Countrywhatever oneshots

Thoughts and Prayers || Various Drabbles

It was about time that I posted. I've been writing shit here and there, but not with much variety. Very unbalanced writing diet. Either way, enjoy.

Trigger warnings:
•Sexual assault (mentions, brief descriptions)
•"Snuff", aka stuff that includes being aroused by murder and committing said act for arousal.
•Racism
•Slight biblical implications
•Brief Gore
•Animal death
•Abusive familial environment
•violence
•Depressing atmosphere

Dead dove, do not eat.
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Many countries are normal. Completely fine, typical joes who commute on their daily lives without a care in the world. They have a routine, and they follow it closely.

On the other hand, there are those who fall on the further sides of the spectrum.

Some good, some utterly evil.

And evil cannot thrive on neutral.

Upon a throne of wood thorns and silk vines, there lay a beast of unimaginable evil. So dark and depraved, he can hardly look the part of a man. He is hardly a man at all, a silhouette of darkness and utter despicability. He oversees all of these countries, these people who live normal lives..

But then there was the radiant dove.

A tiny speck of white among a sea of grey, winged and beautiful. His eyes were such a light gold, just a beautiful, radiant yellow. His hair a platinum blonde, glistening like white gold in the sun. His feathers were white as snow, untainted by dirt or blood or grease, silk-soft and beautiful.

To the beast atop his throne, all he could see was the most delicious meal he'd come across in centuries.

To the radiant little dove, the sweet little bird, he saw a monster to whom his affiliate had befriended.

"Israel," The beast snarls, offering its hand out to him. It was clawed, sharp looking, and bigger than his head. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"USA," Israel could barely say the name without stuttering. "I feel the same." He shakes the USA's hand, but slowly.

Hunger swirled in the eyes of the beast, and Israel could see his own horrified reflection in those terrifying blue eyes.

Was the little dove already coaxed into his cage?

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Ode to Clytemnestra

The rage and red-hot anger that came with many other potent emotions was almost overpowering. To feel it wash over your body like a hot wave of water, to swallow you up and to fill you until there is nothing but hot rage inside of you, it was a cathartically lethargic feeling.

Catharsis came from the words, hot as that water, came spilling from his mouth, burning into the floor beneath them. Setting fire to their surroundings. It fills you with endless satisfaction, enough to fuel you through everything else you'd do.

Satisfaction comes from driving a knife through their guts. Feeling the hot blood spill onto your hands and watching the pain light up in their eyes like lights on a Christmas tree. Hearing their screams ring out shrill as owl screeches, sweet as church bells.

Ecstasy came from their dying cries, watching them writhe beneath you. It's all too easy to roll your hips on theirs as you carve the knife deeper, and they're in too much pain to care. Lather yourself in their blood, slick and sticky, bury yourself in their fading warmth as they scream and scream and scream. When your time is up, so is theirs.