tell me what you need

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

It is a very good thing that the butcher doesn’t have his illusion magic at the moment like he used to, but it only serves to make this moment less frightening as his grip tightens into the sheets, a hissed out sound as Danta moves, as hands find his hair in a gentle touch that should soothe his panic, but only serves to make him that much more tense. His tail has unraveled from the Maverick’s leg, lashing about beneath the blankets that cover them, and as his horn is tugged, Astaroth in his subconscious manages to twist enough to get his own elbow under him, pausing however briefly in a moment of stillness before he uses his freehand to grasp at Danta in some harried attempt to pin him, to snap his teeth, to wake with the sound and the confusion and realization that he’s in a bed.

It causes a scramble, a hissed out “oh fuck” as he promptly scrambles, a blanket wound around him as he scoots back and pushes himself away from Danta without any realization of where he is on the bed, only to promptly fall right off the edge onto the wooden floor with a loud thump. He doesn’t move, though, and if Danta scoots to the edge of the bed he’d see Asta with his hands covering his face, rubbing away some of the lingering dread of the nightmare.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //