one hundred sleepless nights

// light shines in the darkness //

"You," Danta says slowly, an indulgent smile spreading across his lips, "could never be fodder, Asta. You don't know how." Given that the Maverick doesn't actually know the specifics of what taking on such a role meant for the Whitebrim cannibals, it's perhaps not the compliment he makes it out to be. But hey, since arriving at the Hollowed Grounds, he can't say there's a damn thing wrong with the butcher's libido. (Case in point: fucking look at the state of them right now).

Asta continues, though, and Danta listens with curiosity, his fingers gently mapping the scars on the other man's back, the ones he's coming to know quite well, all the while ensuring his touch remains gentle so as to not agitate the still healing bruises. "Huh - I had no idea," he admits, wondering if he's the very first Ancient to receive such an honour, or if there had been others within The Climb Asta would have spoken with.

Huffing out a breath as the butcher suddenly drops onto his chest, the Maverick can't help but chuckle. "Come on now - there's no might about it. I'll definitely torment you with them, especially if you keep that up." He's not heard much of the Whitebrim accent, but he can't say he dislikes it coming from Asta's lips.

Dantalion

// and the darkness will never understand it //