#can you tell i love the whole cannibalism as a form of love thing???

[tang3r1n]

cute idea but hero!chizome grappling with a hopeless crush on all might’s daughter figure (jus a chick he took under his wing izuku style)

like UGH. he’s such an old-school gentleman FUCK. he sends flower bouquets with your favorite flowers and like a 4 page letter with the most beautiful and eloquent language used to talk about how in love he is, and he talks like he’s fucking dying. exhibit a;

“i would lay myself at your alter, goddess, my insides laid out for your tasting, your pleasure— please eat of my flesh, consume me whole and let me feel accomplished as a simple, filling meal for you.

oh i beg of you, let my soul forever intertwine with yours, let me feels the silk of your skin, the heat of your breathe, plunge your hand into my heart and cherish it. sink your teeth into my neck and devour me.

i yearn for you, lovely thing. warmly, obsessively, lovingly, carnally, i can only hope you pity my foolish desires— my insane ramblings of fanatic and desperate attempts to gain your affections. please, please by the grace of all that is just and fair, let me worship you. let me treat you as you want to be.

i pray to no god but that of your body, of your mind, of your soul. there is no religion outside of your teachings, my muse. your word is my law, my written oath, music in the grand hall, the rain, the air, the existence of love. i would sooner accept death and the failure of my life’s work than to even acknowledge the existence of beauty that shines brighter than yours.

i beg of you, let my lowly hands hold you, let my soiled and ugly form touch and feel you, let me court you, my fair woman.

let me love you.”

omfg and he’s so petty. randoms in the street and fellow heroes flirting with you? he’s sighing and scoffing dramatically before completing dissecting their speech patterns, body posture, heroing skills, physical appearance, literally anything he can to make them leave you two alone

i feel like he doesn’t care abt how he looks (i mean duh no nose.) but the second you mention liking muscles he’s suddenly finding excuses to flex and stretch around you non stop, he’s doubling up his workout routine and bulking like a MOTHER FUCKER to see if you’re staring yet.

AAAHHH idk i just love chizome and need him insanely badly.

[captainamericasmotercycle]

Can you write a Cregan Stark x Targaryen wife where she is readying to go to the battle since she is the rider of Cannibal and he is with her nervous and makes her promise to come back to him and before she leaves he tells Cannibal to take care of her, he is nervous the whole time that she is away only calming down when he sees her and Cannibal come back.

omg i love this 🥹 wc: 1.7k

warnings: reader is a targaryen (parents and family are unspecified), cannibal's rider, ooc cannibal, cregan loves his wife and will never stop, reader has silver hair and is shorter than cregan (its okay tho he's huge)

After being away all day, the only thing that Cregan wants is to be in your arms. He searches around Winterfell, looking to find a glimpse of silver hair. He finds you in your chambers, hunched over the small desk by the window.

The candle you had lit was almost gone and you didn’t hear him enter. He stalks over to you, noticing your riding clothes on the settee by the bed.

“Did you go out today, my love?” He leans over you from behind, kissing you on the cheek.

You are hesitant to respond, just staring at a message that had arrived this morning. Cregan takes a knee beside you, trying to read the message that has taken all of your attentoin grasped in your hands.

My dearest kin, the Hightower usurpers have taken the lives of the Prince Lucerys Velaryon and the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, along with their dragons. The Rogue Prince and his dragon still remain to be of any help in our time of war. The Queen remains cautious and Vermax is still much too young to be of great help. Baela is doing the best she can on Moondancer, patrolling the East ends of the Riverlands and the Reach, but we need more. My mother has recruited mongrels to ride Seasmoke, Vermithor, and Silverwing. We need you and Cannibal, here, on Dragonstone at once — a command from the Heir to the Iron Thone.

Cregan freezes. You rub a hand over his knotted hair. He reads over the message again, and again, and again. You were going to war, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He stood from his position, making his way over to the settee where your clothes were layed out. He cleared his throat, pushing out the feelings he was having.

You followed his actions, standing from your place at the desk.

“I must go.”

“I know,” he wouldn’t look at you, running his hand over his face.

You sauntered closer to him, “Cregan, look at me.”

He turned his body and his head, but his eyes were still focused on the floor of your chambers. You walked to him, pressing your body against his and taking his face in your hand; you could feel the beginning of a beard forming.

Pushing his face, you forced him to look at you, “Talk, please.”

“I do not know what you want me to say. You must go. It was a command, so it is final. They need you.”

His tone was soft and quiet, much different than the harsh and commanding tone he usually had. He held his hands on your waist.

“When shall you go?”

You take a breath, “I shall leave at first light.”

He brought his head down to rest on your shoulder. You pull him further into you, holding the back of his head tightly.

You pull from him, getting in your shared bed. You pat the spot next to you, asking him to come to bed with you. He discards his pelts, weapons, armour, outer clothes, and shoes, and gets into bed with you.

He lays against the headboard, you lay against his chest. He wraps his large arm around you, rubbing circles into your bicep.

“Rickon…” you began, thinking of the son you had become a mother to when you and Cregan had wed.

“Rickon will be cared for only by me and any hand maids of your choosing. He will have the best education and training - your name will be spoken highly at every meal and at every sleep—”

You sniffled softly, thinking of your boy, “I do not wish for him to forget me.”

Cregan felt his eyes get hot with tears, he pulled you closer into his warmth, “He will not forget you. I will make sure of that.”

Your breathing started to stable and your grip on his arm faltered. As you slept, Cregan could not find any shut-eye, worried about you.

He watched you the whole night. Watching as your chest rose and fell, and how your silver locks were splayed across the feather pillows and across your face.

It was nearly sun-up when your husband woke you. Your eyes fluttered open, you blinked roughly a couple of times to adjust your vision. Cregan paced around the room.

Instead of your handmaiden, Cregan, himself, helped you to dress for battle. You stopped in your son’s chambers, only waking him for a second to say your farewells. You kissed him back to sleep, tucking him in tightly; tears only fell after you closed his chamber doors and headed out to your dragon.

Making your way out of the walls of Winter Town, you found Cannibal in a large field dusted with snow. At your arrival, he huffed out to greet you, trying to rub his head over your chest.

You smiled, brushing over his scales with your hand. Cannibal awaited your mounting as you turned to your husband.

Grabbing his hand, you looked at him solemnly, “My lord husband, if the Gods decide I have served my time and served Westeros well… and I do not return,” you paused to take a breath, “I want you to take another to wed. Do not spend your life grieving over me. Rickon deserves a mother and you deserve more heirs—”

He grabbed both sides of your face, “I do not want to take another to wed. I do not need more heirs. I only need you,” he shakes his head roughly, the morning light hitting his features majestically.

“I will not even look in the direction of another. I will not take another to bed or wed. I will wait at the gates of Winter Town for your arrival. I will pray every sun-up and sun-down for your safe return. You will not be forgotten and there will never be another.”

“Cregan—” he cut you off with a kiss.

“Promise me you will come back,” his brows were furrowed, his face still close to yours.

You nodded to all of your extent, “I promise. I promise.”

He kissed you feverishly once more, finally letting you go, “I will send thousands of greybeards after you. They will meet you at the battle.”

Smiling, you sighed, beginning to mount Cannibal when he called out your name loudly. You turned your head one last time towards his booming voice, “Fight hard. Like a Northerner!”

A single tear ran down your face as you took off. Cannibal screeched, his sounds filling the Northern air. Cregan waited until you were out of site before he turned back to Winterfell.

-

He kept his promise; that night he began his prayers in the Godswood, dragging Rickon along with him.

After your departure he became cold and distant from his people and his men. He would spend many weeks at a time North of the Wall, trying to distract himself from you, but never forgetting his prayers.

His bastard sister was chosen to care for Rickon, and even as his sister, he could not stand seeing another woman care for him.

After the first year, he began bringing the young lord to Castle Black with him, though he was only about 4 years old.

He would occassionally get ravens from wherever you were in battle, but after a while, the messages lessened, eventually stopping. He did not want to assume the worst, thinking you were too busy to write to him.

After tireless pleas of his advisors telling him to remarry, he had killed nearly all of them for even suggesting such a thing. He had never been tempted to take another to bed; the only thing that kept him going was thoughts of you.

He grew his beard out in those long years you were away, his face seeing many harsh winters.

His eyes were sunken, he had become someone he no longer recognized in the mirror. His son had blossomed into a strong young lad, becoming great in battle at his ripe age of seven.

Rickon and his father were very close, only really having one another. They prayed for you every morn and night together, they prayed for you over every meal, and Cregan told many stories of you to his son.

Your memory never faltered, almost as if you were still in the North.

Nearly 5 years after your departure on that cold, dark morn, whispers in the wind had said the Blacks had succeeded in taking back the throne. The realm had lost the Prince Regent, the Usurper King and his wife, the dowager queen, and the youngest hightower prince.

The Starks were at supper when Winterfell’s guards yelled from every tower and station, “Dragon!”

“Dragon!”

Cregan and Rickon immediately perked up, sharing a look and sprinting to their horses. They raced to the gates of Winter Town, shouting at everyone on the streets in their way.

Almost jumping off their horses, Cregan and Rickon watched you and Cannibal land in front of them.

You looked a lot older, your silver hair was much longer and braided up, you held a stoic and stong look on your face. Cregan could tell you had been changed by the war.

You dismounted, running through the snow to your small family. Cregan grabbed you tightly, breathing into your hair, tears overflowing.

You kissed him hard, crying through it. You held his face and smiled through your tears, “Look at this beard!”

He laughed softly, “Five years and that is the first thing you say to me?”

You notice your son standing not too far away, turning to him, you cried more. He was so grown, standing at almost 8 years of age now. You knelt, holding out your arms, “My boy.”

He ran into your embrace, squeezing you tightly. Cregan knelt with you, taking both of your bodies into his arms. Cries and sniffles surrounded your family as you reunited.

Rickon finally broke the silence, wiping your tears, he held onto your shoulder, “Tell us stories about the war! Father told be the same stories of you for years, now we have more!”

You laughed, looking at your husband, “I will tell you all about my adventures tomorrow, but now I just want to be with my family again.”

———

taglist: @wolvestitches

[helluvapoison]

how would the overlords propose?

Say Yes

how the overlords would propose

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Carmilla Carmine ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Romance isn’t an afterthought to her, as hard as that is to believe. Carmilla is a very passionate woman… it just comes after logic. Whether you knew it or not, you’ve been put to the test much earlier on. (How you treat her daughters and how they like you is the most important part, if you didn’t pass you wouldn’t have made it this far)

By now she knows you’re worthy and she’ll bring you into her world permanently. Carmilla plans something intimate. She surprises you in her office for a candlelit dinner, courtesy of her private chef! She is a businesswoman first so she gets straight to the point and asks for your hand, literally, slipping the band into your finger.

“Marry me,” Carmilla says, uncharacteristically soft, “With you at my side, I will be complete.”

˚✧₊⁎ Zestial ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Telling himself there’s no rush, that he could wait a thousand more lifetimes to make you completely his, doesn’t cure the urgency to do it anyways. He’s seen any ounce of goodness down here nabbed before anyone else can take it for themselves. Zestial never claimed to be unselfish, only patient. He tests the question to himself first very early on. Then he phrases it differently to you or refers to himself as your husband to others. You mistake it for a slip up and smile anyways. A delightful sign in his eyes.

Zestial is pleased that you don’t suspect it. How could you when he’s merely being his usual, charming self? He takes you strolling down the same path you took when he first began courting you. Ever the gentleman, he pauses before the bridge over the river of magma and actually kneels.

“Would thou spend the rest of this infernal afterlife beside thyself? Say yes and I swear never to stray and never to allow harm to befall thee. Thou shall only know happiness from this moment on.”

˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Love at first sight doesn’t exist so do not twist his words when he says he knew you belonged to him the moment you met. Feelings were bothersome and you flooded his entire being with them with a simple gaze. Lingering between the emotions was always pain, which he was familiar with. Unfortunately for him, the cure for his ailment was always you. Marriage was not in the cards for either of you. Alastor thought he had no intention of going through such hassle until he couldn’t stop staring at the vacant spot on your ring finger. Bothersome.

Truly you had no idea what he was plotting. It wasn’t uncommon for him to bring you to his radio tower, going over notes with him or just quietly hanging about while he worked. He told you there would be a guest on his next show and he wanted to rehearse the questions. Simple enough. Before you even read the last one Alastor stopped you with a finger to the lips,

“Pardon my dear, you’ve been a wonderful co host— utterly indispensable these past few years— but that’s my line!” There’s a flicker of hesitation before his smile takes a slightly gentler form, a side of Alastor only you’re privy to, “Will you marry me?”

˚✧₊⁎ Rosie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Since she was married a few times already, you thought Rosie would be over the whole thing by now. Well you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried! She adores weddings, from organizing them to being in them; the whole shabang is right up her alley! There was a reason her ex husbands didn’t work out but you don’t have to worry about the whys and whatnots. You’re oh so very special to Rosie, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing you!

The fact you think marriage is off the table has her giddy. She loves having the element of surprise! Cannibal’s left and right are in on the plot, making sure you’re exactly where you need to be all day long until you reach the town square at sunset. Crimson rose petals lead you to the gazebo where candles are lit all around your Radiant Rosie. She smiles so fondly at you it makes your knees weak as you climb the steps to reach her. She poured her love into two pages, prepared to make it her best speech ever but the second you were in front of her everything went out the window!

“Oh! I can’t wait another minute! Marry me, won’t you?”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ the vees might get their own part cause, i feel, they’re particular about marriage

[depravitycentral]

Muzan Kibutsuji General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Muzan Kibutsuji x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, violence, graphic gore, mentions of cannibalism, verbal and physical abuse, murder, one brief mention of throwing up, brief mention of Muzan slutshaming you, mild sexism, verbal abuse, mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of low self esteem, fem reader, MNDI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10K

DARLING PROFILE:

Human

Muzan is not one to easily develop feelings for others in any positive context.

He’s a selfish, cruel being, utterly bent on his own self-preservation with no regard for the lives of others.

He’s self-centered to the extreme, and as such, if he develops feelings for someone (especially romantically), it takes a very, very long time and can only be achieved under specific circumstances.

His darling has to be someone intelligent, quick-thinking, perceptive, ambitious, charming, and a whole list of other things that are almost impossible to achieve.

And yet, the biggest, most glaring trait they must possess is their humanity.

It’s strange and a juxtaposition to Muzan’s own inhumanity, but there’s just something that draws him in about the idea that his darling is so very flawed by the very nature of their being and yet so alluring and tempting and intoxicating.

It enrages him, quite frankly, but his darling must be a human in order for these feelings to form. He initially only feels a mild curiosity towards them – mixed with irritation and contempt, of course, but there’s this nagging feeling urging him to learn more about them, to interact with them, to understand why his pulse picks up ever so slightly when they’re around.

He likes the fact that his darling is so weak; he’ll never tell them, of course, but it only reaffirms his own superiority complex, convincing him that he’s the strongest, and his darling is the weakest.

They’re a pet, in a lot of ways, but Muzan finds himself oddly intrigued – his human is so complex, the emotions they feel and their motivations something he’ll never fully understand, but as time passes he finds himself hating their presence less and less, sometimes even desiring to touch them – a notion that makes his skin crawl in both disgust and a strange, potent sense of desire.

It’s frustrating and confusing, but Muzan’s darling will be a human – though not for long.

Intelligent

It’s no surprise, really, that Muzan is absolutely incapable of handling a darling that doesn’t possess above average intelligence.

They don’t need to be a genius, but his darling must have a strong grasp of both academic and social intelligence.

Where these intelligences lie is flexible; he’s equally impressed by a darling that can recite complex physics formulas and one that can analyze some of the most classical literature ever written.

It doesn’t really matter where the smarts lay, but his darling must be able to showcase at least some level of critical thinking in their daily life; Muzan is enticed by someone who can come as close as possible to being his equal, and as a creature that views himself as smarter and superior to all others, his darling must be something special, too.

(Of course, his darling will never truly be an equal – he’s still the most magnificent, perfect creature, tireless in his search to become immune to human constraints like sickness and aging, but there’s something endearing about a darling that can entertain some of his conversation, who can at least follow some of his logic when he’s feeling generous enough to include them in his plans. Besides, and he’ll never admit to it, he’s fond of hearing his darling’s opinion – he’ll continue with what he thinks best, of course, but if his darling present sound reasoning, Muzan will often entertain the notion for a bit, distantly surprised if his darling has considered an idea he hasn’t yet, or if they present a line of argument that manages to stump him.)

And so, in order for Muzan’s interest to be piqued, his darling must be intelligent and must be unafraid to showcase this – but as his attention is initially fickle (it does not remain this way, however), they musn’t be too proud of their intelligence.

Pride is a sin only he can indulge in, not some lowly human.

Perceptive

Muzan is, unsurprisingly, easy to upset.

Being in his presence is akin to walking on eggshells, with the repercussions of a single step out of line costing a life. And while he won’t ever kill his darling, but it’s still very much in their best interest to learn his triggers and what makes him particularly angry or calm.

His darling must be able to analyze others and understand them quickly – a certain level of empathy is needed, and while he’ll never admit that his darling can read him like an open book, in order to survive they must be able to.

He’s attracted to the idea that his darling understands when to speak and when to stay silent, when to approach him and when to give him space, even when to refer to him as my Lord rather than his actual name.

(He always prefers his actual name, as the way the syllables sound rolling off his darling’s tongue is heaven and sends shivers down his spine, but he must maintain a certain level of control over them and forcing such a title is a good way to highlight the difference in power between them.)

And so, a darling that’s able to pick up on these silent cues and patterns is immensely attractive to him – he has very little patience for idiotic people, and he already harbors enough resentment towards his darling for catching his attention that they must be able to navigate the treacherous waters he places them in.

Besides, there’s something indescribably pleasing when his darling knows exactly what he wants, able to predict his desires often before he can express them or realize them himself.

It makes him feel good, his ego getting stroked and relaxation spreading throughout his entire body, and of course, it only makes his feelings for his darling grow, taking root in his gut and twisting and turning these roots until they’re wrapped so tightly around his heart it may strangle it.

And while Muzan likes to think he’d never let someone hold such a grip on him, he’s simply in denial of how truly dependent he is on his darling’s presence – he’s in much, much too deep.

Quiet

Muzan himself is not a particularly talkative man – even during his human years, his voice was reserved mostly for complaints, yells, with a scowl sprawled across those pale pink lips of his.

He’s not one for idle conversation, and while he can force a pleasant smile and white lies and it suits his purposes, he generally doesn’t desire being in the company of those who talk incessantly.

It’s annoying, frankly, and Muzan isn’t exactly understanding or patient once he’s deemed someone irritating.

And so, a darling who is naturally less talkative is incredibly attractive to him – he likes that they’re quiet, that they only really speak when they need to, if only because he enjoys silence.

A more selfish part of him also enjoys the knowledge that a less talkative darling means a significantly lower chance of them interacting with other men – they aren’t likely to strike up a conversation with a stranger on the street, barring them from potential danger and potential suitors.

His darling’s quietness is pleasing, yes, but there are times when Muzan becomes annoyed by this particular trait, however; his darling should be quiet but still talk to him, when he desires it. They should be silent around others, sure, but they should still respond eagerly and enthusiastically when he initiates a conversation with them.

He wants to see them smile at him and treat his every word as if it were gospel, as if it were something precious and important and cherished.

And so, while his darling should watch their tongue around others (and around him too, really), they should be actively engaged when speaking with him.

But not too much – Muzan can tell when they’re forcing themselves to be eager, and it bruises his ego a bit to know that his darling isn’t being totally honest when they compliment his latest strategy in finding the blue spider lily or the Ubuyashiki manor.

It makes a wave of insecurity settle in his gut, a feeling he resents possibly more than feeling weak – it infuriates him, so it’s best to avoid laying it on too thick.

Really, being his darling is just one big balancing act – they’ve got to keep him pleased and happy, a task that could quite literally result in life or death.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Possessive

In general, your existence absolutely infuriates Muzan.

It takes an incredibly long time for his feelings to form, and even then, he’s entirely unsure of why he even likes you – you’re plain, weak, boring, worthless compared to him. Why is he wasting his time with you? You’re simply one human in a sea of them, all doomed to slowly wither away and die some miserable death, inevitably suffering and growing weaker with every day. Why would he ever find himself even remotely interested in a creature with such a glaring flaw?

How could he allow himself to ever hold even a flicker of intrigue towards a being with such obvious limitations?

Centuries and growing power have left Muzan with such an extreme level of arrogance that he’s equal parts enraged and in denial of his interest in you – early on, he tries his best to simply pretend that you don’t exist. Perhaps he’s having to live in human society for whatever reason, and you’re a neighbor or a woman he occasionally sees near his home.

Regardless, he’s making a point to not speak to you, to not even look at you, fully not acknowledging your presence all in the hopes that the weird, scratching feeling in his heart will go away and he’ll no longer be plagued by this weird, horrible awareness of you.

Except, while he likes to think that it works, the moment he sees another man look at you or converse with you, his nails sharpen and veins sprout along his temples, a new kind of irritation coursing through him. He doesn’t like the way you make him feel, but he likes this even less – this man, this human, who’s standing so very close to you and has absolutely no reason to.

The feeling is strange – it’s envy, he thinks, something he’d felt often back in his human days, but this is different. There’s something else, something sharper, something that’s twisting and burning, something that makes him grit his teeth, that gets his feet moving before he can really even think about it. He’s quick to separate you and the stranger, physically separating you with his body between yours, his breathing a bit uneven and strained, those blinding red eyes of his trained directly at the stranger.

He has enough self-control to not immediately slaughter the man (you’re in far too public a setting – killing every human in the crowded plaza square wouldn’t be hard by any means, but it’d certainly be a hassle), but he’s only brought back to reality out of the angry trance he’d been placed into when he hears your small, irritating, alluring voice saying the human name he’d flippantly told you.

Immediately he’s scoffing, glaring at the man for a final moment before turning on his heel, quickly sauntering away from you while trying to figure out why the fuck he’d just unconsciously rushed to your location. He’s unsettled, quite honestly, and angry, of course, but more than that he’s worried – he'd done that without his control, his body not waiting for his permission to approach you, to interrupt whatever that human had been trying to do.

(He personally raids a small village that night, slaughtering every human he can find in ways that leave blood pooling across every floorboard, his pretty, pressed clothing stained red and feeling wet and heavy against his skin.)

And even once Muzan eventually realizes that what he’s feeling for you is attraction – and, dare he say it, fondness – this possessiveness doesn’t subside. If anything, it grows worse. Because now, rather than simply being uncomfortable and angry with other men (and women) approaching you, he’s angry because they’re approaching something that’s his – you’re his human, his woman, his plaything.

And why do these stupid, irrelevant humans think they have any right to look at you, to steal your time and attention, or god forbit touch you? He’s overwhelmingly possessive, and while there is some part of him that feels something loosely resembling love for you, his feelings akin you much more to a beloved object rather than his partner. You are not an equal with him – he is in charge, and he’s the one who decides your fate.

And even once he’s stolen you away this feeling persists – he’s not loving, and he doesn’t really make any attempts to hide how he views you. He’s not particularly expressive, so there’s a very good chance you won’t be aware of his romantic intentions towards you until later into your captivity, but you’ll know that you’re below him from day one. H

e’s constantly verbally reminding you that he’s superior, that any efforts you take to escape, disobey him, rebel, or call for help can and will be dealt with accordingly – often with a few lives lost. He’s possessive and selfish, genuinely believing that you have no reason to interact with another living thing on Earth besides himself – you’re his partner, his woman, and although you’ll never be an equal, he should be absolutely everything to you.

So, you’d better get good at acting.

Obsessive

While Muzan never fully comes to terms with the level of his obsession with you, his actions speak much, much louder than his words. He may speak to you like you mean nothing to him, but if you knew the extent to which he’d stalked you, watched you, and collected information about you prior to kidnapping you, you’d become even more terrified of the demon.

He’s not particularly subtle about his emotions, but he keeps a very strict barrier between the two of you. He holds every ounce of control in the relationship – he knows everything about you, but you know very little about him.

You only know his name (and only Muzan, not Kibutsuji), that he prefers the small home he keeps you in to be extremely clean, that he doesn’t enjoy physical touch (at least, you don’t think he does – if you knew the extent to which he imagines touching you or the things he’s imagined doing to you, you’d never enter the same room as him).

You don’t know a lot of basic information about him that you really, really wish you did – why did he kidnap you? What is he? Does he want to kill you? Questions swirl in your head constantly, but the same can’t be said of Muzan – at least, not in the sense that you’re a complete enigma to him.

On the contrary, he understands you almost scarily well – courtesy of the extent to which he watched you before kidnapping you. Because he was so angered at himself for developing an interest in a human woman, he found himself desperately hoping that by finding out more about you, all of his interest would fade and vanish, allowing him to simply kill you and continue on with his life.

And so, he took to watching you – you’re remarkably weak, he finds out. You live in a home that’s very, very easy to break into, the locks on your doors hardly putting up a fight before budging under his strength. He scoffs at this information, though it does make a small sense of envy eat away at him – has any other man done this before? How often do you get visitors in the night? Are you secretly whoring yourself out to other men?

He finds himself digging through every corner of your small, modest home – every drawer is opened and searched, every cabinet thoroughly analyzed, every closet and shelf picked over in extreme detail. He’s noting each and every thing he finds, his eyes narrowing or his eyebrow cocking up because wow, there is nothing even remotely remarkable about you.

You don’t have any particular wealth, nor do you have any supply of medicine, nor do you even have any particularly enjoyable artwork or cooking materials. He’s disappointed, but as he moves towards your bedroom and slowly slides open the door, his breath catches. You’re laying on your back, the small gap in the window letting in moonlight that shines across your face, your eyes dancing rapidly behind your eyelids.

He frowns, his nails digging into the wood of the door, irritation settling deep in his gut. You aren’t supposed to have this affect on him. He isn’t supposed to lose himself momentarily just from the sight of you – you, who has absolutely nothing to offer in the face of his power, wisdom, and resourcefulness.

 And yet, here he is – staring at you like some sort of lovesick fool, his eyes unable to stop detailing the curve of your nose, or looking at the very vague outline of your chest from underneath the blanket. He leaves, that first night, finding an innocent to slaughter and only feeling marginally better. He’d hoped that one visit would be enough, trying to focus his mind on the fact that you’re so painfully average, that there’s nothing remarkable about you – but for every negative thought he has, a glimpse of your voice or the sound of your voice overpowers it.

