// i am the righteous hand of god //
A whisper of sound in the back of his mind, one that fades amongst the nightmare that’s got him in its grip. Despite the plush comfort of the bed, to Astaroth in his dreaming state, it’s nothing more than the hard volcanic ground of the Climb, of arms that are bound by his wrist in metal spikes nailed to the ground. And no matter how much the butcher tries to pull his arms to his chest, to try and ward off the crows and the heat, it does nothing but dig into the sensitive flesh just beneath his palm.
So he does what he can, snapping teeth, destroying a pillow in the aftermath, the soft feeling of the downy feathers that erupt from the pillows bloom across his skin, adding another kind of feeling to the nightmare that seems off and enough that it can start to drag him out of it. The careful touches the Maverick provides, the gentle words, it all lulls him away from that edge, so much that the tension starts to bleed, his heartbeat starts to smooth from its rapid pace, and in this combination of sleep and a small amount of lucidity, his arms immediately crash into his chest hard enough to wake him up, his hand wrapped around his wrists as he blinks awake with a shivering gasp.
Blearily he takes note of the feathers all around, the white downy feathers and the destroyed pillow coating his arms and sticking to his beard in varying places, he’s silent as he moves his wrists into view as if expecting them to be coated in blood, relaxing only when he sees them perfectly unharmed.
So he does what he can, snapping teeth, destroying a pillow in the aftermath, the soft feeling of the downy feathers that erupt from the pillows bloom across his skin, adding another kind of feeling to the nightmare that seems off and enough that it can start to drag him out of it. The careful touches the Maverick provides, the gentle words, it all lulls him away from that edge, so much that the tension starts to bleed, his heartbeat starts to smooth from its rapid pace, and in this combination of sleep and a small amount of lucidity, his arms immediately crash into his chest hard enough to wake him up, his hand wrapped around his wrists as he blinks awake with a shivering gasp.
Blearily he takes note of the feathers all around, the white downy feathers and the destroyed pillow coating his arms and sticking to his beard in varying places, he’s silent as he moves his wrists into view as if expecting them to be coated in blood, relaxing only when he sees them perfectly unharmed.
Astaroth
// i am the devil that you forgot //
