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#series of cravings
m4cravings · 2 years
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From Studio54
This beauty
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originalartblog · 1 year
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don't be fooled they're both fully relaxed
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charliesopus · 9 months
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This was a labor of love and the most complex piece I’ve ever made.
7096 stitches, 98 hours. 2-strand on 18ct.
I was just so in love with this book cover, I couldn’t not.
The book is Crush, the second installment in the Crave series by Tracy Wolff :)
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swordmaid · 2 years
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cers 👑👑
her pose is based off this screencap of shiv succession just because i thought it fits [:
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gremnda · 2 months
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might i request a shiny duo?
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Murder besties have been separated
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A special sort of craving 1
Warnings: non/dubcon, 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.
Characters: Lloyd Hansen
Summary: A stranger appears at your cafe and leaves you unsettled.
Part of the Backwood AU
Note: I found this in my docs and then I was like this could be an AU and people will hate me but here we are. I am heavily considering adding at least one other character to the AU bc I have an idea I don't think i'll ever get to full length with.
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.
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He doesn’t belong. Not in this sleepy village. You can tell by the ring on his pinky, a golden signet that boasts of wealth not known to the farmers and lumberers of the desolate locale. His cheeks are red as if he didn’t expect the crisp autumn bite, though his jacket is unzipped to his chest, revealing a golf shirt with some designer logo sewn into the collar.
He tilts his head as he considers the glass display with shelves of bite-sized tarts and fragrant pies. You approach the other side, standing on tiptoes to see over it. His eyes slowly rise with your movement, a dimple in his cheek of amusement. You skirt around to the side of the display and lean over the lower counter so he can see you.
“Hello, you looking for something in particular?” you ask.
“Something sweet,” he answers, his crooked grin lingers as he lets his gaze wander back to the pies, “cherry… it’s been a while since I had a nice, juicy cherry pie.”
He licks his lips with the last word, reaching up to brush his fingertips over his bristly mustache. Your smile threatens to falter but you keep it on. He definitely isn’t from around here. Not with his accent or the hair slicked back so neatly.
“You want a slice?” you ask brightly. “Two bucks for a slice, twelve for the whole thing.”
“Hmm?” he raises a brow and sidles over to stand across from you.
“The pie,” you say as he puts a hand on the counter, leaning in as his other rests on his hip, “did you want some?”
His eyes fall down to the top of your apron, the red and white checker distracting him as you mindlessly flick the frill around the skirt. His smirk blooms fully and he stands straight.
“Wouldn’t mind a slice… of the pie,” he says as if it’s some joke. You don’t get it.
“Sure,” you say as you go behind the display and take out the cherry pie. You take it to the metal table behind you as you hear him, sense him looming along the counter. “You want anything to drink, sir? Some milk? Tea? Coffee? We do a combo for three-fifty.”
“Mm-mm-mm, a nice glass of milk would go nice with the pie,” he purrs, “they usually got you working all alone, sweetness?”
You look over your shoulder as you shovel a slice onto a plate, little flowers painted around the waffled trim.
“It’s my shop,” you say as you take the dish and grab a fork from the tray. You place it beside the till and type in the total, “cash or card, sir?”
“You own all this?” he leans his elbows on the counter, bent at the waist as he looks up at you.
“Sir,” you nod. 
“Card,” he stands and stretches his arms over him before he drops his hands, poking his fingers in his back pocket.
“I’ll get that milk,” you say as he swipes his card, “and I’ll bring this over to you if you wanna sit.”
“Ah, table service, I like it,” he says as the machine chirps and accepts his payment, “you country folk are all so… nice, aren’t you?”
“Suppose,” you say as you open the fridge and take out a small carton.
You glance over as he tucks away his wallet. He winks and walks away. He drapes his jacket over the chair by the window as you grab a glass and hurry over to the counter. You place the glass and carton on his table as he sits. You go back to the counter and bring him the pie.
“You visiting someone?” you ask curiously.
He looks at you pointedly. You hesitate. You forget that the city slickers don’t like questions, but everyone in the village knows each other, so your habit has you careless.
“Bought some house called ‘The Grove’,” he answers as he pushes the fork through the braided crust, “apparently it’s a big deal.”
“The Grove?” you can’t help your surprise, “wow.”
He scoffs, hardly amused, and slides the fork into his mouth, sucking off the pie as he watches you. He chews and swallows slowly as he hovers the silver over the oozing pie.
“You know it?”
“It’s pretty far out,” you say, “but yeah, everyone knows The Grove.”
“Sure,” he pokes a cherry so the juice leaks out, “this is good pie. You make all these?”
“It’s my recipe, but I think Melinda did that one.”
“Don’t get good home cooking like this in the city,” he plops the cherry in his mouth and his jaw tenses with the tartness, he hums in satisfaction. He looks you up and down once more, “don’t get that personal touch.”
“I’m glad you like it, I’ll let Melinda know,” you push your hands into the large pockets of your apron, a movement that further catches his attention.
“Sounds good, cupcake,” he opens the carton and pours the milk into the glass, “you do delivery?”
“Sundays,” you answer, “not that we get many requests but…”
“Personal deliveries,” he insists, “like you said, house is far away, and I’m new in town. Wouldn’t mind a familiar face and a nice pie.”
You rub your neck, “well I don’t usually do the deliveries.”
“Melinda?” he prompts.
“No, Terry takes them with the lumber.”
“Mm,” he frowns, “right… guess I’ll just make the trip in.”
“Okay,” you nod, “let me know if ya need anything else.”
“Oh, I definitely will,” he slithers as you slowly turn away.
You feel him watching you as you try to hide behind the counter. You take a cloth and the cleaner and start wiping down the back of the display. You hear the clink of his fork against the plate.
City people are always a bit odd, but he gives you a bad feeling.
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galedekarios · 2 months
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🧜‍♂️🐚🌊
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taytei · 2 years
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why does an ice demon need a fur lined cloak?
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sillyfairygarden · 8 months
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uhhh double life but its a snowy medeival story about a wet cat, her ex-husband, and his polycule
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m4cravings · 2 years
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Such comfort and taste! Modern Elegance
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juustozzi · 6 days
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Like a déjà vu, but across the universes
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aq2003 · 3 months
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my personal hot take of the day is that you cannot fully appreciate ten if you don't also appreciate martha and the dynamic they have
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waitingonavision · 6 months
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💙💛💚 Happy birthday to the Madrigal Triplets! 💙💛💚
Also for Encantober Day 17: Home. Bruno's homecoming + the triplets's togetheness being "home" 🥺
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wraenata · 1 year
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Pancake Donnie Part 2
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Listen, I bet warm pancakes would be really comfortable to sleep under. I mean Donnie really liked that Joey pouch, for some reason. But add the syrup? Ehhhh
The second part of my pancake Donnie brainrot, featuring actual pancakes, thanks to @somerandomdudelmao for shrinking her Uncletello for all our enjoyment!
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A special sort of craving 2
Warnings: non/dubcon, 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.
Characters: Lloyd Hansen
Summary: A stranger appears at your cafe and leaves you unsettled.
Part of the Backwood AU
Note: I found this in my docs and then I was like this could be an AU and people will hate me but here we are. I am heavily considering adding at least one other character to the AU bc I have an idea I don’t think i’ll ever get to full length with.
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.
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The man finishes his pie and milk. You continue on busying yourself with tasks you've already done. You don't want to welcome any more conversation with this stranger. He belches and pats his stomach loudly.
"Delicious," he comments as the chair legs scrape on the floor.
"Oh, glad you enjoyed it, sir," you look over the counter as you work at shuffling the pastries from oldest to newest in the display.
"Mmhmm," he hums emphatically, "so, do I get table service or..."
You hide your chagrin behind a smile and close the back of the display, "of course."
You push through the little swinging door and come out to gather up his empty dishes. He watches you as you do your best not to acknowledge that fact. You just want him gone so it's quiet again. Usually, you'd mourn the lack of business but you don't welcome his.
"So, your husband must be the numbers guy, huh? Handling all the heavy duty work?" He intones as he bends his arms behind his head and stretches.
"No," you say as you back away.
"No.... what? He doesn't do your accounting or no you don't have a husband?"
"It's my business. I manage it," you insist.
"Right," he drops his arms and shifts on the seat, "think I should get a coffee for the road. Long way back to The Grove."
"Of course," you retreat behind the counter and set the dishes in the bin for washing. "Which roast?" 
He clicks his tongue, "hmph, you're... very attentive. That husband sure is a lucky man." He stands and dusts off his shirt, "I'll take the rest of that cherry pie too."
You nod and face him, "what size and roast?" You prompt again.
"Light roast, large-- hold up, actually, I'll take an americano. I could use the pep."
"Sure," you slide off a tall cup from the stack and go to work.
He watches you, his gaze bearing down as hotly as the steam of the hot water. You fill his cup and return to the till to ring him up. You punch in the amount for the espresso and what's left of the pie. He taps his fingers on the counter, a fifty folded between his knuckles. He holds it out and you go to take it as the drawer snaps open. He hangs on to it, keeping you in a tug-of-war.
"Keep the change. You earned it," he winks.
"Oh, that's too generous," you say.
"I can be," he smirks.
He lets go and you count out his change. He sighs and leans on the counter, "I said keep it, honey bun."
"Really, it's too much--"
"Can't be making much in this place," he says, "go on, buy yourself something pretty."
You look at him, scrunching up your lips with a gulp. You drop his change in the tip jar. He scoffs in victory.
You pack up the pie and slide it across to him. He clings to your every move as he blows over the cup of coffee. He grabs a lid and clicks it on.
"I'll save a piece for you," he promises, "in case you change your mind."
He takes the box and winks. He struts to the door and balances the cup on the flat box as he lets himself out into the street. You chew your lip and quickly turn your attention to the counter. Those city types just stick out like a sore thumb.
🥧
The routine of your work quickly wipes the strange encounter from your mind. Early mornings filled with steam and the scent of cinnamon swirl by in a cloud. Melinda helps set out that day’s pies as you put on the coffee to brew. There’s usually an opening rush, as much as you get in a place like this.
Eden and Frigga enter with a jingle of the bell above and you greet them with a smile. They always come on Friday. You already have their order started as Melinda cashes them out. An oat latte with vanilla and cinnamon for Eden and simple black tea for Frigga. And a peach crumble to go, her first son’s favourite, Frigga proclaims each time.
That morning, however, she surprises you with a different comment. A question.
“Darling,” she stops you at the window as she grasps the wire handles of the paper bag, “are you available tomorrow night?”
“Pardon?” You bat your lashes in surprise.
“I’m sorry for my abruptness,” she touches the collar of her crisp white blouse coyly as Eden inhales the smell of her latte. “We’re having a special dinner and you did such a marvelous job last yule.”
“A dinner?” You wonder, “I suppose I could ask Carla if she can pick up an extra shift.”
“That’s wonderful. Apologies for short notice. It’s only we have an unexpected guest at the hotel, she does have particular tastes and it’s Thor’s birthday. He wants to celebrate. I have a list,” she sifts around in her handbag, “I may have been a touch presumptuous. He’s hoping for a cheesecake, rather than sponge. Oh and the younger one, he said it’s too rich so some of your shortbread shall do for the dissidents.”
“Right,” you accept the piece of paper as she unfolds it. It wafts with perfume as you read her elegant cursive. “I should be able to do most of it. I’ll need to do a run for some of the savoury ingredients… what time?”
“Oh if you could arrive at three or four, that would allow for set up and some last minute details. Oh, could you also make sure you and your little helpers wear red? Thank you so much, dear,” she reaches into her handbag again, “a deposit, of course.”
She hands you a check, signed by her husband. You’ll have to take this to the bank but you won’t mention the trouble to her. You smile and tell her you’ll figure it out. She claims her tea and crumble and sets off with Eden on their weekly excursion.
“I can’t do Saturday. Husband’s mother’s comin’ round,” Melinda says over the till as you approach her, “Carla was talkin’ about some party too.”
You frown and chew your lip. You suppose you could ask Katherine. She’s always eager to help, even with her meagre two shifts a week.
“Right, no problem,” you smile, “nothing you need to worry about.”
“I can help with some prep today. Do some shopping with Carla’s in for the afternoon.”
“Sounds good,” you fold up the list and the check and tuck it into your apron.
You grab a receipt and start on the next order. It’s a single tea latte; the blueberry oat. You go through the motions and bring it to the counter, calling out the item. A woman you’ve seen around sways as she sends a glance to a man still in line. You don’t recognise him, another new face. She shies away as he returns her gaze and she quickly scurries to claim her drink.
She gives a tiny wave as she comes up, “um, sorry, er, to eavesdrop,” she murmurs and you lean in to hear her, “if you need some help, I could do some… stuff.”
“Oh, uh…”
“Just for the night?” She pleads, “sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“No, no, that’s nice,” you assure her, “you live with your grandmother, right? Up behind the ridge.”
“Yeah,” she squeaks, “we could use the money.”
“Sure, not many jobs to go around in Hammer Ford,” you sniff, “can you be here for one?”
“Uh,” she peeks over again at the man by the register. The way he watches her makes you uneasy.
“Yeah,” she answers shakily, “I’ll be here. Thank you so much.”
“You know what, we have a special on, how about you sit and have a scone,” you offer.
“Um…”
“You got a far way back, you should enjoy your latte,” you insist, eyeing that man again.
“Okay,” she agrees easily. Too easily. That man is listening, he must notice that as well.
“You go sit down and I’ll bring you the scone,” you smile again, “if you stick around, we can chat a bit about tomorrow when it slows down.
“Oh, yeah, makes sense,” she accepts, “thank you so much.”
She turns and awkwardly moves around another customer. She weaves her way to the corner and sits at a table alone, cradling her cup daintily. You’ll have to keep her in the kitchen.
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devildom-moss · 6 months
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Roses for You (9)
This had all started when you noticed a link between a book on the language of flowers you had borrowed from Satan’s room and the current lessons from your Seductive Speechcraft and Magical Potions classes.
In Seductive Speechcraft, you had just reached a section on the effectiveness of spells using non-verbal communication: enchanting glances, dance, and offerings. Meanwhile, in Magical Potions, the professor had been discussing the significance of using specific quantities when concocting potions; they had spent fifteen minutes just providing examples – including adding petals from two different flowers when using them for a love spell.
You couldn’t resist discussing the use of flower language – utilizing the type, color, and quantity of the flowers – to specify the magical intent of an offering as a form of seductive speechcraft. Asmo and Solomon listened intently. The same idea popped into both of their minds, and before you knew it, everyone was looking into color and number meanings, searching for the perfect combination to convey their feelings for you and try to put you under their spell. The only rule for their little competition to charm you? Only roses are allowed.
Will you be charmed by their attempts?
Nine Roses - Barbatos
Word Count: +1,500 (sorry. I think my bias is showing.)
Eternal love
“Hey, Barbatos, why did you want to see me today?” You stood at the door to the Demon Lord’s castle.
Barbatos chuckled and stepped aside to allow you in. “What would you say if I told you I simply wanted to see you?”
“I’d say, ‘I’m glad you invited me because I missed you, too.’”
You missed the brief widening of his smile. He was delighted by your response, but the thought of someone walking into the foyer and seeing him practically fawning over you caused him to suppress that joy.
“Actually,” Barbatos started with a hint of something between hesitation and musing. “I was finishing up a task that I believe you might enjoy. Would you like to try your hand at making a flower arrangement?”
“I don’t know if I’d be any good at it, but it sounds fun.”
“Excellent. Come with me to the garden.” Barbatos turned, hiding the sudden appearance of a grin, and led the way. Perfect, he thought. It was no coincidence that you “caught him” in the middle of this particular task. He had worked hard to complete his necessary duties ahead of time so that he could spend the entire afternoon with you. This last task had been postponed until you were on your way with the hope that it would spark your interest – with the expectation that his plan would come to fruition. “I have a table set up in the garden where I was previously making arrangements. The flowers around the castle required refreshing. Although, as you can see, I’ve already completed a few.”
There was a vase slightly ahead of you on a table in the hall. You recognized the purple basil and black calla lilies, but there was something else in the arrangement – some alien- or Devildom-looking plant. It was a large dark reddish-brown, almost black, with petals that resembled wings – some pointed, demonic version of an orchid. Even stranger were the long, whisker-like tendrils that jutted out from the center. You’d never seen anything like it. “What type of flower is that?”
“I take it you mean the black bat flower?” Barbatos hummed and stopped in front of the vase.
“Is it native to the Devildom? It’s incredible. I half-expected it to growl at me as we walked by.”
“No, my dear,” Barbatos chuckled. “This plant is from the human world, but it tolerates Devildom conditions quite well; in fact, it flourishes here – much like yourself. I’ve heard about your recent interest in flower meanings, would you happen to have learned about any of these?”
“Well, I’m not sure if it’s the same for purple basil, but basil is usually a symbol of love, right?”
“It is now, although I’ve read that it once symbolized hatred. It was said to drive men insane. What an interesting turn of events. Both the calla lilies and the bat flower symbolize transformation, strength, and mystery. However, the black calla lily has a rather unique association.” Barbatos paused and turned to face you. His tail wrapped around the back of your thighs and pulled you closer to him. He held your gaze seductively and spoke, slow and heavy: “forbidden love.”
Barbatos had brought you here on purpose – both to see that particular arrangement and because the hall was quiet and not prone to foot traffic. He gave you a gentle smile that smothered the spark of heat you had felt in his eyes.
You found yourself searching for something to say – to cut the charged tension in a still-very-public part of the castle. “It’s a beautiful arrangement, Barbatos.”
Barbatos chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, dear, I lost myself momentarily. Shall we continue to the garden?”
He didn’t wait for a response before he turned and began to walk. You immediately felt his tail drop and encircle one of your calves, pulling you along with him.
The table Barbatos had set up in the garden was filled with a variety of flowers. You could see that he had nearly completed another arrangement before you had arrived. Barbatos added a few more hell roses and a sprig of black grass before he wrapped it carefully. “I’m going to place this in an empty vase. You’re welcome to use whatever you’d like to create your arrangement.”
“Will you display it in the castle when I’m done?”
“I’d like to, yes – if you don’t mind.”
You grinned to yourself as Barbatos walked away. The thought of Barbatos looking at an arrangement you made throughout the week as he went about his duties left you nervous but eager to please. Instinctively, you reached for a blue anemone. Sure, you probably should have considered what would suit the castle and the potential surrounding décor, but all you could think about was Barbatos. You added a few purple hyacinths, and cursed baby blue eyes, rotating the placement of each selection, but you felt that something was missing. The pale blue glow of hell jasmine called to you. Strange; the scent of hell jasmine was said to make a demon extremely needy. Why would Barbatos want to display these in the castle? That seems a bit dangerous. However, on closer inspection, the scent had been hampered significantly compared to other times you had run into this plant.
“Let me guess,” Barbatos spoke up as he returned to the garden. “You’re wondering if that hell jasmine has had an effect on me today?”
“Sort of.”
“Worry not. This variety has been modified. Its scent has no power over me. That honor is all yours today. It’s perfectly safe to use in your arrangement.”
“Oh!” You felt the heat rise in your face. You weren’t sure you believed him with all his sweet-talking. But that didn’t matter. If the hell jasmine was safe to use, it would make for the perfect final touch. You wanted to surprise Barbatos with your creative decisions. “Close your eyes, please.”
“As you wish.” Barbatos made no attempt to get closer and shut his eyes. You finished your arrangement and brought it to Barbatos, holding it out to him like an offering.
“Okay, you can open your eyes.” You watched as a look of pleasant surprise was sketched on Barbatos’s face. The smile on his lips filled you with an unfamiliar pride – so warm and encompassing as if you had performed a miracle. There was no restraint in that smile. “I made it with you in mind.”
“Oh my.” Barbatos brought the knuckle of his index finger to his mouth. “I beg your pardon, but would you indulge my selfishness and put your arrangement in my room? There’s an empty vase on the table near the door.”
“You want to display it in your room?”
“I would feel better knowing something so thoughtfully crafted by you was in my room. I’m afraid I would feel quite jealous allowing someone else to admire it. That is, I want the sole joy of seeing it and thinking of you each day. Is that okay?”
“Are you certain the hell jasmine has had no effect on you?” You looked at him suspiciously as if that would distract from the way he flustered you.
“I’m afraid not. This seems to be a consequence of thinking about you so much today. Now, will you do me a favor and deliver those to my room? I believe you’re adept at finding my room on your own by now,” Barbatos added a seductive tinge to the last sentence. He turned you towards the entrance and gave you a gentle nudge. The warmth of his hand lingered as you headed to his room.
When you returned, Barbatos was carefully wrapping a bouquet of blue roses and darkness thyme – likely both of which were cultivated by Barbatos. It was simple, but the blue roses were stunning, and their rarity was only complemented by an equally rare herb. Barbatos tied a silky blue bow around the bouquet and held it out to you with both hands – an oddly elegant gesture.
“Where would you like me to put these?” you asked.
“No, my dear, these are for you.”
Your eyes widened and you took a closer look at the bouquet. Nine blue roses. Nine was for a timeless, eternal love. Blue roses signified mystery and uniqueness, but they could also mean something unattainable or impossible. You frowned. “Eternal love is impossible?”
Sure, maybe Barbatos wouldn’t love you forever, but that message seemed a bit cruel.
“Not quite.” Barbatos laughed at you softly. Had his laugh not been so sweet, you might have been upset. “Blue may represent the impossible, but here it is – a dream come true. If I can be so bold, you are a dream come true – the only one I could adore like this for all of time.”
The frown fell from your face, and you were left with shock and shyness. Something must have gotten into him today. In truth, the thought of the others giving you roses only encouraged Barbatos to charm you as much as he could, and that meant he would need to bare his heart to you. Barbatos pulled you in close and kissed you with a sweetness that matched his words.
“For a demon such as myself, eternal love is a rather serious proposal; will you still accept it?” His thumb ran across your lower lip.
“That would be a dream come true.” It was your turn to kiss and fluster him now. Hopefully none of the little D.s would go into the garden that afternoon.
Lucifer (1) | Mammon (2) | Leviathan (3) | Satan (4) | Asmodeus (5) | Beelzebub (6) | Belphegor (7) | Diavolo (8) | Luke (10) | Simeon (11) | Solomon (12) | Thirteen (13) | Raphael (14) | Mephistopheles (15)
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