so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats
He listens to the whisper, barely above the hum of the wind whistling through the branches. It’s cool and cold against the slick blood, but at least Longheat meant it wasn’t too cold to worry about frostbite. “I almost… Almost reacted like I would have before.” He starts to say, cutting himself off to take another measured breath. “But I realized it may not help get you… out of it.” Which is why he’d taken it.
Which is why, rather than having a body of scars given by himself and the gore crows of the Climb, it will have the addition of Danta’s own. And he doesn’t mind it. Even if Danta would likely refuse to look at that portion of flesh the blade is currently sticking out of.
It’s with confidence that the butcher’s sure he’ll be fine that grants him the moment of hesitation. The way he leans into Danta’s help and presses his weight and his clumsy kiss to his lover’s cheek. The bloody, sticky kisses left behind are ones that relaxes Asta more than just talking about it could, and so it’s with measured breaths and equally measured steps that they head toward the Infirmary. Thankful that they hadn’t drifted too far away from the rest of civilization.
He can’t help the way his head swings toward his lover, though, when Danta’s voice whispers and tells him the next plan, and if his stomach wasn’t already torn up by the pain of the blade jutting out of him, it would flip with the suggestion. “Are you.. Sure?” He asks, bewildered and surprised, but curious nonetheless.
If Danta thought it would help, he'd do it. Even if he's positive it was the worst possible fucking idea.
Which is why, rather than having a body of scars given by himself and the gore crows of the Climb, it will have the addition of Danta’s own. And he doesn’t mind it. Even if Danta would likely refuse to look at that portion of flesh the blade is currently sticking out of.
It’s with confidence that the butcher’s sure he’ll be fine that grants him the moment of hesitation. The way he leans into Danta’s help and presses his weight and his clumsy kiss to his lover’s cheek. The bloody, sticky kisses left behind are ones that relaxes Asta more than just talking about it could, and so it’s with measured breaths and equally measured steps that they head toward the Infirmary. Thankful that they hadn’t drifted too far away from the rest of civilization.
He can’t help the way his head swings toward his lover, though, when Danta’s voice whispers and tells him the next plan, and if his stomach wasn’t already torn up by the pain of the blade jutting out of him, it would flip with the suggestion. “Are you.. Sure?” He asks, bewildered and surprised, but curious nonetheless.
If Danta thought it would help, he'd do it. Even if he's positive it was the worst possible fucking idea.
Astaroth
so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine
