Astaroth
// but if you think I'm misery,
The worst part about being muddy is not only the fact that it’s dirt and buried into the butcher’s facial hair and along the panes of his face and horns and clothing – but that it’s cold too. He hardly looks presentable, which is probably to be expected, but it’s still enough to piss him off a little more.
He tries to swallow it down as he stands, ensuring his footing is alright with the added boon of the shovel to keep him upright as his arms ache in a pulsing manner, only to be pulled down for a very much needed kiss of warmth. Melting a touch internally at the thoughtfulness Danta always seemed to harbor, the butcher squeezes his arm gently in a quiet thanks, pressing his muddy forehead against Danta’s to share a little bit of the dirt before they withdraw. “You are right far more often than I used to give you credit for.” Comes the softer tease, the way his tail slowly stops whipping around in his anger but instead flicks behind him in a smoother motion as the rage calms down.
Watching – and following Danta the best he can where he picks his steps to not slip and fall again, he arrives beside the Maverick, fully content to ignore the previous job he had in favor for helping Danta release this wheel from the grip of the mud. “I would love to, darling.” He hums as he suddenly decides fuck it and sinks to his knees beside Danta to help with his hands – the shovel falling into the mud to be abandoned for the time being.
He's already this messy, could it really get worse than this? He doesn’t think so. It gives him enough sense to ignore the clinging sensation on his skin to reach in and help remove handfuls of mud until the wheel becomes more and more visible with their efforts. He’s surprisingly quiet (or maybe not so much surprising) given the still simmering frustration he tries to channel into the clean up rather than anything else. But it’s still visible in the warbling of the shadows clinging to his shoulders.
He tries to swallow it down as he stands, ensuring his footing is alright with the added boon of the shovel to keep him upright as his arms ache in a pulsing manner, only to be pulled down for a very much needed kiss of warmth. Melting a touch internally at the thoughtfulness Danta always seemed to harbor, the butcher squeezes his arm gently in a quiet thanks, pressing his muddy forehead against Danta’s to share a little bit of the dirt before they withdraw. “You are right far more often than I used to give you credit for.” Comes the softer tease, the way his tail slowly stops whipping around in his anger but instead flicks behind him in a smoother motion as the rage calms down.
Watching – and following Danta the best he can where he picks his steps to not slip and fall again, he arrives beside the Maverick, fully content to ignore the previous job he had in favor for helping Danta release this wheel from the grip of the mud. “I would love to, darling.” He hums as he suddenly decides fuck it and sinks to his knees beside Danta to help with his hands – the shovel falling into the mud to be abandoned for the time being.
He's already this messy, could it really get worse than this? He doesn’t think so. It gives him enough sense to ignore the clinging sensation on his skin to reach in and help remove handfuls of mud until the wheel becomes more and more visible with their efforts. He’s surprisingly quiet (or maybe not so much surprising) given the still simmering frustration he tries to channel into the clean up rather than anything else. But it’s still visible in the warbling of the shadows clinging to his shoulders.
then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //
it never leaves me alone, no //
