now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence
won't accept your silence
His hands are gentle and warm, unflinching even when the croak comes. It’s so relieving, like the tension has drained from his shoulders in pure awe that he can sit here with Danta in his shift, hands smoothing out scrunkly feathers without a single moment of issue. Even as Danta moves as little as possible, as if unsure whether it would set him off, the butcher can assure him that it’s so far from his mind.
He does so by shifting slightly, feeling the puff of feathers beneath his hand before he’s carefully plucking Danta up from the little blankets, setting him into his lap as he presses his back against their headboard, shifting his lover so that he faces him with an easy smile on his face. His fingers brush against the soft feathers along his head and neck, brushing gently against his chest. “I did not realize you were this.. Soft?” He murmurs softly, fully invested in giving him all of the attention he’s wanted to in this shift but simply been unable to do.
He does so by shifting slightly, feeling the puff of feathers beneath his hand before he’s carefully plucking Danta up from the little blankets, setting him into his lap as he presses his back against their headboard, shifting his lover so that he faces him with an easy smile on his face. His fingers brush against the soft feathers along his head and neck, brushing gently against his chest. “I did not realize you were this.. Soft?” He murmurs softly, fully invested in giving him all of the attention he’s wanted to in this shift but simply been unable to do.
Astaroth
beg me for forgiveness