And eventually, he convinces himself to return to your humble home, this time going directly to the bedroom. You’re asleep again, this time on your side, with strands of hair framing your face. Your soft breaths make his brows crinkle, and a sudden, fleeting thought runs through his mind – you’re so vulnerable in this moment, he could kill you with very, very little effort.

And soon his nails have grown sharp, and his elbow is cocked, adrenaline surging through his veins because if he could just kill you, perhaps this whole stupid infatuation could be done with. But the elbow stays cocked, doesn’t move, even as his eyes stay staring at you, not blinking, every nerve in his body screaming at him to end your life.

He can’t.

And that realization is the most upsetting of all – he can’t bring himself to kill you. Him - Muzan Kibutsuji, the Demon King, can’t bring himself to murder a sweet little thing like you. It’s comical, really, and although it infuriates Muzan, it represents a turning point in his feelings for you.

After that night, he no longer tries to force himself into forgetting about you or ignoring you – instead, he pushes himself to learn more about you, becoming fascinated with understanding why you of all people have caught his attention.

And really, this is where his more obsessive traits come into play. Suddenly he’s making a point to watch you sleep every night, always staring and watching your chest rise and fall, marveling at what power something as weak as you has over him. He’ll thumb through your closet, pulling each article of clothing out and appraising it, deciding if he likes it or not.

(Those that he doesn’t like are taken away with him, thrown into the trash and discarded so that only what he chooses actually adorns your figure, just as it should be. Later on into your ‘relationship’ this will still be true – he’s choosing what clothing you wear around the cabin, even what undergarments you wear. He’s particularly fond of silk and satin, liking the luxury feeling of the texture on you and the way it feels against him when he’s pressed up against you.)

He’s following you every night, walking around as your shadow and keeping a watchful eye on you, noting with disdain when you stumble or when you spend too much money on a snack or when you aren’t aware of your surroundings.

He’s especially stuck as your shadow when your period comes about – he’s on you like fucking glue, even going so far as to carefully pull back the sheets and spread your legs as you sleep, kneeling between your knees and pressing his face a few inches away from your clothed cunt, letting his eyes flutter closed as he inhales, smelling you you you.

(Masturbating feels beneath him, but the first time he smelled you while you’re menstruating, he’d decided his pride was worth sullying if it meant getting the release his body was desperate for – desperate enough to have soaked a visible portion of his slacks with precum.)

So really, while he’s an arrogant, narcissistic creature, your presence is his one weakness, his one guilty pleasure that allows himself to indulge in – if only just understand how the hell someone like you managed to snag the attention of someone as powerful and important as him.

Controlling

Muzan doesn’t see you as an equal. You’re a possession of his, something that he has full control over and can dictate every part of their life. He’s so much stronger than you, literally able to kill you with just his pinky alone, and this power dynamic is certainly not a secret to you. You’ll be very, very aware of just how liable you are to what he wants.

Even before he kidnaps you, you’ll be aware of the presence of something in your life – to you, Muzan is simply a loose acquaintance. You don’t know each other well, but he always seems to show up at the strangest of times – with excuses of just passing by, wanting to catch up, or some other innocent, plausible explanation.

And so, when he’s telling you at the fruit stand that pears really aren’t the best for your health, consider apples instead, you simply nod and thank him for his insight. (Of course you don’t know that he wants you to eat the apples instead because he can’t stand the smell of pears, and to have you reeking of the fruit would be a serious deterrent his experience of watching you for the rest of the day.)

When you decide to be bold one day and wear the pretty, colorful kimono you own, Muzan happens to run into you and comments on it, telling you that you look so lovely in more neutral colors, don’t you think? (You don’t need to know that he wants you to be wearing less flashy things so that others won’t notice you as much, so that you won’t draw too many eyes, so that you won’t be lusted after and pined after by so many men – you wouldn’t their blood on your hands, now would you?)

He’s subtle about it, never making you believe that you’re being swayed one way or another, but that changes after he’s stolen you away. Once you’re in his clutches, you’ll become very, very aware of just how much Muzan inserts himself into your daily life.

He’s obviously chosen where you’re to live, forcing you stay with him and keep you isolated from everyone else on Earth, just so that your dependence on him will grow, just so that no one else can see you, just so that he becomes your entire fucking world, just as he should be. But he chooses more subtle things, too – things that border on uncomfortable, things that really should be solely your choice.

 He instructs you on which clothing to wear each day – giving you a specific outfit, telling you to style your hair in a particular way.

He’ll tell you whether to bathe that day, and the order with which you should clean yourself – always hair first, then arms, breasts (this is part that he’s most fervent about watching, claiming that you don’t do a good enough job and he must be present to ensure that you’re truly clean), stomach, back, legs, and between your thighs.

(He’ll allow you to privately clean yourself there at first, but as time passes he stops allowing you to turn your back to him, instead standing over the washing tub and scrutinizing your technique with his eyes, insisting that you haven’t thoroughly spread yourself, that you haven’t pressed inside yourself deeply enough. And, once you’ve begun having sexual relations, he’ll insist that you aren’t capable of being fully clean unless something else helps clean out inside of you, too – something clean and meticulous and cared for like what’s between his legs, of course. So let him settle into the bathing tub and seat yourself on him, allowing him to maneuver you to really, thoroughly clean you.)

He’s even instructing you on what order to eat your meals – vegetables first, then protein, then carbs, those watchful eyes of his like a hawk’s making sure that you follow his commands to a tee. It gives him a sense of control, like a palpable sense of superiority over you – sure, you make him feel emotions that he has no control over, making his body respond in ways he despises, but at least he controls you. It’s a weak ploy at maintaining his ego, but it’s effective – because as time passes, slowly you’ll forget what it was like to live a life where your every decision wasn’t made for you, and the thought will honestly scare you – how did you survive? How were you able to stomach the thought of so many small decisions, so many unknowns, so many things that could’ve gone wrong?

And Muzan will feed these delusions – commanding you with a firm, almost bored voice and following it up with an weak women like you shouldn’t be making too many choices, you’ll always choose incorrectly. You wouldn’t have survived without me, don’t you agree?

Which connects to another key aspect of his controlling tendencies – Muzan is extremely manipulative. He’s a selfish creature motivated by his own personal gain, and he is gifted at deceiving others in order to get what he wants. He’ll never explicitly lie to you, but Muzan has no qualms with warping your world perspective a bit, feeding you delusions, forcing you into believing that you truly are nothing without him, that you truly need him in the way he claims that you do.

And it’ll work – all those comments about you being beneath him and unable to take care of yourself will eventually become a mantra for you, and while you’ll still be terrified of the demon, you’ll start slowly depending on him.

You’ll start needing him in a way that makes Muzan smug – because now, he’s not the weak one, right? You need him much more than he needs you. (This isn’t true, but Muzan convinces himself of it – it has to be true.)

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Quite honestly, it’s rare that you find yourself in a situation where another physical person is around you aside from Muzan. He’s very, very possessive over you, treating you more akin to a pet or prized possession rather than a partner. And because of this, he’s able to easily control the people who interact with you – who they are, when they see you, how long they’re permitted to be in your presence, even what words they say to you.

Generally speaking, if he’s feeling kind, you’ll be permitted to see the Upper Moons, but even then it’s in extremely sparing quantities.

He doesn’t like the way Douma touches you, clinging onto you like some sort of leech and getting his filthy hands all over you.

He doesn’t like the way Akaza bends to you as if you have some sort of power over him, as if you were equal to Muzan himself – it makes some part of him smug to think that his underlings recognize that you’re his, but it still bristles his ego to think that you’re even remotely close to his status, even if you’re objectively higher than other demons.

He doesn’t like the way Hantengu sneaks glances at you that Muzan very much notices, just the mere act alone making him scowl and slice off the demon’s neck, sending him squealing and scampering away.

He doesn’t like the way Gyokko is always complimenting your beauty – you’re gorgeous, true, but only Muzan is allowed to admire you. Only he is allowed to take in the curves of your face and body, the softness of your skin, your alluring smell, the gentle lull of your voice. Besides, only Muzan is allowed to compliment you – even that alone is a huge, huge struggle for him, if only because positive affirmations of anyone aside from himself is a foreign concept, and he simply cannot have Gyokko undoing all the hard work Muzan has undergone to break down your confidence and build it back up himself.

He doesn’t like the way Daki insults you, because although Muzan doesn’t want anyone to compliment you, it’s almost more offensive to have an underling openly mock and ignore you – can’t she tell that you’re so, so much more important than she’ll ever be?

He doesn’t like the way Gyuutaro openly stares and leers at you, licking his lips like some sort of animal – as if he’d ever let such scum touch you. Your body is his to touch and fuck, and for the other demon to even briefly entertain the notion of being intimate with you makes bile rise up the back of his throat and his nails to sharpen without his permission.

The only demon Muzan is somewhat likely (emphasis on the somewhat, because he still rarely ever lets you interact with anyone besides himself) is Kokushibo, simply because Muzan knows that the Upper Rank 1 will keep both himself and you in line. He trusts that Kokushibo, ever loyal to his leader, will not entertain any inappropriate thoughts or actions towards you. He also trusts that Kokushibo won’t allow you to step out of line, his punishing hand swift as he ties you up and forces you to await Muzan, the one who will give you your real punishment for nervously playing with your fingers.

(That’s unwomanly of you, Kokushibo will tell you, all six of his eyes glaring down at you. A woman capable of standing beside Muzan should be regal and confident, you are not worthy of him.)

And so, you effectively will have no interaction with another soul aside from Muzan – but before his obsession pushes him to the extreme of stealing you away, he was certainly no stranger to envy or jealousy.

It's an innocent thing, really – the man in the gray kimono was just trying to keep you from falling. The lantern chain you were trying to hang on the ledge of your roof wasn’t too complex, but the stepstool you were precariously balancing on was another story. Reaching high over your head to attach the chain to the wooden beam was extending your limbs to their furthest ability, leaving you wobbly and liable to fall at all any moment.

And, of course, you did – suddenly you were falling backwards, the lanterns slipping out of your hands and a yelp slipping past your lips. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for impact on the hard ground below you, but the air is knocked out of your lungs by a pair of arms slipping underneath your legs and below your back rather than the cold Earth below. The man carefully helps you stand up, laughing sheepishly as you profusely thanked him, rubbing at the back of his neck.

You’re smiling, Muzan can see from his spot at the end of the street, his gaze fixed on you even over the buzz of life at the nighttime market.

Your shop is easily one hundred feet away, but he can still smell you clear as day, your scent alluring and musky and rich, only now tinged with the slightest bit of embarrassment, appreciation, and attraction.

Muzan scowls, his dark brows drawing inward so tightly that wrinkles were sure to form. His fist curls in on itself, sharp nails already slicing into his palms and letting blood drip onto the ground below him. Every muscle in his body clenches, taut with anger, anticipation and the uncontrollable urge to do something, veins standing out against the paleness of his neck and forehead.

That man was touching you.

Helping you.

You, who was stupid enough to get on a ladder and hang up those incessant lanterns – you, who was careless enough with your own miserable, misfortunate human life as to potentially throw it away for some measly lights. Anger clouds his every thought, but he forces himself to stay still, to not immediately jump onto the man and tear him to pieces bite by bite until he was screaming and sobbing and begging –

Soon the man is on his way, leaving you behind as you disappear into the depths of your shop, the man tucking his hands into his pockets with a smile curling on his lips that makes Muzan’s self-control snap, his legs finally pushing him into action.

It’s not hard to snatch the man by the throat, his claws digging against the soft, thin skin and dragging him away to a deserted back-alley.

It’s not hard to hold him in the air, his feet not touching the ground as desperate fingers clumsily grope at Muzan’s, unable to break the inhuman grip the demon has on his neck.

It’s not hard to watch the man’s face slowly turning purple, his actions getting weaker and weaker, and it’s only once the man is right on the verge of losing consciousness that Muzan lets go, throwing him to ground and hearing a sickening crunch noise as the man wheezes. Muzan’s lips curl, his eyebrows still furrowed, his expression looking halfway between pained and exhilarated.

You worthless human. His voice is full of disdain, hatred seeping into every word as he kicks the man in the stomach, the action causing him to cough up blood, more wheezes and desperate heaves filling the back-alley.

Who gave you permission to breath? Who gave you permission to touch her? Who gave you permission to touch what’s mine? He kicks him again, the curl of his lip deepening.

The man is curled up into a fetal position, blood flowing onto the dirt below him. Muzan scoffs. Pathetic. You must think you’ve done a very heroic deed, saving her from falling.

Muzan’s smile drops. You did nothing. You are just a weak, useless human. What could you offer her?

He waits for a moment, just to see if the writhing mess of a man before him wasn’t as pitiful as he appeared, and his brows cock up ever so slightly when his wheezing, strained voice asks, then why didn’t you save her?

And with that, Muzan slices his head clean off, only the smallest of whimpers ringing in his ears, followed by the dull thud of the now decapitated head falling to the ground. Muzan’s chest is heaving, his red eyes wide, a few curls knocked out of place at the exertion, and for a moment he’s frozen.

There’s genuine rage swimming through his veins, and the sheer amount of that man’s blood staining his clothing makes him pause. Why had his words effected him so? He’d quite literally lost control of his body once he heard the question – why didn’t he bother to save you? Why had he only watched, allowing this other man to step in and keep you from cracking your head open on the ground?

Muzan’s scowl deepens, and soon he’s turning back to the body, sharp nails ripping and slicing at the man until all that remains are scraps of clothing and a face so disfigured that identifying him would be impossible.

And even then, Muzan doesn’t feel the sense of satisfaction that killing someone who insulted him would normally bring – instead, the rage is calmed ever so slightly by a strange feeling that makes his fingers tremble, his throat feel swollen, and his heart race in his chest.

And when he returns to the busy streets of the night market, inhaling over and over and over, he’s quick to catch your scent, trailing behind you with those red eyes trained on your form.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because Muzan is in denial about his feelings for you for most of the beginning of his obsession with you, kidnapping you isn’t the first thing that comes to his mind. He tries to ignore you for as long as he can, holding out and believing that whatever it is that you’re making him feel will eventually go away if he doesn’t pay attention to it.

Except that it doesn’t, and as time passes he becomes more desperate to see you, to hear your voice and speak with you and be in your presence and – god forbid – touch you. And so, while not seriously considering stealing you away in the beginning, once Muzan comes to terms with the fact that his infatuation isn’t going to simply go away on its own he decides that keeping you by his side permanently is the only acceptable solution. It’s the only solution where he won’t lose his mind, honestly.

He grows so dependent on the idea of you that it starts affecting his daily tasks and life – he’s distracted, every moment he has to himself filled with idle thoughts of you and what you could be doing in that particular moment.

Are you eating enough? He knows humans have to eat more often than demons, and you have to be careful about balancing your nutrition and portion control – he’s sure he could a much better job at managing your dietary health than you can.

Are you sleeping enough? Demons don’t have to sleep, and as a result it’s been centuries since he’s had a full night’s rest, but he knows that you spend over a third of your day asleep – a massive waste of time, as far as he’s concerned.

(This doesn’t stop him from stopping by the measly apartment you call home, however, standing at the end of your bed with an unreadable expression on his face as he watches you sleep. Sometimes he’ll even get closer, kneeling beside you so that he can see your face better, perhaps even ghosting a few fingers over the curve of your cheek, your bedroom so silent he can hear his own breathing falling in time with yours.)

Are you with other people? Are you speaking with others? Are you wasting your time and energy on all of those ridiculous ‘hobbies’ of yours? Muzan wants to know – needs to know, and as time passes he simply can’t stand not knowing every single thing that you’re doing at all times.

And it’s not like kidnapping you would be hard – you’re practically defenseless, your reaction time not nearly fast enough to even pose the smallest fight against him. And so, it’s easy to scoop you up into his arms one night, picking you up out of your bed and taking a moment to lean down closer to your neck, his curls brushing against your jaw as he slowly, deeply inhales, the moment of vulnerability passing just as quickly as it occurred as he gulps and stares for a moment, only to immediately take off running towards the cabin he’s prepared to keep you in.

The cabin itself is in the middle of nowhere – in the countryside, at the base of a mountain, with tall trees and no trails leading anywhere. The cabin is wooden, with a fireplace and a meager dining area (only you’ll be using that dining space, of course, but Muzan grows fond of watching you eat – if only to comment on how pathetic it is that you need to sustain yourself with food so much more often than he does). A futon has been placed in the corner of the cabin – it’s big enough to fit two people, but thankfully he hasn’t tried to share it with you yet, not that you’re confident he will.

(You’ve woken to see him sitting beside you on it, however. He was still fully clothed, with an expression on his face that you’re not sure how to describe, but he’s never actually joined you in bed. Thank god.) t’s not horrible, per say, but your life within the cabin will far from idyllic.

Muzan is not a kind man. He’s not even a man – and this becomes apparent to you very quickly. It’s not unusual for him to return home from long periods of time away with blood staining his clothing, that familiar sour look on his face as he stares knowingly at you, expecting you to grovel at his feet and thank him for finally returning to you.

You’ve never seen him eat – he doesn’t touch the food he brings to you (and it’s good food, too – nutritious and surprisingly delicious, making you wonder exactly how he obtained it), and almost seems disgusted when he has to touch it.

You know there’s something wrong, but multiple things bar you from ever asking why his nails grow so long in such short intervals, or why he’s so inhumanely strong, or how he can be so silent when he moves – those things being the many silent, unspoken rules he has laid out for how you should act. He’s controlling in every sense, and although he doesn’t communicate exactly what he expects of you, you’ll quickly learn that he's picky, and he won’t settle for any behavior less than perfect.

Most of these rules revolve around the fact that you aren’t allowed to escape or disrespect him. Attempting escape is a rebellion against being his woman, and just as an owner does a dog, he will punish your ill behavior and pulling your metaphorical leash much, much further than you should.

Plus, your attempts to escape are a form of rejection in his eyes – he never makes it explicitly clear that he’s romantically interested in you, but he feels that you should just know this, and thus your insistence on getting away from him feels like a personal slight against him, like a slap in the face designed to hurt him in the most acute, intimate way possible.

Of course you don’t know this, but after each escape attempt, he’ll punish you, then promptly return to his office (a small, adjoining room in the cabin that you’re strictly forbidden from entering), sitting on his leather couch and letting his head sit in his hands, taking deep breaths and willing himself to stop letting such stupid, weak, human emotions affect him so.

The only thing that works, though, to calm his heart is to once again watch you as you sleep, allowing himself to get close to you, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent, perhaps even holding a shirt in his hands and imagining the way your skin would feel against the fabric. It’s a reminder that although you were disobedient and tried to leave him, you weren’t successful – you’re still here, with him, as you should be.

Disrespecting him is also, of course, a severe infringement of the unwritten code he expects you to follow. He has to maintain some sense of superiority over you, and the moment you disrespect him either with words or actions, this fragile hierarchy is threatened, and you come dangerously close to the uncomfortable truth – that despite all his grandiose talk about you being beneath him, he would be absolutely nothing now without you.

He would be a mess, unable to function, unable to find purpose in avoiding death and sickness, unsure of how to move forward with a life that now no longer seems worth continuing. And so, as long as you avoid those two major triggers, most of your time spent in the cabin will be passed with Muzan simply sitting in your presence, those red eyes watching you like a hawk and making you beyond nervous. He scares you – he’s a monster and you know it, he’s stolen you away from your life and forced you into some strange, pseudo-relationship of roommates, though his intentions are much more sinister than you can imagine.

The one silver lining of being stuck with Muzan is that his crippling fear of rejection bars him from making any sort of sexual advance on you. Of course, he very, very much wants to fuck you (thought the thought shames him, because you’re a human woman, and the idea of touching a human and being touched by a human makes his skin crawl), but the idea of you not being as passionately and needily engaged and eager as him is enough to stop him from attempting anything.

This has an unfortunate side effect though, which is that he channels this anger and fear of being rejected by you into meanness directly at you – comments of how you’re clumsy or loud or irritating slip past his lips. And although he doesn’t often mean them, the venom in his voice will get you shutting up, fearfully and self-consciously staring down at the floor.

He feels the smallest pang of guilt when this happens, because although he’s a sadistic creature, seeing you upset isn’t nearly as pleasing as he’d expected. But it’s a necessary evil in the larger scheme of things – he has to keep you in line, and by stealing you away so that he can keep constant surveillance on you and control your meal times (he decides when you eat, even if you’re not hungry or don’t want the meal he’s brought), how often you bathe yourself (often he’ll watch the process, those red eyes raking up and down your figure, making sure to wear loose bottoms so that you don’t see how the sight of you wet, soapy, and embarrassed effects him), and make sure you interact with no one, he’s ultimately fulfilling a self-serving goal: preserving you, and keeping you all locked up and safe for him to enjoy.

And only him.

PUNISHMENTS:

Despite Muzan’s strange fondness for you (or, more accurately, his dependence on your presence), he’s by no means a gentle lover. He’s cruel, demeaning, incredibly strict and harsh with you, with expectations that he never clearly communicates with you. It’ll leave you guessing in the dark, hoping and praying that your every action, word, and even thought won’t trigger some sort of negative response from him. He’s fickle, his mood changing quicker than you keep up with, and because of this, Muzan finds himself angry with you much more often than he’d care to admit.

He was resistant to developing feelings for you at first, embarrassed, disappointed and frustrated with himself for stooping so low as to develop an attraction with a weak human like you, but as time passes he finds himself growing less resentful and more desperate. He’s still angry with himself, ashamed that he’s allowed himself to let you become his one weakness, and because of this he’s a bit trigger-happy with punishing you.

He’s always looking for reasons to belittle you, to put you down in order to make himself feel better. He’s an egotistical, narcissistic creature, and just because you’ve managed to worm your way into his heart doesn’t mean that you are exempt from this aspect of his personality.

He’ll find ways to twist your words and actions into somehow being displeasing to him, whether by being disrespectful to him, or an attempt to escape.

You’re quiet and avoid speaking with him or looking at him? Sure, you’re scared, as you say, but this could also be an attempt lulling him into lowering his guard around you, like you’re waiting for the right opportunity to try and run or hurt him. (Just the thought along is laughable – as if you could ever do serious damage to him.)

So, he’ll force you into speaking simply by threatening any remaining family you have. That’ll get you spluttering and talking, he’s sure – your weak sensibilities and this absurd devotion to your family that you seem to possess is perfect to exploit. (Plus, it’ll get you to stop ignoring him, something that makes his heart feel like a knife is twisting inside him, making every part of him ache and bile rise in the back of his throat. But you don’t need to know that – he’ll never admit it.)

You’re refusing to eat the food he’s brought for you? You ungrateful thing – he’d gone so far as to get the best quality, fanciest food he could find for you – things that he could imagine himself stomaching back when he was a human. Things that – despite you being below him – you deserve as his pet. He’ll merely scoff, throwing the food off to the side, before returning a few hours later with something warm and wet and fresh – blood is dripping off the pretty white plate he’s dished the human heart on, his face carefully neutral aside from the smallest of smirks while he tells you to eat up, you wouldn’t want an ended life to be in vain, would you?

It’s cruel and it’s evil and it’s horrible, but pinning your compassion and disgust at him murdering innocent people because of your rebellions against you is the most successful and effective tool he could use to keep you in line. It works – every single time.

And Muzan has no qualms with using every possible resource at his disposal – sure, you may be angry at him, perhaps even hate him, but he’s confident that with time, you’ll realize that he’s all you have left. You’re weak and incapable and you’ll never, ever be rid of him, so why won’t you just obey him like you, as the inferior life form, should?

Your fingers are trembling as he nears you, that same unearthly silence to his steps that makes every muscle in your body stand at attention, your fight or flight instincts begging you to run as fast as you can away from the monster in front of you.

There’s nothing in his hands, but that doesn’t make you feel better – you know what he can do with those hands, and you curl up tighter against the corner you’ve sat yourself in.

Muzan’s got a half-smile on his face – it’s the closest he can get to a genuine smile, you think, but it still makes your skin crawl, unease and dread eating away at your gut. He stops in front of you, crouching down so that he’s at eye level with you. His curls sit around his face, the casual white dress-shirt he sports perfectly pressed and rolled up at the elbows.

Hello, how are you faring? He asks, and immediately you grow suspicious – this is unusual. He never directly asks you about yourself – he normally talks about himself, only occasionally dropping a comment or two about you that lets you know he recognizes your presence in the room.

What is he playing at? How do you respond?

I’m okay… you start, nervous that he’s looking for an answer that you don’t know. At your response, he makes no noticeable change, but instead stands once more. He’s still staring down at you, those red eyes feeling heavy and piercing.

Come with me.

And then he’s walking, and you’re scrambling behind him to keep up with his long strides. He settles down onto a leather couch in his study, and for the briefest moments you hesitate at the threshold, having never been allowed in this room.

He notices your resistance, and rolls his eyes slightly. Come here.

You do as you’re told, and carefully, tentatively sit down on the other end of the leather couch. It’s silent for a few moments, before Muzan breaks it, his voice a bit deeper than before. Come here.

Confusion settles over your features, but you slowly scoot over a bit, so that you’re an inch or so closer to him. Muzan’s still staring at you, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, and a frown sits on his lips.

You scoot over a bit more, continuing when he doesn’t say anything until there’s just the smallest sliver of space between your bodies. You can hear his breathing, having never been so close to him before. He’s still looking at you, but you focus your gaze on your hands in your lap, trying desperately to not visibly show your nerves.

Are you afraid of me?

His question startles you, and you stiffen up, peeking at him for just a moment. Unsure of how to respond, you merely nod, your voice small as you murmur yes. Muzan hums, and suddenly there’s a hand sitting on your thigh, his skin cold and dry, the weight feeling heavy. And although you try to stop yourself, knowing the consequences will be anything but pleasant, the unforeseen physical contact makes you jump, scooting away from him ever so slightly.

The room is still for a moment, before you hear his sharp inhale, literally seeing his face morph into one of rage. He’s breathing hard as he gets to his feet and practically storms out of the room, his steps still nearly silent. You’re still frozen, trying to process what you’ve just done – you rejected him.

Obviously you don’t want him, but this surely must be one of the unspoken rules you’re supposed to follow – surely such an arrogant man wouldn’t appreciate being you being so blatantly repulsed.

Unsure of what to do – does he want you to leave his study? Stay? – you stay in place, every part of your body shaking in fear and horrible anticipation at your punishment for such a grave offense.

You don’t have to wait for long – ten minutes later he’s barging through the door, dragging a woman by her hair into the space. She’s already stained with bits of blood, her hair matted with it and her pretty clothes darker than they should be.

