#avarice drabbles

[blogfortheblorbosfnafdca]

Fnaf daycare attendent x reader on my mind today, I may have plenty of other writing projects I'm working on, but damn I do get some little inklings for them.

Honestly I don't even know what kind of au I'd write, I mean I love the more robotic aspect of the attendent. Both Sun and Moon struggling with the restrictions of Fazco is very tasty to me, I eat it up with a spoon every time. I like the readers who interact with them at the pizzaplex, either as mechanics, assistant attendants and so on.

One has gripped me more so recently. Bones-of-a-rabbit started it with their fic honestly, and it's an intriguing concept, a reader who is a staffbot. Call me a bit biased because I first got into the hype of the daycare attendent x reader thorough bamsara's fic. Joe the gas station bot is a noteworthy note. But I do love me some staffbots.

So an idea started forming after I watched markipler play help wanted 2. It's nothing I've really sat down and fleshed out, but I do like to expand it every now and again. I consider it my little thought project. Spoilers ahead. Also this gets a bit existential and angsty.

In one of endings it shows that the human becomes the mask bot in fnaf ruin. And there's this weird thought of, did the two switch places? Is the being swapped under the control of the whole virus thing? Can this process happen with anyone?

That's when I thought of, what if reader staffbot accidentally became human? At first they are ecstatic because now they don't have to worry about getting deactivated and they can do whatever they want now...right?

But they find that being human, while it has some perks, has even worse downsides than they couldnt have anticipated from just watching humans. Like for example, getting sick, joint problems, limbs can't be replaced easily, only one body, pain from anything, etc. What makes this worse is mainly the fact that now they don't have anyone they're familiar with anymore, the human family they end up apart of isn't their's, the friends that surround them are unfamiliar, the people they do know are all back at the pizzaplex and they won't recognize them as the staffbot they knew.

The reason why they wished to be human, becomes something of regret, because in losing the bots they cared about all they wanna do is reverse it. For mine in particular there's no way to do so, I don't know how it becomes irreversible, it's possible that it comes from Fazco's doing of erasing what they can of the glitch, which is the thing that even let the reader swap in the first place. They feel even more guilt because they also understand there was a human they swapped places with, which means their possible death or life stuck as a staffbot is their fault.

So they mourn their losses and decide to get to know their friends in the pizzaplex as a human. In hopes to create a better life for their friends as they have access to things they don't. And really? End goal? Probably helping them escape, because even if they couldn't escape as a staffbot without consequences, they'll make sure nobody else has to.

I don't know if this is like a rebuilt pizzaplex or an entirely new establishment. I don't even know what to do with this really, but I like unpacking 'becoming a real boy' trope. Also I have never seen it explored in this way I suppose, not with the 'Oh this is great cause I'm human now' like, c'mon, human bodies and living life as a human does have some real shitty things to deal with. We have some perks, but like would a robot really want to give up the ability to replace body parts for exact same body parts if needed? Or the fact that they can figure out problems faster because they don't have to worry about memory problems? A little bit of a ramble, I digress.

But yeah, I honestly would like to make this into something more, but right now I got other fanfics and I'm swamped with life right now, so my creativity is taking a hit. I've been playing around with this concept in my head for a while, just never executed it. If this ramble gives inspiration to you, please do @ me, I'd love to see what you've come up with!

[devildomwriter]

A Door to the Future | Mammon x Reader

.7K words | GN! Reader | CW: children

“Shit, which door did Barbatos say it was again…” Mammon walked down a corridor of doors in Barbatos’s room. He wasn’t even sure if he’d gone down the right hallway.

“Red door, red door…I think,” he mumbled as he strolled. His eyes lit up when he saw the door near the end of the hallway. “Bingo!”

He laughed to himself and sprinted to the door. He opened it up exited and waltzed right in when something collided with his leg.

“Hey!” He snapped instinctively before seeing the object was in fact a small boy.

“Oh shit, you alright kid…” Mammon asked and awkwardly crouched down to check on the boy. The boy looked up at him with bright blue eyes and Mammon raised one brow curiously.

“Hey, you kinda look like—“

“Papa!” The boy exclaimed and clung to Mammon’s leg. “I thought I didn’t get to say goodbye.” He sobbed and Mammon froze awkwardly.

“Yeah…um…here I…am?” Mammon was beyond confused and his instincts were telling him this definitely wasn’t the right door.

“Mammon, is that you?” Mammon froze when he heard your voice. Suddenly you appeared before him, older and more graceful than before but just as beautiful.

Mammon’s cheeks flushed when he saw you. “Oh, uh—“

You hugged him excitedly. “Good, I was worried Matty missed you.” You sighed in relief and Mammon looked around the room anxiously.

What was happening? Where did this door lead?

“Why don’t you have some coffee before you go, you can’t run off to work like that without breakfast,” you told him and he nodded wordlessly.

Wasn’t this the house of Lamentation? Something felt different about it. Mammon saw toys scattered across the floor and when he waltzed into the dining room behind you he saw six chairs instead of eight.

This made Mammon uneasy. Was everyone okay?

“Six…” you heard Mammon mumble worriedly.

“Did you forget? Leviathan and Asmodeus are visiting later so I brought the extra chairs out.”

Mammon noticeably relaxed when he felt Matty cling to his leg again. Mammon wasn’t sure what to do and kept walking, dragging the other leg behind him as the boy laughed excitedly.

“Daddy?” Mammon gasped and looked behind him where he saw a young girl, the spitting image of himself.

She wore a backpack and her hair was in a sloppy ponytail. She looked confused and possibly annoyed?

“Why aren’t you at work? Are ya skipping again?” She glared teasingly.

You laughed and Mammon shook his head, “I ain’t skippin’!���

“Ava, don’t tease your father so much,” you scolded and Mammon audibly gulped.

“F-fath—“

He was cut off when he heard Barbatos’s voice in his head.

“Mammon, return. Now.”

Mammon gently pried the boy from his leg and gave you an anxious look.

“Hey, listen…Umm. I gotta—“

You smiled and nodded. “I know.” Of course, you knew. Mammon wouldn’t stop talking about the future he saw with you when he returned to his own timeline. You’d wondered when you’d finally meet the Mammon of the past again. Alas, you couldn’t get him to stay any longer than he originally had.

You and Mammon shared a knowing smile. “See ya soon…yeah?” Mammon asked and you nodded. You waved and beckoned Ava and Matty to your side.

“Kids, say goodbye to dad.”

Ava grinned and Matty waved, “Bye papa!” They chimed in unison and Mammon, looking back until the last second shuffled out the door he came through.

Barbatos dragged him into the hallway and glared down at him.

“Wh…what was that…” Mammon gasped, holding his chest.

Barbatos rolled his eyes. “That was what you weren’t meant to see.”

“Wh-huh…d-does that really happen!? Are ___ and I gonna? Y-you know!”

Barbatos rolled his eyes again and sighed. “It’s a possibility.”

Mammon turned red and his heartbeat faster. “Hell no! It’s not a possibility, that’s happening! Definitely!”

“If you say so,” Barbatos clucked and started walking away towards the correct door.

“Hey don’t leave me!” Mammon yelled and ran after him, mind racing.

Could he make it happen? Of course, he could right!? Anything to see those little kids again, and you…every day for the rest of his life.

“Ava and Matty, huh…” Mammon grinned to himself. He couldn’t wait to tell you all about it. “___ is definitely gonna be with me, not even Lucifer can change that.”

[sisterdivinium]

Mary knows Lilith: not the kind to confess anything unless it is to a priest.

But she sees Lilith betray herself in little glances, shows of aggression, as if that could impress her; Mary hears the words meant to provoke her, knowing what they actually mean (even if they anger her still). Lilith's love is unfair, Lilith's love is tyrannical; sometimes Mary wishes she could just be done with it.

Yet Lilith's love is precious and Mary understands how much when she sees it slip away, sliced in half by avarice, and all Mary can do is hold Lilith close.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Steadfast 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Bucky Barnes (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you serve Duke Rogers, but when his friend, the king, takes an interest, you find your work in turmoil.

Note: I've wanted to do medieval drabbles for years. I bit the bullet and now we're all doomed. I was torn on whether to make this one Stucky however... I think Steve deserves a wifey in his own installment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The duke’s household is rarely out of sorts. The king’s decision has set the entire realm into a furor. Chests, carts, horses, rushing bodies fill the courtyard and stables as all ready for the road. Not all will go upon the road to the Field of Silk. 

As you heave a sack of wheat with Clarice onto a wagon, the hoots and hollers of servants and stablemen hushes. You glance over as you sense the disturbance, winding towards you as a snake. It is the Duke, himself looking addled amid the chaos. 

“Pip,” he calls to you, “I bid you here.” 

He stops across the courtyard and Clarice sighs in disappointment. She will need help though all seem bound in their own duty. You give an apologetic look and help steady the sack before you leave her. You dip between the bodies and axles until you reach the castle’s liege. 

“Your grace,” you greet him with reverence. 

“Not time, the king remains impatient.” He beckons you with two fingers as he twists on his heel. 

You follow him. His cloak is lined in sable, dyed red wool with a large hood. You can hear his exasperation in the wight of his steps. Given his words, you don’t wonder at the source, only of what deed the king has done now. 

“The king seeks to travel separately. To ensure there is no plotting upon his party,” he stops and hauls you through the archway that shadows an open sitting area. Frost clusters between the stone at your feet. “So, I will pose as he and go with his carriage, and you will attend him.” 

“Your grace,” you utter, withholding your surprise. 

“He would not take a large escort. To deter any suspicion, see? I do disagree,” he waves his other fist as he continues to drag you. “I suggested a proper guard. He says he can wield his own sword.” 

Despite his expounding, you cannot fathom why it should be you to accompany the king. Is the duke no sensible that one who might offer protection would be preferred? You are but a maid, you might push a broom or a mop, but a sword would be only a danger to yourself. 

“Two men draw attention. They seem as soldiers or spies. They have proper business which draws the avarice of similar,” he takes you through the rear of the castle, where only the launderers pass. “A man and a woman, a traveling couple. Not so concerning. His reasoning is sound enough but the risk...” 

Lord Rogers is ever cautious, though his stoicism wears. He lets you go just east of the kitchens. He faces you and tidies his hair, before again finding that patch of grey in his beard. 

“I cannot trust the gossips and the ganders,” he sets his feet and frames his hips. “You will go, be mindful as ever.” He huffs and shakes his head. “If I cannot wary him, surely you won’t have better luck of it, but you will do as you can to keep him some sense.” 

“As you wish, your grace.” 

“Yes, it is far from what I wish,” he tuts and backs away. “Go, you will find him at the priest’s house. All are too busy packing to tend prayer.” 

Another, “your grace” and you part. The duke goes his way, muttering, and you go yours, silent but intent. You wind your way to the front of the castle and come out into the grey of winter. You sweep across the moat, unnoticed by the guards with higher cares than a servant. 

The priest’s house is upon the outer court, nestled away from the gates. You tread along the frozen ground and eye the darkened windows. You do not spy even a single lit wick. As you reach the rear, there is a clucking noise. A cloaked figure stands near the statue of a great saint. 

The king pulls back his hood to reveal himself. You tilt your head and approach, bending a knee as you stop. “Your highness.” 

“Ah, and there she is. My steadfast servant,” he greets. 

You keep your head down, even as the yearning to search for a set of hooves gnaws at you. How should he travel so far afoot? 

“The horse is waiting for us by the river,” he proclaims. “We shall brave the trek and proceed upon the lower roads.” 

You bow your head deeper, “your highness.” One horse? You’ve not sat one yourself, only the old lame mule at the farmer’s mill those years of your childhood. 

“The priest’s door should see us out.” 

“At your ready, your highness.” 

“None of that forthwith,” he demands. “We musn’t draw undue attention. You shall be my pip and I shall be... poppet. Yes? It sounds convincing, I think.” 

“Yes, your—poppet.” 

“Perhaps a touch more softness, pip,” he nears and takes you by the arm, clasping tight the unlined cape against your arm. “Come, let us flee before any should sniff us out.” 

He brings you around to the priest’s door. Not many know of the small gate and from without, it is hidden by a thicken of thorns. He opens it and sidles against the wall, keeping hold of your wrist as he takes you with him. When at last you are free of the snagging branches, he draws you down to the path. 

“King T’Challa may be peaceable but I do not trust him to temper Stark. Neutral ground, there is nowhere that churlish monger would not desecrate,” the king rants as he takes you between the trees. 

His footsteps crunch and your pad in a light echo. His boots are fine and made of leather, yours are wool with thin pads on the bottom. You slip through the brush as old leaves weave a soggy rug across the ground. He has a tight grip on you as he feels you falter. 

“Must I slow?” He asks. 

“No, your highness. I will keep up,” you affirm. 

“Mm, dutiful...too much so” he muses. “You will need determination for the road ahead,” he brings you down an incline and a knicker greets you from the shoreline of the frozen river. “Aback this beast, your hips will surely ache for cushion.” 

“I will persist,” you say and remind yourself to keep from his formal title. You are not so certain of the promise though. 

“So we must,” he lets you go, only to grab your waist and haul you upward.  

You let out a whimper and flail, latching onto the horse and hooking your leg across it. He gets you steady and his hand brushes down your skirt. He swings himself swiftly, without much effort, and sits the saddle behind you. You are pressed between him and the pommel. 

“Best away before the winter catches us. The summers of Wakanda await us,” he snaps the reins and the horse kicks into motion.  

You can only lean into the king to keep your balance. He holds the reins in one hand and guides yours to the pommel. “Hold tight, pip.” 

[mochaintherain]

Pleonexia

Summary: Cemented as a false God, the title of "The Creator" warranted a certain Fatui Harbinger to impose his greed upon you.

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: SAGAU, implied violence, implied cultish themes, the fatui comes as it's own warning, slight jealousy?

A/N: formatted on mobile </3 A little drabble I had lying around (*´▽｀*) I really like SAGAU but only a specific flavor of it RAUGHH I also have so,,, many ideas for other fics. Yippee for summer!!! (delusional)

Zapolyarny Palace was destitute of warmth.

The room the Tsaritsa had generously provided on account of your descending far outgrew your meager body; the walls stretched too far, any insulation it may have mustered in the heart of a blizzard out your reach, and the chandeliers hung from the ceiling too high to provide any ample light, encompassing you in darkness. The only reprieve within your residence laid a stately hearth. The fire roared, breaking the monotonous cold hues of the bedroom. Its heat blanketed your face in a sweet caress. Soft whispers of crackled wood lulled you to slumber.

Temptation gnawed at your being. You wanted to rest.

But something you quickly learned about the palace was its capacity for people.

For Fatui.

And they wanted anything but your comfort.

The Regrator hummed, cold fingers trailing the bare of your neck, reveling in your shudders as he clicked the gold necklace onto your figure. Illustrious gemstones and the smoothest links of gold culminated to create art - now adorned by you. It could have been beautiful, had it not been tainted by avarice. Had it not been tainted by his prayer.

"Your Grace, do you like it?"

That moniker stirred ill within the depths of your stomach. When would be the day they realized they deluded themselves into a lie? When would be the day they killed you for being something you never claimed you were?

As intriguing as the Fatui were on one side of the screen, they were sinister zealots on the other. They despised the Gods so much their hatred festered piousness--and they paraded you like a doll around the estate, an object to collect worship and donate it to rising influence. You were another gnosis, another piece to their revolution.

The match to inevitably burn away the Old World.

"Your Grace," the Regrator repeated, the edge on each syllable chiding, "is this not up to your tastes? ...Not refined enough?"

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. No semblance of warmth pierced his icy veil. For all the devoutness the Harbingers touted, their theatrics fell short. Ugly, false fidelity bled through their altruistic ministrations.

How you wished to curl up next to the fireplace instead of having to cling onto your robes.

"No...no, it's, ah, beautiful. Thank you," you mumbled, forcing a smile onto your face.

"Of course. Someone of your status—" he grit that phrase out from his throat, you swore it—"deserves only to be lavished in the finest treasures Teyvat has to offer! Wouldn't you agree?"

When they killed you, would he scatter his riches upon your corpse? Or maybe Pantalone would bury you with all the accessories he gifted you--

Perhaps they’d continue the facade, setting your still heart upon the altar dedicated to the Creator. The name you unwittingly stole from its rightful place.

He took your long, drawn, silence as acquiscence. "It's quite alright if you're shy. I fully understand, as your acolyte, but really, you must be more open about you and your capabilities--humbleness goes hand in hand with honesty, after all! Surely that's nothing to hide, hm?"

His hands found their way to your own, and he traced the shape of a diamond on your palm.

"What did you call them again? What was it...oh, primogems?" From your visage, the corners of his lips curled. "Your Grace, won't you show me your divinity? For all my offerings, a glimpse wouldn't hurt."

It's only fair.

"I'm...truly grateful for everything the Fatui, and especially you, have provided," you started slowly, eyes falling to his rings, unable to harbor the weight of his scrutiny any longer, "but...I'm sorry. I can't just use them whenever I wish—" the words died on your tongue as his grip tightened, leaving behind desiccated sputters.

"And why is that?"

"I'm—I'm sorry—"

"Am I not worthy?" Pantalone laughed a little, devoid of joy, "have I not given you enough, Your Grace? What more can I give? I've already built myself up from nothing, despite the Gods' negligence—must I give that up too, to bask in Your warmth?"

You winced, trying to pull away. Yet he held firm, as if it wasn't wrists he was holding, but the bags of mora he hoarded.

"That's not—"

"I really am not asking for much, Your Grace. You've shown the Balladeer—even the Doctor—your powers. So why not me? Dottore and I are close partners, and if you trust him, I can assure you, you can have complete and utter faith in me, just as I do you."

"I...Okay. But only one summon," you conceded, the crystalline shards manifesting into your hands.

As if he hadn't been intimidating you moments prior, Pantalone stared in awe, clasping his hands together and humming.

"Oh! You're too kind, Your Grace!"

"Please, just call me by my name," you whispered, before cupping the primos together into an Intertwined Fate.

"How beautiful," he gasped, "may I?"

Reluctantly, you handed it to him. The size of his figure dwarfed the small orb, brimming with power. A pink and blue glow breathed life into his otherwise dull fur coat.

"How do you use…this?” Pantalone’s brows furrowed together, raising it up to the light as if to get a better view. “It’s quite…tiny.”

"Well, I'm not sure how it fully works in Teyvat—but you wish for something and hope to get it."

"Hm? So you leave it up to chance?"

"Yes, in a way..."

"How pitiful," he whispered, before his voice dropped an octave, "you must have more power than that. You’re a God.”

“I’ve already told you all…” you stopped in your tracks, images of corpses scattered across Dottore’s lab. You were almost a test subject, “godhood” shielding you from the vivisection table by a narrow margin. If they learned the truth…

“I…am not a god in my home world,” you stammered, picking words haphazardly from the floor of your mind, “I’m still getting used to Teyvat, so…”

He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. “I see. Well, demonstrate how it works.” The reassuring gesture only spurred your unease.

With a slight nod, you pondered what to wish for.

“…Thrilling Tales,” you declared, the fate sizzling with luminescence before shooting up into the sky.

Pantalone’s mouth fell agape as a bright, blue, light enveloped your hands, swirled together, then dissipated, revealing the weapon. Another wish granted. More primos depleted, with no way to earn them back.

“A book; Is it a catalyst?” He took the tomb from your grasp, skimming its contents. “From what I can tell, not a very good one.” A frown slowly painted over his countenance. “Are you playing games with me, Your Grace?”

“W-whatever do you mean, Pantalone?” Your voice faltered as he took a step towards you. Gripping your face just hard enough for his rings to chafe and dig into your cheeks, he tilted your chin up.

“When you were with Dottore, you summoned a brilliant sword that he remarked, “wasn’t from this world”. And, with me, you summon this…” He pinched the book by its cover, letting the pages sway limply below. “Fairy tale?”

“Well—! The Doctor scared me—I, I am much more comfortable with you.” Though not necessarily a lie, it wasn’t a truth either. Of all the people you’d interacted with so far, mainly the harbingers—only the harbingers, when you thought about it—Pantalone, compared to the Doctor, was much less scary.

Eyes widening, the grip on your face went slack, morphing into a soft caress of your cheek. You shuddered again.

He smiled, returning to that cheery demeanor.

“Well, if that is the case, I’m glad, and honored, Your Grace.”

You nodded, every muscle in your body taut and strangled by your lies.

“Of course.”

.

[wintertimestoryteller]

Vermeil Adoration

Fierce Deity x Implied Deity Reader (can be Linked Universe or not) Drabble

Me, working on Act IIII and Act V of the LU Fairy Tale Collection: Alright so if we do this with slightly more sleep on us and figure a few things out for First I think it should be good to go-

Also Me: *remembers that because of the nature of the Fairy Tale Collection FD will be missing, is immediately assaulted with an idea, sighs, opening up a new WIP* You know what I'll come back to that, I can't not write for him if he's going to be left out.

For the FD Simps/lovers plus myself as I work on the Fairytale Collection, want to post two chapters at once and also crosspost on Ao3 plus life's been busy, apologies for the delay.

You were created from the breath of life itself.

You are the divinity found in the howling of winds cutting through the woods, the snarling of lightning down to the earth, attempting to touch something it may not have and scorch it so deeply new growth would flourish in a maddened frenzy, the sunlight kissing the ice tenderly though it may never do more than bring the crystalizing to shine, tears dripping knowingly from it's cold gaze as the water turns to rain, watering the land in it's unknowable grief in the closest way it could ever touch the sun in the sky. The joyful sound of wolves singing the moon's beauty with their howls, the birds merrily carrying the melody ever onwards so the sun may also partake of it, gleeful frolicking of fawns and foals discovering the world that the Golden Three left in their wake, the symphony of every animal and nature itself at it's finest.

You look at life itself and find divinity in everything.

So by the nature Farore so lovingly made sure you'd have, one would think you and the one hylians, hyruleans and beasts had dubbed 'The Fierce Deity' would never be able to coexist.

You've heard the one's watched over by your sister in divinity, ever watchful time herself with her diamond wings and gaze who pierced to the end of eternity itself with Nayru's patience whisper in primal terror and avarice drenched loathing about him to the trees in every corner of the land, heard beasts under the watch of death and rot himself curse his name to the winds and rain with as much ferocity and fury induced fear as the restless whispers of those denied existence, your brother in eternity with his shell of obsidian and the flames of Din's desire of consumption ever burning in his gaze daring not cross where the ivory and jade forged spirit passed. And of the horror and wonderment of your wild beings as they've hissed and howled and growled and screeched to the flowers and stones of nature.

A man like the hunt itself, divine without the vermeil breath of the primordial ones. The unrelenting slash of the blizzard gales in winter against any unfortunate to stand in their way, leaving the cold emptiness and silence behind, stealing the air from the lungs of living beings like the ocean for those unfortunate enough to fall with no sign of land. An ivory specter of death whom seemingly clawed himself from the void, an harbinger for the End with seemingly no rhyme or reason for those who he set his sights into, either to devour their divinity for himself or favor or bless.

A being like that should have been anathema to all you are and stand for. Or at least it's what anyone, including your divine sister and brother would reason.

Which is why you couldn't help but find it slightly comedic that the so called 'awful beast', capable of enacting such violence to consume divinity on a whim if tested. Was so very careful with you, head laid upon your lap in a rare moment of rest as you carefully weaved flowers into a crown.

You were curious, awfully so, like the foxes who roamed your woods in search of amusement and play, you just couldn't help yourself. You knew he was coming, how could you not, when the primal fear of living things echoed in the back of your mind, warning you as it warned animals of a bigger predator in the food chain? But you didn't run. Not in the face of narrowed, calculating pale eyes and alabaster hair and the scent of iron in the air, thick and old you couldn't mistake it for anything but blood and the marrow deep certainty of a lonsdaleite persistence.

Maybe you should of, in hindsight.

Instead you just blinked with evergreen curiosity, fascination bleeding from your lips before you could even think of stopping yourself, head tilted.

