there's an angel on your story and a demon in your bed
feels a bit surreal, feeling bad, don't feel it yet
feels a bit surreal, feeling bad, don't feel it yet
Something is wrong.
And the most infuriating part? He can’t tell what it is. He knows that he wakes, that the muted morning of Leafchange filters into the window, blocked by the velveteen curtains draped around their den. It hadn’t been enough to wake him, though. And as he takes in the familiar environment, searching for something out of place, he comes up absolutely empty.
He looks to his side, to see Danta nestled in, the way the light picks up against a few stray strands of gold, sparking them into the same brilliance a flashlight might have, echoing gentle shadows against the smooth and slightly raised scars that litter his lover’s skin. But that hasn’t changed, either, and as far as he can tell Danta seems to be sleeping very well.
It’s a boon, of course, because it grants him some small amount of time to figure his shit out. Something he doesn’t manage to do when the overwhelming sense of greed overtakes him. So he stuffs the sensation down, the possessiveness weighing out over the mind that’s sleepy in the morning wakefulness that only tea seemed to shake him out of. He isn’t calculating or thoughtful right now. He isn’t any of the things he often prided himself on being.
There’s the shuffle outside of their door, the usual morning arrival from the Dusklight staff of water and restocks from nights before when they’d run out of something or other. And he knows, logically, that it’s likely their usual breakfast that’s been dropped off. But the butcher’s tail whips his distaste under the sheet after he’d thrown off the furs in his sleep. It has him turning toward Danta, arms wrapping around the Maverick to tuck him in close, to take a moment to make sure the door was locked (and perhaps to send his shadow over as a blockade juuuust in case), when he turns back to Danta and buries his face into his neck, pressing surprisingly soft kisses to the hollow of his throat and shoulder that are at odds with the war waged within him mentally.
And the most infuriating part? He can’t tell what it is. He knows that he wakes, that the muted morning of Leafchange filters into the window, blocked by the velveteen curtains draped around their den. It hadn’t been enough to wake him, though. And as he takes in the familiar environment, searching for something out of place, he comes up absolutely empty.
He looks to his side, to see Danta nestled in, the way the light picks up against a few stray strands of gold, sparking them into the same brilliance a flashlight might have, echoing gentle shadows against the smooth and slightly raised scars that litter his lover’s skin. But that hasn’t changed, either, and as far as he can tell Danta seems to be sleeping very well.
It’s a boon, of course, because it grants him some small amount of time to figure his shit out. Something he doesn’t manage to do when the overwhelming sense of greed overtakes him. So he stuffs the sensation down, the possessiveness weighing out over the mind that’s sleepy in the morning wakefulness that only tea seemed to shake him out of. He isn’t calculating or thoughtful right now. He isn’t any of the things he often prided himself on being.
There’s the shuffle outside of their door, the usual morning arrival from the Dusklight staff of water and restocks from nights before when they’d run out of something or other. And he knows, logically, that it’s likely their usual breakfast that’s been dropped off. But the butcher’s tail whips his distaste under the sheet after he’d thrown off the furs in his sleep. It has him turning toward Danta, arms wrapping around the Maverick to tuck him in close, to take a moment to make sure the door was locked (and perhaps to send his shadow over as a blockade juuuust in case), when he turns back to Danta and buries his face into his neck, pressing surprisingly soft kisses to the hollow of his throat and shoulder that are at odds with the war waged within him mentally.
Astaroth
it's a roulette kinda deal, black and red is what you get
