[it doesn't feel kind, but it doesn't feel malicious, either. it feels like facing one of his S-Classes, actually. power that can be used to help or hurt. a lever that can move the world in a certain direction, if it's placed right, weighted correctly. treated with enough of something -- love, hate, violence, the choice to do without -- to make a choice.
between one moment and the next, it transforms into something more than a star: it becomes a great, blazing eye.
it blinks at him. it doesn't seem hurt or offended by his touch.]
[goes very still in lieu of letting go. he probably should let go--if this is some kind of powerful tool, it could hurt him, even on accident. but he also doesn't want this eye to immediately vanish if he does release it.]
[the huge, feathered head the eye belongs to makes itself visible against the sky only by finally moving, gently bumping up against his hand like a giant cat.
(it's not a bird's head, quite, and neither is it quite a dragon's. it's something very much in between.)]
[his breath catches as he tips his head back to take in...whatever it is. in his head he's already decided it's some type of dragon, even though it's not wholly that. he cannot help it if his mind leans more towards a type of creature he has a fondness for. the hand that was holding onto that blazing eye shifts to brush along its face, gently petting in response to the bump]
[there's a lazy wash of memory in response to that: a sense of being weighed down, warm. dizzy and trying to find his bearings. someone's hands petting his...feathers...? that he doesn't normally have? the sense of that being anchoring, somehow.
this creature knows him. there's a subliminal rumble against his fingers. no threat. no fear.]
[he would know if he had seen this creature before. he's not one to forget a thing like that. his hand keeps moving, keeps petting as he tries to remember where they might have crossed paths before. whenever he thinks he's got a faint grasp on it, the impression turns fuzzy and fades. it's hard to think of anything too solid when he's letting himself be drawn in by the memory. when nothing comes to mind he lets the thought slip away and simply leans in closer.]
[it leans heavily into the petting, eye going half-lidded. a huge wing folds out of nowhere, wraps him in closer.
warmth, easing away the pain in his gut, letting his ragged breath come easier. there's a hand on his back moving in slow, soothing circles, an arm around him, a shoulder against his face. a comfort so rare it comes with almost no sense of familiarity. no one usually gets this close. no one usually sees him this vulnerable. embarrassment warring with gratitude, the conflict barely perceptible under the sheer white noise that's been made of his thoughts.]
[startles in the folds of the wing, a quick little shock to his system as his face heats up. this feeling he can place all too easily. it makes him flounder and pull back, embarrassment momentarily winning out. there's a faint, apologetic feeling back, an I didn't mean to pry before his heart calms. if he wasn't supposed to feel this, he probably wouldn't be able to. it's become a habit to ask permission rather than just see and feel; it's strange to have this so freely given.
oh so slowly he reaches back out with both hands, letting the pads of his fingers press into warm feathers.]
wry humor, under the lingering embarrassment and deep drained weariness. what a question, after all this. but he understands. it's a relief to have someone who wants to hear this sort of thing, actually, instead of just deflecting it when it's freely said.
[leans in and presses his whole face into the feathers a mumbles,]
Don't be embarrassing.
[resumes petting with a more practiced movement--he knows how to find a good spot by just feeling the reaction of whatever is under his hands, whether it leans in or purrs or pulls away. maybe if he's distracted he won't be able to pull up any more embarrassing memories.]
[the rumbling gets a little louder, understated but positive, and the sense of warmth doesn't fade. no more embarrassing memories for now, at least not in so much detail.
there is a strong and recent association with the petting, though: that sense of grounding. of some kind of relief from the day. of finally getting to lie still, the soft weight of feathers overhead and the smell of crushed grass in his nose, and to stop moving and doing, even if it was only for a minute. even if it was strange and stressful, he did like that.]
[a little knot in his heart untwists as he takes these little pieces and combines them with the knowledge that Minuet said his body felt better, after. so it wasn't all bad. it's a relief to know he could have a moment of peace in all the chaos.
he works his fingers into the feathers, reaching for a good spot, intentionally trying to make that rumble even louder.]
You should relax more often. Nothing's going to fall apart if you take it easy for a while.
[fellas is it weird if both parties both feel a lot better about giving or getting affection if one of them has temporarily masked up behind a combination of like four different associations with the word 'inhuman' to do it with
anyway he's not getting argued with per se but more and more wings are certainly coming into existence to curl protectively around him, so there is that]
[this seems like a perfectly normal dream interaction though!!
he took the huff as a soft argument--though, really, any attempt at extended conversation ought to wait until they can both speak, so he lets it go. this doesn't need to be a time for talking. his eyes move to the wings curling around him with curiosity; it seems like too many wings to be wrapping around him at once? how did he get this many wings. somewhere in the back of his mind he makes a note that Charon might have a fondness for feathers. it's soft and comfortable in a way he hasn't felt in weeks, and after a long moment of internal deliberation he lets himself sink into them with a sigh. his blinks go long and heavy as he deliberately relaxes.]
[he doesn't even fight the impulse to rest; his eyes drift closed, though he keeps working through feathers with steady, gentle hands. he can take his own advice. they can rest.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: [night 25]
between one moment and the next, it transforms into something more than a star: it becomes a great, blazing eye.
it blinks at him. it doesn't seem hurt or offended by his touch.]
Re: [night 25]
Hello?
Re: [night 25]
(it's not a bird's head, quite, and neither is it quite a dragon's. it's something very much in between.)]
Re: [night 25]
[his breath catches as he tips his head back to take in...whatever it is. in his head he's already decided it's some type of dragon, even though it's not wholly that. he cannot help it if his mind leans more towards a type of creature he has a fondness for. the hand that was holding onto that blazing eye shifts to brush along its face, gently petting in response to the bump]
...Hi there.
Re: [night 25]
this creature knows him. there's a subliminal rumble against his fingers. no threat. no fear.]
Re: [night 25]
[he would know if he had seen this creature before. he's not one to forget a thing like that. his hand keeps moving, keeps petting as he tries to remember where they might have crossed paths before. whenever he thinks he's got a faint grasp on it, the impression turns fuzzy and fades. it's hard to think of anything too solid when he's letting himself be drawn in by the memory. when nothing comes to mind he lets the thought slip away and simply leans in closer.]
Re: [night 25]
warmth, easing away the pain in his gut, letting his ragged breath come easier. there's a hand on his back moving in slow, soothing circles, an arm around him, a shoulder against his face. a comfort so rare it comes with almost no sense of familiarity. no one usually gets this close. no one usually sees him this vulnerable. embarrassment warring with gratitude, the conflict barely perceptible under the sheer white noise that's been made of his thoughts.]
Re: [night 25]
oh so slowly he reaches back out with both hands, letting the pads of his fingers press into warm feathers.]
Re: [night 25]
wry humor, under the lingering embarrassment and deep drained weariness. what a question, after all this. but he understands. it's a relief to have someone who wants to hear this sort of thing, actually, instead of just deflecting it when it's freely said.
"Yes."]
Re: [night 25]
Don't be embarrassing.
[resumes petting with a more practiced movement--he knows how to find a good spot by just feeling the reaction of whatever is under his hands, whether it leans in or purrs or pulls away. maybe if he's distracted he won't be able to pull up any more embarrassing memories.]
Re: [night 25]
there is a strong and recent association with the petting, though: that sense of grounding. of some kind of relief from the day. of finally getting to lie still, the soft weight of feathers overhead and the smell of crushed grass in his nose, and to stop moving and doing, even if it was only for a minute. even if it was strange and stressful, he did like that.]
Re: [night 25]
he works his fingers into the feathers, reaching for a good spot, intentionally trying to make that rumble even louder.]
You should relax more often. Nothing's going to fall apart if you take it easy for a while.
Re: [night 25]
Re: [night 25]
I'm right. Don't try to argue with me.
[fully sinks into this giant creature's face and spreads his hands out as wide as they'll go, giving attention to every part of him in reach]
Re: [night 25]
anyway he's not getting argued with per se but more and more wings are certainly coming into existence to curl protectively around him, so there is that]
Re: [night 25]
he took the huff as a soft argument--though, really, any attempt at extended conversation ought to wait until they can both speak, so he lets it go. this doesn't need to be a time for talking. his eyes move to the wings curling around him with curiosity; it seems like too many wings to be wrapping around him at once? how did he get this many wings. somewhere in the back of his mind he makes a note that Charon might have a fondness for feathers. it's soft and comfortable in a way he hasn't felt in weeks, and after a long moment of internal deliberation he lets himself sink into them with a sigh. his blinks go long and heavy as he deliberately relaxes.]
Re: [night 25]
Re: [night 25]
Re: [night 25]
this dream will hold him for a while. peace.]