lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was
“I do forgive you.” The butcher hums, though whether it’s regarding the playful correction or the issues from earlier, it’s up to Danta to decide. And it’s with slow blinks up at the Maverick as the blood is swiped from his mouth, nodding slowly in agreement to bringing water, that the butcher lets a small smile linger on his lips.
It’s probably for the whole setting himself on fire, to be honest.
His eyes close as Danta presses a kiss to his forehead, and he immediately mourns the loss of the blonde’s warmth in his lap the second it’s gone. But he stands after, with the Maverick’s help, of course. Swaying for a moment before he places a hand on the top of his desk, immediately into the ash left behind. He takes the Maverick up on his offer, though, snaking a non ashy hand around Danta’s middle, leaning into him just enough to be guided out the back.
He finally breathes a deep sigh of a sound when the cool air hits his face — greeted with the scent of lingering heat in the base of the Last Whisper, of paint from being warmed up. He reaches up to brush his hair back with his free hand, leaving marks of ash behind along his forehead. “It was easier to forget how much I had to drink when I was not moving.” He admits, flashing a small sharp smile over to Danta.
It’s probably for the whole setting himself on fire, to be honest.
His eyes close as Danta presses a kiss to his forehead, and he immediately mourns the loss of the blonde’s warmth in his lap the second it’s gone. But he stands after, with the Maverick’s help, of course. Swaying for a moment before he places a hand on the top of his desk, immediately into the ash left behind. He takes the Maverick up on his offer, though, snaking a non ashy hand around Danta’s middle, leaning into him just enough to be guided out the back.
He finally breathes a deep sigh of a sound when the cool air hits his face — greeted with the scent of lingering heat in the base of the Last Whisper, of paint from being warmed up. He reaches up to brush his hair back with his free hand, leaving marks of ash behind along his forehead. “It was easier to forget how much I had to drink when I was not moving.” He admits, flashing a small sharp smile over to Danta.
Astaroth
say your prayers now
