#drillelict

It’s Snowy’s birthday!

@drillelict​​ asked:  BIRF?? BIRFDAY!! HAPPY! BIRFDAY!! SNOWWWWWY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@drillelict​ said:  so, like, nya.

💫 —❝PERFECT TIMING, AVANT. YOU’LL DO.

   Listen, tomorrow is Mother’s Day and we have to prepare gifts for Nia-himesama. Understand? Simon said he’s busy with his own preparations for her, and I simply don’t want Kamina’s help.

         Tell me, how adept are you in the kitchen?❞

Hands him a drill bit on a chain pulsating with toxic, cosmic and evolutionary energy. "There ya' go, my soul." And begins to stalk off.

       Lucifer stands there in confusion as he holds the odd object in his hand. This... wasn’t what he meant. 

           ❛ ... ❜

🌺—Tｏ SNOWY,

@maskedmuses

               A TALENTED, SWEET, CHERISHED MEMBER OF ABOUT 10,000 FANDOMS. TURTLE AND I WANNA THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH US, PLAYING WITH OUR ECLECTIC MUSES, AND BEING AN ALL-AROUND AMAZING PERSON. HOPE THIS BIRFDAY IS ONE OF THE BEST.

                 THANK YOU FOR BEING BORN.

❝ᵀʰᵒˢᵉ ʷᶦᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ,      ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᴛʀʏ ᵗᵒ ᵉˢᶜᵃᵖᵉᵎ

               ᴵⁿ ᵐʸ ʰᵃⁿᵈˢ,         ᵃ ʷᵃᵛᵉ ᴵ ᶜᵃⁿ’ᵗ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ,               ᵃⁿᵈ ᴍʏ ᵗʰʳᵉᵃᵈˢ. 

                 ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵃᵍᵃ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ɴᴇᴡ ᴀɢᴇ !❞

🃏—.Nightmares?

           Hilarious.

  He was familiar with the sick specters that settled upon his chest while he dozed. Imperceptible to the eye, but so heavy that Doflamingo could have sworn that he felt his ribs cracking, fracturing beneath the relentless presence. They weren’t uncommon. He’d enduring night terrors since his unspeakable childhood. He just... hadn’t expected it. Those sleepless hours had chased him down, down into this putrid cell, wrenched cold sweat out of his skin, and replaced the marrow of his bones with trembling rage.     

  Doflamingo hated lying on his back. It wasn’t the cold of the stone floor. It wasn’t the ache that exhausted his body, from motionlessness  He hated looking up, ceaselessly. He hated the view where everything in sight was unreachable by his hand, and he hated that everything within reach, was covered in filth and decay. The seastone shackles that governed his wrists were heavy, and they ground into his flesh without end. But he even gave that a purpose - rousing himself awake from the terrors of his visions.

  ❝Ah, it’s just so damn boring in here....

          Fufufu, where’s that corpulent devil?

               At leas a little torture would keep me awake.

                     I wonder if I’ve stayed long enough to start making requests.❞

  His fist closed, curled against itself like a defective serpent. Fangs in the form of keratin crescents, bore deep red rivulets into the heel of his palms. The pain aided only slightly, to draw his mind away from the malefic voices that nested in the chasm somewhere in his head. His sanity stretched dangerously thin, as cells divided and died, without knowledge of the sun. Without once respirating clean air. A familiar hell. He didn’t think of their faces. He didn’t think on their voices. No one could reach him, here, but his demons. And... he couldn’t reach anyone else, from within this vile, unconscionable place. He was really finished with all of it, after all. ....something would have to give.

A twisted mirth crept across his mouth, weary features obliging a misplaced amusement. Tired muscles hauled their weight upwards, a perpetrator strung upon a rack; a sudden, expectant grin.

          ❝You know? I feel like something really good is gonna happen, soon....❞

THE ONE THING YOU CHOOSE        FOR YOURSELF - -

There was no trusting it, the bright-ass glowing circle of fuck on the floor - the pride in his little brother was overflowing, but that didn’t stop the great Leader from refusing to follow.             IF HE COULDN’T REACH A DESTINATION ON HIS OWN TWO FEET,                             WHAT KIND OF MAN WAS HE? The Great DEMON LORD had, in all actuality, been stuck on the Observation Deck for a solid five hours, now, unable to find his way anywhere more interesting, or not completely filled with foreheads and their endless words.

        A quick adjustment of those signature shades, a hidden gaze trained solemnly at the teleportation pad in front of him.

              HE WASN’T GONNA STEP ON IT, HELL NO.

                           “Mm - ! Good luck, Simon!”