Muzan’s staring at you, a wild look in his eye, his hair a bit messy and a few more buttons of the dress shirt undone. He throws the woman to the ground, and you notice how shallow her breathing is – she must be on the verge of death.

Muzan’s voice is deep, husky in a way that stills you to your very core as he growls out you will never, ever reject me. Do you understand? You have no place or authority to reject me. You are nothing. I am the only worthwhile thing in your life. Do you understand?

You nod, over and over, eyes flashing between his piercing gaze and the woman who’s slowly trying to get to her feet. Every time she gets close, Muzan pushes her back to the ground, the tears clouding your lashes just barely letting you make out the way her face twists up in pain.

You are nothing. You are nothing.

Muzan is repeating it to himself over and over again as he picks up the woman, forcing her to face you. Briefly, you’re shocked – you’ve never seen this woman in your life, but something about her seems oddly familiar, like you’re looking in a mirror.

Her hair is remarkably similar to yours – the same texture, the same color, just a different length.

Her nose is similar to yours, her skin color, even her eye color.

Her body is similar, too – a similar build, proportions, and suddenly you’re sick.

This woman is you.

Muzan’s still breathing hard, his face contorted into that ugly scowl, and without a word, his hands are tangled in the woman’s hair again, pulling and yanking upwards until a wet squelching noise fills the room, and suddenly her body falls backwards, limp, with her head still held in the air, his forearm flexing.

You can’t stop yourself from vomiting, the sight and sound too much for you to bear. Muzan watches with pursed lips, his eyes still wide and barely blinking. You look pitiful like this – shaking like some sort of scared mouse, staring at him like he's a monster, like he’s the Devil himself.

And as he stares down at you, something pleasant settles in his gut, because while he’d prefer your adoration, the way you’re looking at him now is good, too. Because you’re looking at him, giving him the attention he was craving earlier.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have tried to be kind in his approach at initiating physical contact with you. After all, it’s not as if you really have a choice – it’s such a strange, human desire to want to touch another, and really, isn’t it your fault that he’s feeling this urge?

(Isn’t it your influence and doing that he wants to touch you, to feel you, to be inside of you?)

He bares his teeth, an eyebrow cocking up. Do not reject my advances. Your death will not be as merciful as hers.

And to that, you simply nod.

OVERALL DANGER:

10/10

Muzan is, undoubtedly, a nightmare to have infatuated with you. He’s so deeply in denial in the beginning that he forces himself to stay away from you, only for that to make him crave you more, to realize that his feelings for you aren’t simply going to go away.

He’s possessive and controlling, seeing you as his in every sense of the word and feeling completely justified in taking over every aspect of your life.

He’s paranoid, always keeping an eye on you because being this emotionally tied to another living thing is incredibly nerve-wracking, your weak human body and disposition making him nervous that even the wind will send you knocking on death’s door.

And even then, he doesn’t express this worry in any healthy way – he’s not afraid to verbally degrade you, using harsh words as a shield so that you don’t see just how pathetically deep his obsession and attraction to you is.

It’s demoralizing, embarrassing to a degree that forces him to treat you like a pet of sorts – punishing you with threats, stealing you away to be stuck in some remote cabin in the woods where not a soul will dare near the home, smelling both him and the scent of death strongly in the air.

He’s so emotionally out of touch, and as a result your life with him will be a constant series of walking on eggshells around rules and expectations you don’t even know about. It’s difficult, and frankly you’re viable to find yourself quickly losing your sanity.

But don’t worry too much – Muzan may not act like it, but he does care about your health and safety, and you’ll be in capable hands to help reshape and remold you into the perfect little human partner.

Perhaps you’ll even become a demon – a very, very likely event, considering the fact that as a demon, you have to obey his every command.

(Just the thought of you completely obedient and submissive makes him smile, his eyes narrowing a bit and his nails tapping on the nearest surface, those slacks of his feeling a bit too tight.)

He wants you to be his, and a man as selfish as him knows no bounds. So really, get ready – you will be his, and will never escape him. Lucky you.

[djljpanda]

Alastor simp here, can I request S/O who is like a vampire character from Murder Drones? :3

Alastor X Murder Drone Reader

When he goes to get his cannibal meat he stops to get some blood for you

Enjoy how you get very sadistic when you are craving for blood and may even help you with your hunting

You like comparing your fangs to his sharp teeth

You both met as you were trying to get some blood but not knowing it was Alastor, the whole fight happened but he was just impressed that you were able to hold yourself against him

You guys are a very sweet and deadly couple in hell some may even dare to say it's a love like Lilith and Lucifer

You are still very sweet but can get blood hungry, scary as your true form takes over, but Alastor doesn't mind

Can't tell for Valentine's Day he doesn't bring you any dead bodies only to see you brought him the same thing, #couplegoals

Overall I like this idea a lot of potential for this relationship but when it does happen man does the rest of Hell more scared of both of you

[crabas-lordes]

You don't mind the bared teeth of their permanent grin, even as it twists into something strained. Those black eyes narrow with the only white one, orange pupils flashing into something that would send most running.

Not you. Never you.

You've dealt with Eclipse enough for so long that you know when it's safe to run or not. And now is not the time.

Eclipse dangerously dips his head, nearly silhouetting that minacious gaze and grin. The sharp, ray-like horns are always so beautiful crowning him in this light, but you keep your eyes on theirs. You don't blink, you don't step back. Your mouth twitches, and you hold your swallow. You're not foolish, however. You know he senses how your insides tighten and shake as their imposing form leans toward you.

He's a predator ready to pounce, and you've always been the prey biding the time to escape.

His mouth finally parts, and his words roll with a hiss of his native tongue. "You're so quick to side with them and judge me when you don't know the whole picture yourself, umbra. Shall I paint it for you, or is your opinion already set?" Something inside their mouth sharply clicks and clatters.

You don't relent with your own special glare. You let your eyes cascade down Eclipse's hunched and obviously tensed form. An exhale releases from your nose as you see his eggplant-purple cloak swish around his legs. Looking at him now brings a tingling pang through your chest at the thought of Sun and Moon.

You love them both.

And it hurts because...

You've taken a liking to him.

"Alright," you give in quietly. You're nice enough to speak his tongue. "I'll listen."

You lift your shoulders and ball your hands into fists. You can feel how warm and clammy your palms are through your fingerless gloves. Your brow twitches, and you finally lift your head. All you can see is the black shadowing Eclipse's face, brightening pupils sizing up your bite-sized frame. Fitting of their namesake. Their smile has thinned so much it's almost just a line, but the shine of those daggers still catches your eye.

Oh, but life preservation be damned. Having a lack of it got you this far.

You intently point, hardening your glare. You don't care how much your hand shakes, you're being plenty nice enough. And it's only because you've dealt with Cannibals for all your space life.

"So, justify eating your crew then."

—

Some things may be different in the actual fic, but! Another concept thing where your good ol' friends Sun and Moon tell you the truth of their past, and it makes you confront your other dear ol' friend about it :)

Eclipse and the Beings Made of Stardust AU belongs to @maudiemoods

The MC is gender neutral, but how I drew them is how I personally imagine them.

(AH I also forgot the wispy back part of Eclipse's head in the first panel, but it's fine lol)

[appleblueberry-pie]

I saw your post asking for yan Miguel asks:

I’ve been praying for someone to write about Miguel with a giant reader.

I dont even know if I want us to be a whole drider or just a Giant Woman™️ (lady Dimistrescu, my beloved). Or maybe both and we can final form an even bigger spider!

Sorry, I’m just excited to have a place to ask and I’ve had this in my head for so long 😅

It’s just been clinking around that in some spiders the females are much bigger and the males would have to like feed and appease her to try and mate without getting eaten.

And I am an absolute SUCKER for mating rituals!

I hope this catches your interest, thank you for reading 😊

Ooooooooooooooh my god? Yes? Why haven't I thought of this before??

DINNER IS THE DESSERT.

cw: mentions and threats of committing cannibalism. predatory tendencies. animalistic tendencies. sadistic and masochistic tendencies. public humiliation? scent kink. male sub + dom female.

Miguel is scared of you.

You....you aren't giving clear signals. He doesn't know what you want from him. All he wants is to please you, make you happy. He wants you to notice him and fucking love him. He wants to be yours. Not your dinner.

He used to be the tallest in the company. 6'10, 300 lbs. Ever since Jess softly introduced you and scattered off like a mouse, you have been the biggest. 7 feet fucking tall and one extra inch for decoration. 270 lbs and hungry for a mate. He can tell. Your scent wafts up his nose when he's in a 20 foot radius. And when he brings you a gift he think you'll love, he knows you don't like it when you stare down at him, almost disappointed in him, and lets the silence grow as everyone stares at the two of you. He awkwardly leaves when you don't say anything.

