// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //
The heat has sunk into the Last Whisper, drawn down into the bones and brick of the Dusklight. It radiates, drawn in like a breath that’s held too long, but one that the butcher absolutely thrives in. Especially right now, with very little plans in mind aside from wasting time away with his fiancé. It isn’t really wasting time, as far as Asta’s concerned, having very little other ways he’d prefer to spend time these days anyway.
They’ve slept in, long enough to wash away the adventures in the jungle and emotional gymnastics the proposal had been, and he’s half curled up into Danta’s elbow he thinks when the sun beams him directly into his eyes. Drawn awake by the blinding light, its to a scowl on his face that the butcher promptly blinds himself when he opens his eyes to try and see what the cause is, only to huff a little sound and twist his head to where he can press his eyes and face into Danta’s shoulder.
He’s extremely unwilling to part from the warmth of the bed and the blankets tossed around, but he does shift himself to sit up a little more fully, his hand running through his sleep tossed hair to try and tug the knots out of it. It’s gotten long again, likely needs a trim here in the future, but for now he’s content to quietly (as much as he can, at least), slowly come to terms with being awake.
Dark eyes drop to take in the Maverick, the play of the sun that hasn’t hit his face yet (he’s a lucky man, in more ways than one), and he finds he can’t help himself but to admire him and just how lucky he is. Trying hard as he can to avoid waking the other Ancient, lest he’s already starting to wake up, he lets his hand start to smooth back the golden strands of his hair with gentle strokes, deftly avoiding the sharp tines of diamond that spread a prismatic sheen on the ceiling just above them.
They’ve slept in, long enough to wash away the adventures in the jungle and emotional gymnastics the proposal had been, and he’s half curled up into Danta’s elbow he thinks when the sun beams him directly into his eyes. Drawn awake by the blinding light, its to a scowl on his face that the butcher promptly blinds himself when he opens his eyes to try and see what the cause is, only to huff a little sound and twist his head to where he can press his eyes and face into Danta’s shoulder.
He’s extremely unwilling to part from the warmth of the bed and the blankets tossed around, but he does shift himself to sit up a little more fully, his hand running through his sleep tossed hair to try and tug the knots out of it. It’s gotten long again, likely needs a trim here in the future, but for now he’s content to quietly (as much as he can, at least), slowly come to terms with being awake.
Dark eyes drop to take in the Maverick, the play of the sun that hasn’t hit his face yet (he’s a lucky man, in more ways than one), and he finds he can’t help himself but to admire him and just how lucky he is. Trying hard as he can to avoid waking the other Ancient, lest he’s already starting to wake up, he lets his hand start to smooth back the golden strands of his hair with gentle strokes, deftly avoiding the sharp tines of diamond that spread a prismatic sheen on the ceiling just above them.
Astaroth
// and i'll paint it red //
