[SE] love you 'til I rust

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

The idea of Frey’s Breath is a siren song, even before disaster strikes. It’s a welcome reprieve to the already sore muscles that will undoubtedly grow even more sore with the work he does today. “I think we should do that regardless, darling.” Even if the shower was perfect and everything they needed.

And that’s what keeps him going to fight off the burn of use in his arms as he shovels and Danta works to free the wheels. It’s right as disaster strikes that the butcher’s tail whips his frustration as he peels himself from the mud, hissing slightly as he swipes away the mud lingering on his cheekbone. His tail continues to whip around, launching little flicks of mud here and there before Danta’s hand is seen as an offering to get back up out of the mud. “I am fine.” He mutters, even as shadows appear and roil from his shoulders.

Taking his lover’s hand, he slowly gets back up to his towering stature, bending to snag the muddied shovel now and using it like his cane as he takes in the mess he’s made of himself. “This will be a nightmare to clean up.” He whines, focusing on the clothes and not the bruise to his ego for having essentially thrown himself into the mud.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //