reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
He has his moniker for a reason, of course. The butcher aptly does as he’s been named for, focusing on portions of Morgen that he prefers, alongside those of Danta’s preferences he’s picked up. For each blade he swaps to and the blood that coats the pale clothes and his bare hands, the butcher carves the wrangler like a thanksgiving day turkey, collecting and harvesting, offering portions out for his lover to sate him.
It’s a gloriously dark date, all things considered, and he keeps the wrangler alive long enough for him to step aside and leave room for Danta’s approach, beckoning his lover with bloodstained lips twisted into that dark, beautiful grin. “Would you like the honors, love?” Comes the deep and heady purr Morgen carved enough to see the slowing beating of his heart.
It’s a gloriously dark date, all things considered, and he keeps the wrangler alive long enough for him to step aside and leave room for Danta’s approach, beckoning his lover with bloodstained lips twisted into that dark, beautiful grin. “Would you like the honors, love?” Comes the deep and heady purr Morgen carved enough to see the slowing beating of his heart.
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