"My. Rumors are certainly exaggerated, you're beautiful."

The memory of his bewildered, flustered caution makes you smile a bit, as everything in between flowed naturally like spring petals on a breeze. You feel an armored hand on your cheek, so, so soft and careful, as if you were as fragile as a flower, and a calm, relaxed rumble of tourmaline lazy curiosity and aquamarine fondness, "Anything on your mind, my breath?"

You couldn't help your chuckle, emerald fondness running around the mosaic of your divinity as you gently run your hand through starlit hair, nuzzling the hand on your cheek and hoping to convey even half the warmth he gave you, "Reminiscing, worry not. Rest a bit more before you must go." You hear him sigh as you place the flower crown on his head, as pale as his hair, but as delicate as your sister in divinity's wings, threaded pthalo like the flame of his existence.

"... Must I? I was late this time, it's only proper I redeem myself for making you wait." He questions, reluctant and guilty in equal measure, fondness blooms over your lungs as you poke his nose, smiling bright, if dim as you answer him, "I'd dare not attempt to deny you your nature, I do not know what you hunt, what you're searching for. But it would be cruel to chain you."

The man many had dubbed 'Fierce Deity' nuzzles into your hand, nestling in close like a wolf over catch, you catch the hints of a frown on his face, "It's hardly chaining when I wish to stay, is it?"

Your breath almost is trapped in your lungs, but you shake yourself out of it, chuckling as you brush your lips over his markings, crimson affection as the carmine and lapis lazuli of his Hunt. The cheek of this man, for that's what you all are in the end, divinity or not, "Maybe not, though for all you rest here with me you still itch to run and hunt. Do you not, my dear warrior?"

The silence is only broken by the whispers of the leaves of the woods carried by the wind and the curious chirping of birds, his unwavering moonlit gaze giving away nothing. And it tells you enough.

You smile, brushing your noses together, spring breeze playful and sun warm, "If you're that worried, then just come back earlier, if you can. I'll have something new for you to look at, and I'll always wait. We have time."

In a flash, you find your positions reversed, your back and hair to the flowers and your wonderful, ever mischievous hunter above you, you yelp and you can't help but laugh before the sound is stolen by his lips. And he cradles your cheeky gently, so very kindly, and when he leans back he looks at you as if you're the first glimpse of water for a man in the desert, or the way a wolf longingly looks at the moon, and it cracks the phosphophylite of your soul and fills it with the gilded gold of emerald love, "... Thank you. I will not keep you waiting long again. I shall remain for now, though. The call can wait."

I love you. I want to stay with you.

"I know." Your hands gently thread through his hair, gleeful as you notice the rare curve of a smile as his cap lays abandoned in the glass, but your flower crown remains, "Be safe, when you do go. I'd be lovely if something happened."

I love you too.

He shakes his head, giving you an unimpressed look, "I cannot be harmed in any way that matters."

You fondly roll your eyes, pressing your index and middle finger to your lips, then touching it lightly against his own, he all but freezes. You refuse to allow him to distract you with admittedly charming affection, and you take the opportunity to tug him into your arms, shifting your positions so you can utilize him as a pillow, safer than you ever felt in your many eons of existence, more comfortable than the stars painting the canvas of the sky with their dance, "Promise me you'll be safe, and you can claim what's yours once you're back. For now I tire of your stubbornness."

You feel his chest rumble, maybe a laugh, maybe a purr or a growl, but he holds you close, steady and lovelier than even the world the goddesses created. "As you wish, my dearest blossom."

You both fall asleep to the songs of nature, you know he'll hunt again, you know he'll be gone soon like late night mist. But for now, a promise for an eternity of this, like how the mortals speak of, is enough.

[mahiiimahiiii]

Generator

Named Durge (Avarice) x Gortash (gn relatively! Durge has boobs and a pussy :] )

A/n: Durgetash drabble because I'm in bed and I don't want to grab my computer

Cw: piv, sexual discussions, gort domme, praise in slayer, slight humiliation, squirt zone part fourty, enver has a severe breeding fetish, non prepped sex, slayer form jumpscare, quickie in a cramped space.

+-+

The docks were silent for the most part. In the early hours of the morning, the most activity it got was fishing ships casting off into the bleak.

The hit of heels on the brick paths, the glint of the lovitiaar crest under lamp light. They looked up from their knotwork, the figure a mere shadow with glinting silver hair. Their face looked almost too perfect, blurred in the recesses of their memories. Overt glamor.

They pressed a button and the gate opened, the tail of their coat swishing behind them.

You found him half awake but still functional at his foreman desk, your fingers tracing the outines of his spine and ribcage. He awoke with a start, drool cascading down his chin.

"working hard little tyrant?" You purr, tracing the shell of his ear, a small onyx earring hanging off his lobe. Your thumb cleaned the drool off his chin thumbing at his bottom lip.

"work is hardly work when you enjoy what you do." He cups your hand to his face, a soft sigh uttered from his lips. "why have you come to visit?"

You paused for a second, you didn't know. "I was drawn, I think. Like a moth to a flame, or perhaps a fly to a gentle spiders web."

"and who is who?" His smile was teasing "perhaps our previous encounter was delightful enough that you've returned for another early morning tryst." He tilted his head "or perhaps that's why I'd like to think you've returned."

you chortle. "Perhaps, dear Enver, perhaps." You seat yourself on his desk, your thighs framing his shoulders. "I am more.... What is the word- I'm not familiar with it... Worried, about your recent habits. That is an odd feeling for me, worry."

His brow raised, "have you taken a shine that much? Has your father said anything?"

"I consulted him and fel, I sought his attention through pennance. My requests, the answers have been silent. I am, uncertain." You scratched your inner wrist, a delightful sting of pain grounding you.

"hm." He set back in his chair "then you have sought me for advice, I am most honored!" He cracks a little grin.

"I'm not sure- genuinely why I have came to find you. You are quite easy to stalk, and a delight to toy with." You paused finding your next words "more delightful than I've found anything, refreshing, satiating even."

His brow arched higher "I could same the same...are you propositioning me bhaalspawn?" He shifted in his chair, a hand finding your thigh.

"I don't know what I'm doing- just what feels right." You grab his neck forcing his chin up, he exhales, his eyes wide. His lips are salty and cracked, his pulse thrummed beneath your fingers, his face pulsing red.

His stubble scratched against your skin, glamor magic fading quickly, you want your face known and memorable. He keened quietly at the realization, his hot breath quickly absorbed between your lips.

"closet- closet." You trilled guiding him to one within the foreman's chamber. He mimicked your trill at a higher pitch, one of excitement.

Once in the cramped space his hands found the back of your robes, unclasping the zipper and pulling it down. The robes fell from your shoulder, even in the dingy light his eyes glittered.

"By banes hand... Every time I see you, you become more and more exquisite." He exhaled through his nose. His lips found your neck, his calloused and warm hands palming at your chest. He groaned inwardly trying to lap up all hallmarks of your scent on his lips. He sucked at your skin with another whine, desperate to please.

Your hands worked at his buttons, rolling his jumpsuit over his shoulders,and over his hip dips. his belly stuck out under his undershirt. Your hands traced the fluffy outline of his thick happy trail, he rarely wore boxers these days. His thick cock tapped against the side of your hand radiating heat onto you. He gurgled quietly, his lashes lowered and fluttering.

"inside?" He warbled softly, "please?"

"I haven't been prepped" you sighed dreamily, turning around and wiggling your hips "gods of course now."

He gurgles again, his cock-head warm against the flush of your ass. He strokes the tip of it against your folds, he spread them with two fingers, directing himself between, holding onto the hem of your robe to stabilize his legs he tutted and shushed you as he invaded your walls. A shuddering pain held your hips, prodding and poking at your soft walls. A defensive cramp held him in place with a groan. A hand covered your mouth as she slotted himself inside of you, his front pressed up against your back. You bit down on his hand, a shuddering groan fell from his lips as his hips pushed in again.

"my poor assassin." He whispered, "bhaal has chopped off your tounge hasn't he?" He kissed the crown of your head, his arm wrapping around your hip sickened with something. It traced fond circles around your sensitive bud.

He chuckled into your ear, another shallow thrust to break the taught muscle down. He nibbled on the shell, a pleased sigh coming from your lips.

"that allows me to talk as long as I want, hm? I believe- you wanted this so bad. You tracked me down. I can feel you, gripping my cock- like a steel vice. How bad must you want me- to milk my, ngh- cock like that. Dear bhaalist- you are mine to take from." He massages hips forward, further stretching your walls out around him. The gasoline that laced his fingers made you dizzy, his cockhead nestled against your bladder. The pressure in your abdomen was blinding.

Your walls memorized his veins, his blood vibrating with your visage. Sloppy kisses against your neck, a hand at your mouth that you bit at drawing out beads of coppery tasting blood. The other gripped at your hips.

"arch your back my beloved spawn, gods just like that for me you vile thing." He huffed, "you're so pathetic, like that hm?" He rolled his hips at the insitance of your keens, short thrusts against your spongy tissue made your vision glaze over. "You poor delirious little thing." Your chest bounced with his moments, he quickly pulled out rubbing his cock spitting on it before stretching your walls out again.

His hand smeared the spittle from your lips onto your cheek. Finding a place in your hair he groped at your roots, his hips finding a bruising pace. "gods gods gods" he repeated, his voice choking and warbling into your ear. "fuck yourself onto me avi- oh my dear spawn- delicious- you are... better than divine." His balls slapped against your clit, a sting from the stretch drove you insane.

"so close-so fuckin close- banes right hand- fuck- dear spawn please take our accursed children into your unholy womb-! Bless me- bless me with our union-" he stammered, his hips snapping quickly, filling the small space with wet slaps. You groaned into your arms, your eyes rolling back. Your spine tickled, skinny burned and itches as the wood of the shelf splinters under your grasp.

"Enver-" you groaned, your hips rocking back to his. Your skin flexed, the bones of your spine prodding out into your chest. Your voice becomes less understandable, a feral howl careening through the space.

"come- turn around it will be easier as you change-" he crooned, your skin stretching and budding under the pressure. He left you again, a cry erupting from your maw. He opened the door allowing you to lay as he admired you. "I'm afraid I'll sound odd when I say this, I've dreamed of taking you like this, you look glorious."

He kissed down your sternum your claws scratching at the hardwood under you. You gnashed your teeth as he pushed in, your innards clenching around him. You squealed loudly, teeth clattering together. He chuckled darkly, giving a tentative thrust. He bottomed out quickly his nose pressed into your taught stomach. Your limbs clicked and undulated, every sensation heightened in this form, you screamed at him again, clenching around him.

"god you are gorgeous- beautiful- elegant-!" He bit his bottom lip, his eyes shaded by the sweat slicked curls. Your tail twirled and thumped beneath him, pressing your thighs back, he entered at a new angle.

your maw opened again, tongue lolling out the side. He could tell you were so close- To snapping and changing back, to your soft fleshyness.

"Eh-n-vhEr." You warbled, in almost a human way.

"so close dear one- so so close."

You became ridgid as you rode out an orgasm, your skin stretching and shortening as you warped between forms. He keened again, shoving himself inside of you. He came inside of you, his tip nestled against your cervix, his hips shook slightly.

You found it, your skin glistening under a sheen of sweat. He pulled out shooting the rest of his load onto your stomach and labia, his hands quick to finish himself off. He continued bucking his hips into his hands, years budding from electricity of overstimulation. He bit his lower lip as his haunches shook, his tip against your entrance again as he rode out another orgasm. He painted your walls again, his hands scrunched close as his breath rattled in his chest.

He huffed a soft smile playing on his lips as she scooped up his cum and pressed it into your hole. The excess dribbed around his fingers.

"we should perhaps have a bath then- avi?" He hummed a little. Shifting on his heels he swore softly.

His knees began to hurt.

[jaylleoo14]

♡𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽♡

𝙸𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕! 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍…

🌷SFW 🖤Dark + - Yandere * - One shot ! - Brainrot/drabbles 💧- Angst 🔥- suggestive

𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍….

-ㅤ ꒰ㅤㅤׂㅤㅤ✩ㅤㅤ⭑ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ︖﹖ㅤㅤ -

->𝓣𝓦𝓘𝓢𝓣𝓔𝓓 𝓦𝓞𝓝𝓓𝓔𝓡𝓛𝓐𝓝𝓓 <-

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕦𝕝

Riddle

♡ 20 dollars is 20 dollars 🌷🔥! - coming soon

♡ Encased in a Jar of Jelly 🌷! - coming soon

♡Soft touches🌷!

♡ On your knees 🖤+* - coming soon

Trey

♡ Encased in a Jar of Jelly 🌷! - coming soon

♡ Sweet tooth 🌷! - coming soon

♡ I met you at a bakery 🌷! - coming soon

Cater

♡ SK! Cater 🖤!

♡ I met you at a gas station 🌷! - coming soon

Ace

♡ To drop you 💧! - coming soon

♡ Just like spider lilies 💧! - coming soon

♡ Comforting in Brontide 🌷! - coming soon

Deuce

♡ I met you at a grocery store 🌷! - coming soon

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

𝕊𝕒𝕧𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕨

Leona

♡ 20 dollars is 20 dollars 🌷🔥! - coming soon

♡ Sleepless nights 🌷! - coming soon

♡Soft touches🌷!

♡ Leona Drabble 🌷🔥!

♡ I met you at a diner 🌷! - coming soon

Ruggie

♡ I met you at a laundromat 🌷!

Jack

♡ I met you at a gym 🌷! - coming soon

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

𝕆𝕔𝕥𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕖

♡ Can I kiss you? [Octavinelle]🌷*

Azul

♡ An Octopus's First Impression/(II) 🌷*

♡ OT! Azul🖤!+

♡ Preppy Pretty Boy Azul 🌷!

♡ 20 dollars is 20 dollars 🌷🔥! - coming soon

♡ Defining Avarice 💧!

♡ Everything I want 🖤🔥+* - coming soon

Jade

♡ An Indirect Confession🌷*

♡ To kiss an eel🌷* - coming soon

♡ Keratoconus entrapment - 🖤🔥+* - coming soon

♡ Beware of the Mushroom Man - 🖤+!

♡ Bully eels 🌷🖤!

Floyd

♡ Ghost Groom 🖤!+

♡Soft touches🌷!

♡ Bully eels 🌷🖤!

♡ To Fathom You 🌷* - coming soon

♡ To drop you 💧! - coming soon

♡ Can you be mine? 🌷* - coming soon

♡ Corpse Groom - 🖤🔥+* - coming soon

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

𝕊𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕒

Kalim

♡ 20 dollars is 20 dollars 🌷! - coming soon

Jamil

♡ To drop you 💧! - coming soon

♡ I met you at a park🌷! - coming soon

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

ℙ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕠𝕣𝕖

Vil

♡ 20 dollars is 20 dollars 🌷🔥! - coming soon

♡ Sleepless nights 🌷! - coming soon

♡ I met you at a coffee shop🌷! - coming soon

Rook

♡ Sanguivorous Lover 🖤+! - coming soon

Epel

♡ I met you at a pottery class🌷! - coming soon

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

𝕀𝕘𝕟𝕚𝕙𝕪𝕕𝕖

Idia

♡ 20 dollars is 20 dollars 🌷🔥! - coming soon

♡ Sleepless nights 🌷! - coming soon

♡ Parasocial inconvenience🖤🔥+* - coming soon

Orthro

[TBA]

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

𝔻𝕚𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕟𝕚𝕒

Malleus

♡ 20 dollars is 20 dollars 🌷🔥! - coming soon

♡ Sleepless nights 🌷! - coming soon

♡Soft touches🌷!

Lilia

♡ Sanguivorous Lover 🖤+! - coming soon

Silver

[TBA]

Sebek

♡ I met you at a concert 🌷! - coming soon

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

ℝ𝕊𝔸

Chen'ya

[TBA]

Neige

[TBA]

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.�� ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

ℕ𝔹ℂ

Rollo

♡ Dogma 🖤+* - coming soon

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

𝔸𝕌𝕊

♡ Ghost Grooms 🖤+! - coming soon

♡ Welcome to the mind fuck! 🖤! - coming soon

.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ ⭒.ﾟ*.ﾟ

->𝓙𝓤𝓙𝓤𝓣𝓢𝓤 𝓚𝓐𝓘𝓢𝓔𝓝<-

ℂℍ𝕆𝕊𝕆

♡ Imposter!Choso 🌷!

𝔾𝕆𝕁𝕆

[TBA]

𝔾𝔼𝕋𝕆

[TBA]

𝕋𝕆𝕁𝕀

[TBA]

ℕ𝔸ℕ𝕄𝕀

[TBA]

[dcvilgrams]

✧ dcvilgrams pinned & masterlist ✧

✧ about me ✧

i am: jack

he/him. 28.

ace & biromantic. transman.

intj. chaotic dumbass energy

vocal about living w/ my adhd

big Lucifer simp

comfortable writing Asmo, Levi, & Satan (but working on everyone!)

✧ rules & dni ✧

minors & blank blogs dni. i don't get to clear out/block as often as i would like but i do check through my followers and check for these things!

this blog will contain mature content & at times nsfw content. so minors will not be tolerated. please have your age stated somewhere in your bio/pinned, thank you!

✧ tags ✧

; dcvilgrams posts — my gen. ramblings

; dcvilgrams plays — misc. gameplay things

my mc: xhura kusumoto — my om! mc main tag

lias mc: ayla getsumei — @houselamentation's om! mc tag

; my writing — gen. writing tag

; my edits — gen. edits tag

; tddc rp — roleplay excerpts from the duo chronicles

✧ my OM! mc ✧

Xhura Kusumoto

he/him. 25

human (s1). demon (s2+)

primary fc: akira kougami; nil admirari no tenbin

enfj. gay. shipped with & married to Lucifer

4 years sober

pacts with Lucifer, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, & Barbatos

official title: Kusumoto Xhura; Child of Barbatos, Eighth Lord of Hell & Avatar of Avarice, Official Historian of the Devildom

DISCLAIMER: all images/character designs used belong to their original creators & are only being used as likenesses for mine & houselamentation’s OM! MCs

✧ the disaster duo chronicles ✧

mine & @houselamentation's angsty OM! au wherein both of our mcs were sent to RAD together & the story that unfolds

filled with tons of new lore, original characters from demons to witches to cults oh my! & a dramatic shift about what could have happened if two descendants of Lilith just happened to meet under the demon brothers' roof

The Disaster Duo Chronicles

✧ all the om! writing things ✧

�� headcanons & brainrot

; headcanons tag

Xhura's Pacts & Locations

The Cost of a Pact With Xhura

✧ drabbles

Guided by the Morning Star (Lucifer x m!MC)

I Wasn't Expecting Pillows (platonic siblings Asmo & m!MC)

Family Chores (family-dynamic Barbatos, Diavolo, & m!MC)

✧ fics

( something will go here... eventually? )

✧ roleplay excerpts

"I'm Not Human" | Barbatos & Xhura — Barbatos reveals to Xhura the unforeseen effects of their pact; that Xhura is turning himself into a demon

Emptiness, Consciousness, & Grief | Xhura & Diavolo — under the false assumption Xhura's transformation into a demon is the reason for the natural disasters across the Three Worlds, Diavolo demands he sever his pact with Barbatos; so Xhura shows him what exactly that will mean for him

✧ non-om! related things ✧

( something will go here... eventually? )

[alifeasvivid]

What Has Always Been, usukus drabble, rated M

I will never stop trying to convey this concept in a way that finally satisfies my restless soul.

rated M warnings: non-graphic descriptions of sex, so so so so many feels. Oops All Feels. summary: based on a couple of my favorite headcanons--that America has felt his love for England in more or less the same way since he was a child and he doesn't consider what he felt then and what he feels now to be different at its core... and a couple others word count: ~1800

Often, America sleeps like a starfish, splayed out over the bed as if it is necessary for him to touch every part of it--including England--in order to be able to sleep.

But other times, like now for instance, he sleeps curled up into himself--close to England, but not touching him--exactly as he often did when he was a child.

He still is a child, England thinks to himself as he watches America's body breathe and the peaceful expression on his sleeping face.

England furrows his brow, but at himself. What a stupid thing to think about one's lover, especially the morning after an intensely passionate, satisfyingly exhausting night; it is both unnecessarily condescending toward America and a dreadful accusation toward himself.

Because England never--surely, he never thought, even fleetingly, about America in 'that way' until much later, perhaps some time around the Great Wars, perhaps a little bit before, perhaps a little bit after. Quite recently, all things considered. America's behavior might be immature or rash or impulsive at times, but he is definitely not a child. Memories of last night—of America arching beneath him with his solid thighs compressing England's hips while England lost himself inside him; memories of America looking down at him so heatedly as he bent England in half with strength sometimes terrifying to fathom, yet utterly exhilarating, filling him until England felt the shape of him in his chest—will attest to the fact that America is a grown man and England has never desired him to be anything but.

Surely. Yet there he is with the morning light washing over the two of them, sleeping so sweetly that time dilates too far to include memories of sharing a bed with him that pre-date desire and sex and… love.

Do they pre-date love? This kind of love, yes, surely. But not every kind. Not the brotherly affection he once felt, not the possessive, twisted love an empire can feel for its colony. Those feelings dissipated into mist long ago. Perhaps not that long ago… all things considered. Long enough.

England reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of America's face, but suddenly that gesture connects to something too far in the past and he pulls his hand back, frowning. Nausea begins to broil in the pit of his stomach and his eyes burn with confused tears. Is this wrong? Is loving America like this wrong? What another stupid thing to think. They are nations, not humans. Time is different for them. Relationships are different for them. There is no DNA that connects one nation to another--not even those England does consider to be his brothers. And it's not as if there is a great power imbalance between them… and if there was, it would most definitely fall in America's favor.

And the more England thinks about it, the more sure he is that his romantic feelings for America do not pre-date his adulthood. Brotherly affection had been followed by imperial avarice, which had been followed by a forced, cold detachment, which had then been followed by platonic interest and friendship, which had fallen head over heels into the deepest depths of love and longing that England considers himself capable of feeling. Each as its own distinct phase, really. The most overlap had occurred at the beginning.

He reaches out and brushes the strand of hair away, letting his fingers slide through America's hair and then caress his cheek. He can't help but wonder if America has had a similar experience: perhaps loving England as a caregiver, then resenting him as a tyrannical force, then being more concerned with his own self (England knows that sorting out what the "united states" would be had been incredibly difficult), finally perhaps falling in love at around the same time as England had. It seems reasonable.

Love is so rarely reasonable, though.

"Hey," America's sleepy voice drifts in through the fog of England's thoughts.

England smiles softly. "Good morning.”

"Were you watching me sleep, Edward?" America asks with a cheeky grin.

It takes England a moment to locate the reference in the vast library of his mind, but when he does, it pulls him so far into the present that the past almost completely disappears. "Oh! You!" he sputters indignantly. He assaults America's face with annoyed kisses and tickles America's sides, making him laugh until he can't breathe.

America looks up at him, breathless and lovely, and smiles. "I like it when you do that; reminds me of when I was little.”

Whiplash cannot even begin to describe how fast all of England's earlier thoughts snap back into his mind. Had America thought, back then, that England was--?

Unaware of England's inner turmoil, America uncurls himself and drapes one leg over England's hip, pulling him close. He kisses England's face, his neck; contented humming gives way to soft growling and fervent touching. "I don't actually care if you wanna watch me sleep, you know," he murmurs, possibly thinking England's lack of response might be due to actual irritation. "You've always done that.”

England firmly pushes away enough to look in America's eyes. "What do you mean 'I've always done that?'" he asks.

America blinks at him, clearly confused. "What do you mean what do I mean? I mean even when was a little kid, sometimes I'd wake up and you were watching me. It made me happy, made me feel safe.”

England shakes his head trying to clear it so America can stop reading his mind as he seems to be doing. "Why are you saying things like that? Why are you talking about how things were when you were a child?”

America's brows scrunch with concern and he holds onto England as if he's worried England will run away. He might not be wrong. "It's bad to talk about happy memories now, too?" he asks.

He sounds so hurt that England pauses, breathes. "N-no. It's not. Of course. I'm sorry, I just… have wandered a little too far down memory lane, so to speak.”

America pulls him close again and kisses him on the forehead. “Okay, well… wander back now 'cause I wanna give you a blow job.”

England laughs, but it's a puff of air. He wants that too. He wants to put all these thoughts and memories back where they belong, neatly filed and boxed and stored in his mind. But for some reason, they won't fit back in their containers. "America. When was the first time you felt like you wanted to do that?”

America looks even more confused and concerned now. "What? Why does that matter?”

England inhales deeply. "What I want to know… I suppose… is when did you develop… romantic feelings for me?”

America doesn't say anything, just looks bewildered and a little scared, like he’s prey for some trap England is about to spring.

England presses closer to him, to reassure him, and rests his palm gently on the side of America's neck. "Please. It's important to me.”

"I guess I just don't know what that means. I didn't develop them, you know?”

England tries to work through the initial shock of that statement and manages to remain outwardly calm.”No, I don't know. Does that mean you're not in love with me?"

"What?" America responds indignantly. “Are you crazy?" He surges forward and kisses England hard, then fierce, then deep, then slow, then soft until they're just breathing each other. "How could you even ask something like that? I tell you all the time that I love you… more than you tell me, by the way, not that I'm counting, but like!!! Last night! And that's not even an uncommon occurrence, right?”

"You just said that you didn't develop romantic feelings for me," England replies.

"Well yeah, 'cause like… I dunno, they were always there, you know? I've always loved you.”

"Yes, but you once called me your brother and I took care of you and you loved me in that way, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“And then you hated me and wanted your freedom and then we didn't speak for so long—”

America puts his hand over England's mouth. "I never hated you. I loved you even then. I mean I guess if you wanna nail down some kinda timeline, that's probably when I first wanted you. I knew you didn't see me that way, though. I was pissed about that, sure, but I get it now.”

England takes America's hand and laces their fingers together, staring at them. "Even then," he says more to himself than to America. He kisses their intwined fingers. He supposes that it's not completely illogical for America to have desired him even back then and England surmised some time ago that America hadn't really hated him, he had just been trying to carve out his own identity and England had tried to stifle that. Of course America would be angry. "I'm glad," he says quietly, "that you didn't hate me. I didn't hate you either.”

America nods and kisses their intwined fingers too. "Yeah, I know."

“But then we didn't see each other for quite some time."

“Yeah, but I still loved you, even when you weren’t there.”

“Alright yes, but when did you fall in love with me?”

America exhales in frustration. "I didn't. I don't really know how to explain it, okay? Like sure, things have changed on the outside, we've had our ups and downs and I obviously don't show it the same way as I did when I was little, but it's the same feeling. This warm bubble in my chest. When I'm around you, no matter what, I just feel… happy. Even when we were fighting or even if we're just arguing nowadays, I feel like everything's gonna be alright because you're there. That's how it felt from the first moment I saw you and it's never gone away. Just grown; added more things to it. I know it's different for you, but," America pauses and his face turns pensive. "I dunno, England, I loved you since before I even knew you, didn't I? Isn't that why…" he trails off, but presses England's palm flat to his cheek.

"Isn't that why what?”

"Isn't that why I exist in the first place?”

England's breath catches and his eyes widen for a moment and then he melts and peace settles in and clears away all the fog. He strokes America's face and kisses his forehead. “Perhaps initially, but you are your own man now, you make your own choices.”

“Choosing you is real easy.”

“I’m very glad. Perhaps the next time you sit down to read, you could choose a book on grammar.” He laughs when America sticks out his tongue at him.

The morning is passed lazily, America eventually morphing into the little spoon to England's big spoon and all worries about who felt what and when are gone, because America is right: they are here now. England settles his nose in America soft hair and, though it is cliche, breathes in spacious skies and amber waves and it's the same as it has always been and in a small way, he understands what America meant.

[reliving-elegy]

✧ ── 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍.

Tagged By: @witchcraftandburialdirt

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have? // My current array are those who have made themselves relevant to the story of Reliving Elegy; each deserving of a place to offer their perception freely.

is there anything you don’t like to write? // Intimacy is important to embolden characters- it represents a deepening of trust, and promises safety. In turn, I choose not to write smut- I feel those moments should belong to them alone.

is there anything you really enjoy writing? // Misery, anxiety and agony are fulfilling things to give characters a unique perspective on life. I do this to reach my real goal- resolution in the wake of grief. Laughter in spite of death and time.

how do you come up with headcanons? // If a character would do something- anything- I ask why. If the answer doesn't feel complete, I look deeper. If nothing therein lies, then I put something there. I make it real; I give the action a place in their purpose.

do you write in silence or do you play music? // Silent when writing headcanons or conversations; music when writing drabbles for characters. The quiet lets me hear their words; where music lets me feel their meaning beyond the limits of language.

do you plan your replies or wing them? // Improvisation is the heart of good interaction- a character does not think in eons, but in instants.

do you enjoy shipping? // I do. Unfortunately, my characters do not deserve that kind of love, as many are not ready for it.

what’s your alias/name? // Call me Guy.

age? // 25.

birthday? // I'm a Virgo. Let's not go giving exceptionally personal information.

favorite color? // Navy blue, blurple, olivine; all good options.

favorite song? // Red Sparowes - Message of Avarice is a strong contender.

last movie you watched? // Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Movie's not nearly as creepy if you consider Wonka as an allegory for a mortal that transcended to godhood centuries ago and now tires of the work.

last show you watched? // Supernatural. First time watch with experienced SuperWhoLock veterans @pvremichigan and @smokes-and-bullets

last song you listened to? // Symphony - Guilty Gear Strive. Song goes crazy.

favorite food? // Steak. Partial to NY strip, but steak is steak.

favorite season? // Winter. I prefer the indoors.

do you have a Tumblr best friend? // Not particularly.

Tagging: Whoever so chooses to do it. Free will.

[saiikavon]

FOR the PROMPTS

Either MLB love square Five Virtues (all of them)

or

7 Deadly Sin (Greed) but Chatblanc

You could also do both if you wanted

[Buckle up, I was inspired so this is gonna get long.]

Adrinette-Ren [charity and humility]

Adrien thinks to himself that Marinette is a kind, generous person. She gives and gives without a second thought, and asks for nothing in return. If one were to thank her, she would wave it off with a laugh and a smile; It was nothing, really, I was happy to do it!

He isn't aware that she feels the same, that she looks at him with a heart full of love and wishes for his continued happiness. If he ever found out, it would probably just make him adore her even more.

Ladrien-Zhi [knowledge and wisdom]

Ladybug is always impressed with Adrien. Despite his lack of social experience, it seems that there's so much that he knows, so much that he retains, and he is always happy to share his knowledge with her. There are times when she's recalled something he taught her and soared through an obstacle, because of him, because he'd shared with her. She hopes one day she can tell him how much that means to her.

Adrien thinks little of the facts he stores in his memory. Things he was asked to learn, expected to retain. He's far more impressed with his Lady-love, who is not only wonderfully intelligent, but also creative and compassionate. It's one thing to have the knowledge; it's another thing to know when and how to use it.

Marichat-Li [politeness and propriety]

In his civilian life, Chat Noir is always expected to behave a certain way. Speak only when spoken to, and when you do, don't embarrass your father. Always be genteel.

He resents it often, outside of the mask. But lately, he wonders if that's just because Father's expectations involve people who will never offer him the same courtesies.

It is worth it to be kind, polite, a perfect gentlemen, for someone like Marinette, who is just as kind, polite, a perfect lady, right back to him. She smiles and curtsies when he bows and kisses her hand. She says, "It's so nice to see you!" And she means it.

That makes it all the easier to mean it right back.

Ladynoir-Xin [faithfulness]

If there is one thing Ladybug knows, it's that Chat Noir will never abandon her. Recently, she's worried that he wouldn't say the same - she has been so anxious and distant and flighty. If she were him, she would not trust that she would be just as there for him as he is for her.

But he holds her hand in the sudden downpour, smiles in determination and promises that they can take care of anything together. And it is all too easy to believe him.

Lovesquare-Yi [honesty]

When the war ends and the masks come down, there is nothing quite like the relief they feel in that they can now tell each other everything. All the feelings that went unshared, all the secrets that they kept close to their chest, all the happiness they could not have found had they not known. But even greater is the joy, knowing that there had never been anyone else they could have understood better than they understood each other.

***

Chat Blanc-Greed

Chat Blanc knows the face of avarice, he thinks, better than anyone has, or ever will. The image he had in his innocence was tinted with money, with cowardice, with a grasping hand that reached for something it was not owed and would never earn.

He knows the face that cries out for Miraculous, the face that watches his with wild eyes, almost as though it does not recognize the frightened eyes of his only son.

That face lies miles below, under the water, now, and cannot respond when he asks it, "Why, Father, why?"

[These were sooo fun, thank you so much! I hope you liked these!]

Choose from these prompts and I will write a ficlet/drabble based on them!

[aimmyarrowshigh]

HELLO, can I have some SteveBucky on this momentous occasion? 77, 79, 81, 92, 95 please!

77. Wished @ AO3

79. Shots @ AO3

81. Cavalry @ AO3

92. Avarice @ AO3

95. Render @ AO3

Please request your own drabble from this list over on Tumblr!

Happy Stucky Renaissance 2023!

[neciebee]

This drabble is only vaguely tangential to the prompt, but that's what prompts are for. Right? Right?

First time posting a drabble. I'm overstimulated again and I punched this out to quell my roiling brain. No idea how long it is, I just made words go after, before, or between other words. Hounds are involved.

The bond between a smokehound and its master is immutable once formed. Fae and beast hunted with one mind, one heart, one soul. They shared their meals, their spaces, their lives. Smokehounds were so rare, many believed them a myth. To have been chosen by one of these ethereal entities was to have been blessed by the Mother.

When Eris first found the tiny wisp of a whelp, he knew his future would be vastly different from what he had previously planned. There was no other sound in the forest; not even the whisper of winds through leaves red as his hair disturbed this poignant moment. It was as though the land of Autumn held its breath for the Heir to accept his Companion. There had not been a smokehound in the Royal Court for millennia. The last was the legendary Cerberus, who - with his High Lord master - oversaw four hundred years of smouldering peace.

Nowadays, all known bonded smokehounds accompanied so-called 'lesser fae' - creatures so in tune with nature that one might think they were avatars of the forests, fields, and fjords. Rarely heard and never seen, the faefolk and their elemental beasts stewarded the most magic-imbued enclaves of the Autumn Realm. Smokehounds were thoroughly Autumn, and they elected their masters as such.

Eris held the tiny creature to his heart, appreciating the enormity of his gift from the Mother. Autumn had chosen him.

~

The second smokehound was no more of a surprise than the first. Though bony and lean, the wild, savage hound took down a puca that Eris and Artaban had been tracking through the forest. At first, the Heir thought the animal a manifestation of illusory puca magic. When the hound laid the carcass at his feet and its intelligent eyes met his, he knew he had been granted an unprecedented second blessing.

The Court was in uproar when he attended the throne room with both hounds in tow. Not even his High Lord father, Beron, could say a word against the holy union between the Autumn Heir and the Autumn Protectors. The Mother will do as she Wills.

~

Five centuries since he laid eyes on his first pup, he was called before the throne. Nine hounds shadowed his steps in refined formation. He approached his father, High Lord of Autumn, and graciously bent to one knee.

"Eris," spoke the High Lord in a high, snide tone. "Eris, Eris, Eris. It seems you are more mutt than prince these days." He surveyed the assemblage coldly, though Eris could taste the undercurrent of jealousy in his words. Autumn had not bestowed its High Lord many favours throughout the centuries, and he was loath to wonder why.

"I assure you, Lord Father, that every last one of my hounds has the purest power of Autumn's Holy Protectors." Each of his nine hunters had come to him as an evocation of Autumn's old magic, chosen as a custodian of the Kingdom of Fall and Flame.

"I would not begrudge you Artaban, nor even Bellamy - though plural bonding is unprecedented. The Mother has deemed you a dog, and a dog must have his pack. But capturing nine mutts is vulgar! You are flaunting your avarice before Nature and the Gods!"

Eris smoothed one hand down Artaban's sleek crown. His first hound was the most devoted, the most protective, the most vicious. "Until I stop encountering Autumn Vitae in need of their true master, I will be taking care of my twelve hounds."

Beron shot from his throne, nearly tumbling down the dais. "HOW DO YOU ALREADY HAVE THREE MORE? WHERE ARE THEY?" His puce visage became mottled with anger... and fear.

The picture in Eris mind coalesced upon the three new additions to his pack. No... four. Wagging tails and wet snouts overcame the gleeful grasping of scarred hands. Eyes of hazel lit up with elation as they beheld the infantile howling of unweaned, furry beans. Fat, stubby paws padded unforgivingly over the sensitive membranes of Illyrian wings. The sounds from the shadowsinger's throat would either end him, or fuel him for countless eons.

Eris raised his hands in a signal to his pack of loyal and lethal hounds. "The pups are with my mate," he said plainly, as nine shadowhounds tore Autumn's Menace apart.

~

@chunkypossum @mistandmemories @the-darkestminds @jules-writes-stories @shadowsandlint @secret-third-thing @pippsmcgee @astro-h0e-4azris @buffy-vanserra @brunetterebel010 @g00seg1rl @born-to-riot @acourtofladydeath @iftheshoef1tz @mudandmire @fieldofdaisiies @murphbees @nus4y @areyoudreaminof @greenvelvetcouture @fourteentrout @packdontendwithblood @aurorasleeps-27 @buffy-vanserra @queercontrarian @amarillis39 @climbthemountain2020 @a-novel-idealist @talibunny30 @ysmtttty @jolenes-library @molcat07 @hnyclover @catboyjamesbond @yanny-77

"you know you are only supposed to have 1 apprentice maybe 2 not 15." said the wizard council member "well until people stop leaving surprisingly powerful orphans at my doorstep I'll be taking care of my 17 apprentices." The council member snapped their wand "WHERE DID YOU GET 3 MORE!"

[hatchingphoenix]

Everyday Drabbles #1084: Vampire

The Vampire came, and the men of the city were powerless to stop him. There was nothing in them that was strong enough to resist his influence, much less his power. They had grown weak, distant from one another. He wriggled in through the cracks and took what he wanted, which was everything. The men hid behind symbols that stood for nothing now but their own avarice, carrying mystical weapons that were mere superstition. From his new throne he laughed at the weakness of men. But when he called their women to him, they had stakes hidden behind their backs.

“Study of a Vampire Bat” by Samuel Howitt shared under a Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.

My first very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2024 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

Have a fabulous day!

[blogfortheblorbosfnafdca]

Okay I completely forgot to make one of these for this blog.

Hello, welcome. I have many names I go by, so for this blog I shall label which ones I prefer.

-Avarice

-Creature

-Sleepy Boi

-Critter

I mainly use they/them pronouns, as I haven't tested out neo pronouns and they/them for me leaves it more simplistic for other people. I don't mind being called more male terms, like guy, boy, dude. Though man and sir is a little too formal. Honestly just some guy, keep it causal please. Any nonbinary term is also preferred, you can even get creative with it.

22 as of this year, but honestly my joints make me feel like I'm in my forties at times lol.

This sideblog is mainly made for my hyperfixation of the fnaf daycare attendent. If it wasn't already obvious by the shit ton of reblogs.

Will you ever know my main? Probably not. Maybe if you sleuth around or something, I dunno, I ain't you. I'm not going to tell you anyways.

I might make my own posts for the daycare attendent and what not, but that's up in the air atm. I am a rather busy person cause job, and I got a couple big writing projects I'm working on in different fandoms, so honestly might not for a good while. Unless for some reason I have more time or my brain decides it's great to add yet another writing project to my pile. We shall see. At best you'll probably get little drabbles or pieces of something, little sprinkles like finding a shell on the beach.

Hope you enjoy your scrolling!