i will never go backwards, i will never be seen
in the wake of disaster ...
in the wake of disaster ...
Oh, and she’ll see the soft twist of his features, even as he tries to keep them buried down. There’s a glimmer of that soft adoration when he hums his “thank you, my dear.” He doesn’t want to dwell on all the tidbit, nitty gritty information regarding his and Danta’s sleeping quarters – but there is an air of love that blossoms in his chest, a flower unfurling as he thinks about how open the Maverick had been to creating the den they slept in, if only because Asta had always felt more comfortable within the confines of one.
He's pushed out of it by the need to focus on her and what they’re here for – and decidedly not for him to wax poetic about his lover that had quite literally only stemmed from the fumbling the butcher had done with Flora. He’s simply glad to be able to spend time with her as he is now, comfortable, content, and the two of them impeccably dressed, mistaken for a couple. “Well, I had heard about the lily, yes. Saving the Mathair, however, has not reached my ears.” Tilting his attention away from where he’s busy scanning the area for any potential threats, the butcher flashes her a shark toothed grin, only to let it break into something far less mischievous and playful. “Oh?” Raising a dark brow, he fully embraces the hint of gossip that were typically shared by old ladies getting too much into other people’s business.
Anyway, he is observant when he wants to be, and despite the stress over the whole boggart ordeal, he had noted a bit of a spark there when it came to the two (and of course, rumors do have a tendency to flit across the winds, even regions apart). Of course, he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise – instead, letting his honey dark gaze flit to hers to let her gush about her partner. “Do not keep me in suspense, darling, I might very well perish from the wait.” Pulling her a touch closer, playfully eager. And if his possessive look with her around his arm means that people continue to leave them alone and make up their own stories, well, Astaroth won’t complain.
He's always been a fan of tea.
He's pushed out of it by the need to focus on her and what they’re here for – and decidedly not for him to wax poetic about his lover that had quite literally only stemmed from the fumbling the butcher had done with Flora. He’s simply glad to be able to spend time with her as he is now, comfortable, content, and the two of them impeccably dressed, mistaken for a couple. “Well, I had heard about the lily, yes. Saving the Mathair, however, has not reached my ears.” Tilting his attention away from where he’s busy scanning the area for any potential threats, the butcher flashes her a shark toothed grin, only to let it break into something far less mischievous and playful. “Oh?” Raising a dark brow, he fully embraces the hint of gossip that were typically shared by old ladies getting too much into other people’s business.
Anyway, he is observant when he wants to be, and despite the stress over the whole boggart ordeal, he had noted a bit of a spark there when it came to the two (and of course, rumors do have a tendency to flit across the winds, even regions apart). Of course, he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise – instead, letting his honey dark gaze flit to hers to let her gush about her partner. “Do not keep me in suspense, darling, I might very well perish from the wait.” Pulling her a touch closer, playfully eager. And if his possessive look with her around his arm means that people continue to leave them alone and make up their own stories, well, Astaroth won’t complain.
He's always been a fan of tea.
Astaroth
will you sink down to me?
