hold me tight or don't

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

Oblivious to the shadow that has swatted Danta, at least until he opens his eyes and sees the flicker of his shadow being a menace. Not entirely sure what it means, he sighs a little more contently to feel the press of the Maverick’s warm lips to his forehead, relaxing a fraction more to feel the hand thread through the dark hair at the nape of his neck. Another kiss is pressed, before the blonde slips out of his lap and Asta lets the blanket fully fall, straightening up and pressing against his face a little before he stands.

Slipping on his clothes as well, leaving the waistcoat behind, the butcher’s shirt is billowy as it is wrinkled from the heap on the floor, still smelling of the Hanged Man, Flora’s perfume, and liquor. “Anything will help.” He agrees a touch wearily, before he nods his agreement to being ready. His tail sways low above the floor and he gestures for Danta to lead the way, following not unlike a lost dog to be guided to the space it might be okay to let loose.

Distantly he thinks of the ramphire herd that Isla had shown him, wondering if perhaps taking one by surprise in its slumber might be the best option for them at the moment. And unfortunately, another bloodbath after Danta had just cleaned him up from the last one.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //