ghost towns

/// come close to midnight, hell fade me down
and then my eyes got used to the darkness

Whether Danta does or doesn’t make his horns disappear, the butcher is well versed in his movements surrounding them. Stroking through the blond, gilded strands and beads and whatever other trinkets he’s chosen to slip into his hair that day while simultaneously dragging the calloused pad of his fingers along the prismatic diamond horns, careful as always to not prick himself on the sharp edges. It’s an easy distraction while his other arm is looped around him, tail connecting them all the same too, even if he bends a bit away to allocate for Danta’s attempt to unbutton his waistcoat.

He gets it open easily enough, the flare of heat from his chest is sweltering, even as he surges in with the assurance that Danta’s hands will find their way underneath it, to warm up pressed against his scarred chest and back. “Alright.” Asta hums softly, lips quirking up in that traditional smile of his with the assurance and the promise that he would do whatever it took so long as Danta never hated him for it.

At least not permanently. “Now, shall we hope that a wicker woman does not find us?” He asks in a conspirators whisper, brows lifting as he twists his head to press both against Danta’s cheek in turn but to also give him a way to glance around as if he hadn’t checked this particular spot before now for the annoying, deadly trees.

Astaroth

and everyone that i knew,
was lost and so long forgotten after you ///