Astaroth
// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //
He knows that he has been hers for centuries. He knows that it isn’t exactly what he’s asking, though. And he senses the fact that she understands just as much as he’s let on the truth of the matter. But before he has a chance to elaborate, there’s this unnatural pull against him, one that he knows isn’t from his own body and mind, because with the adrenaline of being called and seeing Dygra for the first time in the flesh, there’s very little that will try and drag him back under for a nap – a nap that sounds divine right now.
He’s helpless in the interim, the smile softening a touch, blinks becoming longer in between, but it’s the slap and the stinging to his cheek that straightens him up with a sharp inhale of breath – focusing back in, shaking his head to try and rid it of the sandman’s touch. And Dygra, blessed is he that she continues on like nothing had happened, while his cheeks flare a touch dark and he refocuses, tail flicking in jagged motions as he listens.
Knell is still growing, and he’s tried to impart some of his wisdom to her recently, but the point that his goddess makes is one that Asta will not pass up for anything. Flushed and a touch tingly, the butcher’s grin slips back into place – eager, bloodthirsty, wanting what she offers so dearly that the butcher only knows one answer. “We have a deal, Dygra, darling.” He hums, noticing the way her head tilts, the invitation there, and there’s very little apprehension when it comes to sealing the deal with her versus most others, because who is he in comparison to Her.
Shaking out the sleep a touch more from his mind, the butcher dives in with very little pomp and circumstance. Sharp teeth that mirror her own sinks into that milky pale neck, sealing this divine deal with an act that’s so inherently the butcher that it cannot be anything but perfection.
He’s helpless in the interim, the smile softening a touch, blinks becoming longer in between, but it’s the slap and the stinging to his cheek that straightens him up with a sharp inhale of breath – focusing back in, shaking his head to try and rid it of the sandman’s touch. And Dygra, blessed is he that she continues on like nothing had happened, while his cheeks flare a touch dark and he refocuses, tail flicking in jagged motions as he listens.
Knell is still growing, and he’s tried to impart some of his wisdom to her recently, but the point that his goddess makes is one that Asta will not pass up for anything. Flushed and a touch tingly, the butcher’s grin slips back into place – eager, bloodthirsty, wanting what she offers so dearly that the butcher only knows one answer. “We have a deal, Dygra, darling.” He hums, noticing the way her head tilts, the invitation there, and there’s very little apprehension when it comes to sealing the deal with her versus most others, because who is he in comparison to Her.
Shaking out the sleep a touch more from his mind, the butcher dives in with very little pomp and circumstance. Sharp teeth that mirror her own sinks into that milky pale neck, sealing this divine deal with an act that’s so inherently the butcher that it cannot be anything but perfection.
// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //
