mississippi boys, inner city boys

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

His arm tightens imperceptibly, the hand that had been stroking through his hair shifts to focus on dragging his thumb gently along the curve of his jaw. “Yes, but…” Astaroth begins with a quiet, contemplative breath of a sigh. “People are not property.” He murmurs gently, as if that was all the points he needed to make. Just because Danta didn’t know better at the time and felt that it was how life should go, didn’t mean that she had the right to take what life the Maverick could have had away from him. It didn’t give him the right to punish for varying bullshit reasons, either.

Yet here they are. The butcher wrapped around Danta tightly as if somehow worried if he were to let go that Danta might vanish into thin air and this entire thing would have been a long dream. “I am glad you wake up away from it, too.” He agrees, because it’s the easiest thing to say from him and mean every ounce of the word. But the next one is softer and just for his ears only as he nestles his head down a little to press his lips to the Theocrat’s ear. “I am also selfishly glad for the days I get to wake up with you.” Because, not unlike Danta, living in solitude his entire life, he hadn’t known what it was like to have continuous touch – the second the Maverick had opened the door, the butcher hadn’t been able to go long without it.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart