the wind around the willow

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

With the soft rumble of Asta’s own laughter thrumming through his chest and against his ear, Danta is already feeling some part of him that has been coiled tight enough to crack start to knock loose. Shivering out a breath and reluctantly peeling himself back, he follows the butcher over to the temporary den they’ve made, tail flicking restless and low at his heels. He peers over his lover’s shoulder, still half disbelieving, to watch him rummage through the pack, eyes widening at the glint and shimmer of the mythical feather as he withdraws it.

There’s no mistaking it for anything else, Danta half wanting to reach for it and half not daring to, like he’s afraid he’ll somehow wipe away the magic with his touch. ”And you’ve just… had it ever since?” The laughter that wants to rush out of him is hysterical and barely contained, at risk of turning into a sob if he lets it. Instead, rubbing at his eyes, he reaches back for Asta to all but drape himself against the other man, nosing against the side of his neck and inhaling a slow, deep breath scented with blood and smoke and honey.

”Gods, I wish I had known that yesterday,” he whispers, his voice rough with relief and exhaustion. ”Not that it it makes what happened any better, but…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, assuming Asta already knows where his thoughts are going.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash