I actually did one of these prompts!!
Ive been having my eye on the ghoulette appreciation weeks for a while, but writers block kicked me in the ass
But, with the snow, i got a bit of inspiration (and a lot of free time)
So, without further ado, @jesusbutbetterrr 's ghoulette appreciation week prompt,
Lazy sunday
centering around cirrus :D
Warnings: i dont think there's any, this is relatively fluff based ^^
The earth ghouls had warned them all in advance.
Saturday night, their predictions had come true, flakes of snow falling from the earth, drifting. Cirrus could feel the cold wind outside. She was sure anyone with even the slightest Air in them could feel it too, even whilst in the comforts of the ministry.
It had not stopped the next morning, the ghoulette’s first sight being the white, powdery snow that had collected outside, with more falling from the sky. The shouts and squeals from the newer summons outside had filled her ears, but..
Not today. At least, not yet.
She layered her outfit, a comfortable thing. A t-shirt, a sweater on top, and regular sweatpants. It couldn't have been that cold inside, and if she was dragged out, then, well, she’d just put on a coat or something. They could afford to wait a moment, after all.
Slipping on some slippers, she slunk through the halls of the ministry. They were large things, the size almost making Mountain look small, with stained, blue glass that let the cold air in, earning a shiver from Cirrus. She wasn't exactly built for the colder air, that was Cumulus, who was probably outside, enjoying the snow. She could almost imagine her laugh, airy and light, mixing in with the newer ghouls.
The air ghoulette arrived in the kitchen, and grabbed a mug. Nobody really cared who’s mug was which, aside from some specific ones.
This mug was purple, with an illustration of a white cat, playing with a ball of yarn. There was text above it, stating;
“Good Time
We are having a great time”
With a small, soft chuckle at the mug, she placed it onto the countertop. As she went to brew the coffee, she noticed that the brown liquid was already in the pot.
Seemed like someone needed it earlier than her.
She took the pot out of the machine, and poured it into the cup.
Today would be a great day. A lazy one, there was no way anyone would want to do anything productive, but a good one, nonetheless.
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Thinking about how Diavolo’s feelings transcend time and how in the Nightbringer UR+ card Demon Lord’s Castle Tour this conversation happens.
When asked, “Do you wish to see your father?”
Diavolo responds:
“I suppose I do . . .” isn’t the typical reaction to how a child would feel about wanting to see their parent. Especially when said parent has essentially been in a coma for a year.
Along with how Diavolo describe his father.
It makes more sense why when you learn in Lesson 56 how Diavolo was treated by him growing up.
Diavolo can tell when others are lying but is unable to understand his father’s intentions.
Diavolo mentions that he lived a very sheltered life growing up. That from a young age his father never allowed him a chance to talk to anyone outside the castle.
His childhood friend was Mephistopheles. A demon literally RAISED to be his friend. Putting a barrier between the two because Mephistopheles would put Diavolo on a pedestal.
The isolating childhood he experienced riddled with his strict father constantly scolding him.
Despite everything MC is so important to him he wants to see his father again so we can meet.
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Thinking about kissing a priest's neck and because he's so not used to physical intimacy he's absolutely flustered by it and he's all whiny. And leaving a hickey that'd usually be hidden by his clothing but if he moves too much it'll be seen so he gets so nervous and shy that people will see it. <3
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there is something so terrifying about wanting to be held,
a years deep ache in my bones,
like a child
sobbing
pleading for someone to notice, to care.
come here darling,
I swear I will not bite,
come here please,
smooth away the cracks in my skin,
piece me back together with the gold of your love,
like the japanese would repair their pottery.
there is something so vulnerable about wanting to be touched,
undoing me with a mere brush of the fingers,
peeling back my layers like the skin of an orange,
and each golden segment of my soul,
is an offering (i love you).
oh, do you think you could hold me?
just this once?
kiss the backs of my knees when they ache?
trace the divots of my spine like exploring a foreign land?
memorize the shape of my nose, my jaw, my eyes,
turning the terrain of my body into something familiar.
Perhaps it is selfish of me to ask for such a thing,
I have always been a rather demanding creature,
a dog,
scratching at the door,
begging to be let in.
I will be gentle I swear,
curl up in your chest,
your ribcage can be a temple,
your heart the god I bow before,
praying you might hold me,
if only for a little while.
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