// you know that this could be your last day here on earth //
His limbs are still a touch unruly as he takes to the sky, focused so much on his wings that the second he actually takes in Danta’s appearance does he remember he has arms and legs. They tuck in against his scarred chest, the plates of dragonscale carved through in a rough mirror of the scars in his human form, though he hasn’t taken in his appearance in this shift too much to notice it at first.
It’s the screech of congratulations that the butcher mirrors with a low rumble of his own, joining Danta close enough that he’s sure he won’t run into him – quietly grateful for the approach his fiancé takes when it comes to giving him enough space to not spiral out of control. His wings flare again, beating against the thermals in the sky and catching on the winds, also uncertain exactly where they’re heading, but there’s nothing but firm adoration in Asta’s orange gaze as he watches his lover quite literally fly circles around him. With a huff of smoke from his nares, the scarred and bulkier dragon chirrups a sound of his own before he starts to test his limits.
Picking a random direction, he forces himself to gain speed and a touch more altitude – nothing outlandish, but enough that the desert beneath them begins to pass by in what felt like a blur, over the rise and fall of dust clouds likely formed by landsharks if he had to guess. But its at this speed that the butcher banks, curving on the wind with absolute apprehension and nothing but a roar of glee to find that it had worked to turn him without sending him spiraling in the air or crashing to the desert below. It’s still not that graceful, but it’s better, and he’ll take it as he seeks out Danta’s gaze with as much of a grin in this form as he can.
It’s the screech of congratulations that the butcher mirrors with a low rumble of his own, joining Danta close enough that he’s sure he won’t run into him – quietly grateful for the approach his fiancé takes when it comes to giving him enough space to not spiral out of control. His wings flare again, beating against the thermals in the sky and catching on the winds, also uncertain exactly where they’re heading, but there’s nothing but firm adoration in Asta’s orange gaze as he watches his lover quite literally fly circles around him. With a huff of smoke from his nares, the scarred and bulkier dragon chirrups a sound of his own before he starts to test his limits.
Picking a random direction, he forces himself to gain speed and a touch more altitude – nothing outlandish, but enough that the desert beneath them begins to pass by in what felt like a blur, over the rise and fall of dust clouds likely formed by landsharks if he had to guess. But its at this speed that the butcher banks, curving on the wind with absolute apprehension and nothing but a roar of glee to find that it had worked to turn him without sending him spiraling in the air or crashing to the desert below. It’s still not that graceful, but it’s better, and he’ll take it as he seeks out Danta’s gaze with as much of a grin in this form as he can.
Astaroth
// so buddy please, won't you smile just for me //
