as being something off. “Okay, love.” He says quietly, aiming for the gentlest, most personal term of endearment between them, even if he can’t quite help the way his voice seems equally as quiet.
Leaving everything behind in the office, the butcher steps forward, crossing the distance carefully as Danta becomes corvid, and he thanks Dygra again and again for the crow charm on his wrist when he reaches up to carefully grasp the Maverick, cradled into his arms that are laden with tension from wanting to smooth the ruffled feathers but unsure if it’s okay to do so.
Instead, he makes the quiet and silent trek to the stairs that lead to their bedroom, taking each step one at a time, the only indicator of pain being the brief flares of his nostrils and the near silent hitches of breath until they reach the top and he can carefully shoulder their door open to get them inside and to close it again with his tail, not even looking back as he heads for the den of their bed, sparking fire within the fireplace to bring light and warmth to their equally frozen limbs.
Emotionally? It has been a very long dance of Asta pushing away everything just so he can be precisely the man that doesn’t feel this pain. So when it happens, it’s sharp. It’s blindsiding. It’s agonizing. But he’s standing, meeting Danta’s gaze with the quiet promise of keeping his haunt buried down so far that it’s almost like it’s completely gone. Like he can pretend it’s days ago when it hadn’t even registered on his radar as being something off. “Okay, love.” He says quietly, aiming for the gentlest, most personal term of endearment between them, even if he can’t quite help the way his voice seems equally as quiet.
Leaving everything behind in the office, the butcher steps forward, crossing the distance carefully as Danta becomes corvid, and he thanks Dygra again and again for the crow charm on his wrist when he reaches up to carefully grasp the Maverick, cradled into his arms that are laden with tension from wanting to smooth the ruffled feathers but unsure if it’s okay to do so.
Instead, he makes the quiet and silent trek to the stairs that lead to their bedroom, taking each step one at a time, the only indicator of pain being the brief flares of his nostrils and the near silent hitches of breath until they reach the top and he can carefully shoulder their door open to get them inside and to close it again with his tail, not even looking back as he heads for the den of their bed, sparking fire within the fireplace to bring light and warmth to their equally frozen limbs.
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
