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
“That’s correct.” Astaroth practically purrs with the idea of it – because the butcher is opinionated and nine out of ten times, he’ll let you know about it (once he’s done observing of course). But he relishes in the meantime of the heat outside along with the heat from the cocoa, choosing home because he’s gotten what he wanted out of this rendezvous. His mood has improved, he’d gotten the streak of chaos out in the face of the burnt shirt cuff, and he feels far less likely to go on a murder rampage when he has Danta at his side.
It's the perfect balm to the anger that had encroached in, closing like a cage around his throat, mind, and heart. And for a man who has only just opened up to the idea of wearing a muzzle, a cage of anger poking and prodding him is the last thing he wants. “Good.” Asta hums, gladly taking Danta’s hand for the help up. He’s steadier now when he stands (not by much, but enough to make it work), but that doesn’t mean he fully intends on keeping an inch of separation between them, made easier with how Danta’s tail curls and intertwines with his own. Call it protectiveness, call it petty jealousy from earlier, but a part of him is more than happy to flaunt being the shining ruby in the Maverick’s clutches.
The walk is easier and he doesn’t feel like his lungs are going to fall into his stomach, and thankfully the stairs go down rather than up (a balm to his old bones), but it’s enough to distract him in ensuring that he can walk better than before, mug still in hand, as he hears Danta’s voice. Immediately capturing his gaze, the smile that blooms on Danta’s lips is one reflected in the butcher’s own – wider, offering a grin, but sly nonetheless. “Of course you can, darling. I would love to do that.” He'd be lying if he wasn’t curious to see what Danta could do. Yet something tells him that he won’t be able to outdo himself from the Sparkbird’s Nest, even if their feelings were actually said out loud these days, even if the Sparkbird’s Nest had been everything but a date.
It's the perfect balm to the anger that had encroached in, closing like a cage around his throat, mind, and heart. And for a man who has only just opened up to the idea of wearing a muzzle, a cage of anger poking and prodding him is the last thing he wants. “Good.” Asta hums, gladly taking Danta’s hand for the help up. He’s steadier now when he stands (not by much, but enough to make it work), but that doesn’t mean he fully intends on keeping an inch of separation between them, made easier with how Danta’s tail curls and intertwines with his own. Call it protectiveness, call it petty jealousy from earlier, but a part of him is more than happy to flaunt being the shining ruby in the Maverick’s clutches.
The walk is easier and he doesn’t feel like his lungs are going to fall into his stomach, and thankfully the stairs go down rather than up (a balm to his old bones), but it’s enough to distract him in ensuring that he can walk better than before, mug still in hand, as he hears Danta’s voice. Immediately capturing his gaze, the smile that blooms on Danta’s lips is one reflected in the butcher’s own – wider, offering a grin, but sly nonetheless. “Of course you can, darling. I would love to do that.” He'd be lying if he wasn’t curious to see what Danta could do. Yet something tells him that he won’t be able to outdo himself from the Sparkbird’s Nest, even if their feelings were actually said out loud these days, even if the Sparkbird’s Nest had been everything but a date.
Astaroth
say your prayers now
