my, my, those eyes like fire, i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre
come now, bite through these wires,
come now, bite through these wires,
“That is true.” The butcher admits a touch awkwardly as Danta points out the truth that cannibals didn’t live in Whitebrim anymore. And as far as he’s concerned, the only ones he’s encountered aside from himself had been found here. So really, new traditions could be made if warranted or wanted, but it was still enough to have his mind running in circles.
He sees the way Danta leans in, as if considering to shut him up, but he thankfully pauses to announce the answer even if he still feels as though he’s a heater – the flush leaving little reddish hued patches along his neck and a portion of his shoulders. His head tilts into the thumb that brushes against his cheek and his hands drop to wrap around Danta’s lower back again, scanning his face for the answer when it comes.
The butcher is infinitely internally pleased to see that he isn’t shying away from the topic, and instead offers his own truth. “A party after, then.” The butcher murmurs, finding some strange semblance of hope or optimism blooming in the dark corners of his chest. “So you are not entirely opposed to the idea?” He asks, tilting his head to press a kiss to the palm of his lover’s hand where it sits at his cheek.
He sees the way Danta leans in, as if considering to shut him up, but he thankfully pauses to announce the answer even if he still feels as though he’s a heater – the flush leaving little reddish hued patches along his neck and a portion of his shoulders. His head tilts into the thumb that brushes against his cheek and his hands drop to wrap around Danta’s lower back again, scanning his face for the answer when it comes.
The butcher is infinitely internally pleased to see that he isn’t shying away from the topic, and instead offers his own truth. “A party after, then.” The butcher murmurs, finding some strange semblance of hope or optimism blooming in the dark corners of his chest. “So you are not entirely opposed to the idea?” He asks, tilting his head to press a kiss to the palm of his lover’s hand where it sits at his cheek.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