No one else will dare talk to you if they're interested because they know that they don't fit your standards. You're too fucking scary. No one. NO one can match your strength or even catch your interest besides him. And it's beautiful, because he's been obsessed with you and everything about you since he first met you. To be your bitch for the rest of his life is a dream come true. And to do that, he has to up his game. Attempting to intimidate you will get him killed. Simply offering himself to you will also get him killed. Actually, used, shown to everyone, and then killed.

And the only thing that has been working so far, has been giving you gifts. That's the only time he has a chance when it comes to communication and even winning a simple glance for your attention.

When you first introduced yourself to him, the both of you were alone. Peter and Jessica hated your energy, and Miguel was the only one that could possibly fight you off if you attacked them.

"Everyone thinks I might kill them if I get too close."

You were too close. He couldn't turn around. You were directly behind him, staring over his shoulder at his work. Not a single muscle in his body moved, his fingers stilled, his breath paused. Your body heat radiated off of your suit, doing nothing to filter the strong scent of your lust and hunger. Miguel felt your breath hit his neck and felt an urge to cry. He felt pathetic. His ears felt clogged as they began ringing, his heart beating out of his chest.

He heard you laugh silently. "You're scared." You took a single step forward, and your front connected with his back. Miguel was becoming overwhelmed with his emotions. Within the five minutes he had known you, he found out he was so utterly attracted to you, wanted to be your mate, and was so fucking terrified of you all at once. Your scent punched its way up to his brain and made him close his eyes with how pungent it was.

"Don't be scared." His heart dropped as he heard himself breathing again, at quite a rapid pace. "Let it happen." He flinched when your cold fingers, and then your hands, touched around his small waist. You exhaled and stared holes into the side of his face. He still couldn't move.

"You smell so good." His heart leaped at the praise and he found the courage to blink again. But then your lips brushed against his neck and he violently flinched, yelping in fear. You were going to eat him. Your hands tightened painfully around his body when he was about to thrash and he began hyperventilating in fear.

"What did I just say??" Your hot breath hit his ears and your words shattered his mind. Without thinking, he responded. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry." You roll your eyes and step away from him, giving him the space he needed. Immediately, he gulped in as much air as he could. His shoulders relaxed slightly and he finally turned around to face you.

You looked as beautiful as he thought. If not, more. Your broad shoulders, muscular legs, sharp eyes and face. You looked down at his raging hard cock and frowned. "So fucking pathetic." You step closer and firmly grab his chin, his eyes turning the other way to not make eye contact out of fear. "It makes me want to taste you." Your words cause an accidental whimper to slip from his lips.

If Miguel knew that taking that serum was going to do this to him, he would've never became spiderman. He felt like he was going to urinate everywhere, climax in front of you, sweat up a storm, and scream for help all at once. He wanted to crawl underneath your skin and be one with you, but wanted to be far away from you at the same time. He felt a violent pull and push when around you and he felt it deep inside of him. Something inside of him screamed that this was his mate, and he was yours to please, and to do anything for your approval. You bring him light. He never was so conscious about his precious body until you came and threatened to kill him in his work space like you owned him. And maybe you already did. Because he's never felt his heart beat like this, he's never felt so alive. He wants you. He wants you.

You bring your eyes down to those lips. His fangs began to protrude and poke at his bottom lip as a natural reaction to a predator. Anything to stay safe and close to away from you. "I wanna have my fun with you, first." Miguel physically can't respond. He lets the silence build, his tongue heavy and numb. But then you let go and walk off like nothing happened. You haven't spoken ever since. And he's been trying to win your love ever since.

Miguel doesn't remember the last time he's had a real conversation with the rest of the spider community. Because all he's been doing is growling at people like a dog when it's not you. Lyla had to set up an entire other email account for people that want to reach out to Miguel and had Jess answer under the account name whenever she could. If you're not out scaring the spiders just from being there, Miguel is out there purposefully scaring people out of their socks. He wants NO attention on you besides his own, and he makes sure of it. Fuck monitoring the missions, fuck eating, fuck sleeping, and fuck the multiverse(for now), you need tending to.

All of his technology as of right now goes into finding out what you love most and what not to give you. He knows you like homecooked meals, he knows what types of clothes you enjoy wearing besides the typical spider suit, and he knows you love baked goods. He watches your everyday life in your universe and has a visceral reaction when he sees you entertaining men and women that come flocking towards you. You know that he wants you. You know that he loves you and would do anything to win you over. So then why on Earth are you talking to them??

As an attempt to forget about your "playful" disloyalty, Miguel has been making you home-cooked meals every day for your breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If you wanted food anywhere else besides his universe, he'll let you choose the location. If you didn't want food, he'd ask if you wanted anything else. Massage? A hot or cold drink? Tired? Take a break, please. He can bring you to one of the resting rooms meant for healing Spider people who are injured, you get a pass. Don't like how long your mission is taking? He'll do the rest for you. All of his attention is yours. But recently, you haven't been reciprocating his advancements.

"Y/n...?" His heart skips a beat when he realizes you're staring at him like that again. You two were once again all alone in his office and you had him cornered. He looks off to the side to the multiple bags of things he was choosing to give to you that you'd enjoy. You had kicked them off of the platform. Clearly you wanted something else, he just couldn't figure out what. He didn't want to die.

"I'm getting bored."

You advance towards him and he stutters out, "What...? Dios mío, por favor, no me hagas daño. You know I-" "Shut up. Just...shut the fuck up." You sigh and rub your face. He stays still and lets you collect yourself. You wished that the smell of fear coming off of him didn't excite you as much as it did. "Why are you so stupid?"(My god, please don't hurt me.)

Miguel purses his lips. That's usually his line. But it's not like he isn't being stupid. He's like a child, blindly bringing their parent random things in hopes of gaining their approval. "Show me." Miguel blinks and looks up at you, confused. He opens his mouth to speak, but immediately shuts it to consider the possibilities. Do you mean himself? Show himself to you? He closes his eyes and inhales.....your scent. It smells so sweet now. You're trying to calm him. The corners of your lips slowly twist up and he understands.

You make him stand where you were, and you lean back on his work desk where he stood, crossing your arms. "Well?" He doesn't let another word slip out of your mouth and disengages his suit. He watches your eyes glint red and pulls down his (now) tight boxers that covered what you're probably wanting to see most. "No." His hands shoot to his sides and you stand to walk over to him. You stare him up and down, slowly circling him to get a full view.

"Think you can take me?" He nods at your question. "Speak." "Yes, I can take you." You place one hand on his lower back and press the softest kiss onto the crevice of his neck. It tingles with the feeling of your plush lips finally hitting his skin. "I don't know......I've heard about the small human women you've given yourself away to." No one compares to how you make him felt. He was offended that you thought his infatuation with you equated to random women he had with flings with to satiate his desire. He wanted to prove himself. Your nails suddenly feel so close to penetrating his skin, the more you touch him. He hears a churring noise come from your throat. And he tries to stop it in time, but he couldn't help reciprocating the same sound, now erupting out of his throat as well. You smile and bring yourself to stand in front of him again. "Is that what I am to you? A little human girl for you to share your seed with?"

Miguel shakes his head and opens his mouth, yet you interrupt him once more. "Then show me." Miguel's brain goes blank and his body feels light as he allows you to keep him safe to show you what his devotion means. He doesn't know if he'll live to see tomorrow or die blissfully to be your meal for the next few days. All he knows and wants and shall have are the next few hours to be yours completely. Body, mind, and soul in the ways he truly desired.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

@gufu-vire is completely 100% to blame for this casual cannibalism (a dude gets his dick eaten like gordon ramsey sampling food but he kinda deserves it tbh), gore, very dark/black "comedy", raphtav i guess, haarlep is there too, devils be devilling

Read on AO3

-

“Suppertime. My favourite time of day.”

Raphael sat looming at the head of the dining table, set with candles and cutlery to the lovely backdrop of a roaring fireplace, a fancy napkin tucked into his collar. In the seat next to him was Tav, equally prepared, nursing a goblet of wine. A huge covered platter manifested in front of them, the kind used to display full carcasses of great birds or whole roasted hogs. Muffled screaming could be heard from inside it. The devil rubbed his hands together and reached out to remove the lid, revealing a naked, bound, and gagged man presented on the plate with fruits and nicely cooked vegetables. The poor man’s bloodshot eyes spun wildly, only widening in horror when he realised where he was and who was in his company. Paralysed from the neck down by magic, all he could do was look around and shriek.

“Hmmm…a lot of supple flesh on this one,” purred the devil, hungrily appraising the meal.

“Looks a bit gamey to me,” commented Tav. Raphael ignored her, carefully selecting a large, sharp, serrated knife made specifically for cutting meat.

“I can’t quite decide what I want to sample first,” he said, lazily dragging the blade’s tip across the man’s body. Tender skin split shallowly wherever it went. “The flank, perhaps? Or the thigh? Ah, or maybe the belly…”

By this point the man had chewed his gag enough to spit it out. “What in the name of the Gods are you doing?! Stop!” He cried. “Please! Just let me go! Please!”

“Now why would I do that?” Raphael drawled, darkly amused. “If I released every pig that squealed before it was stuck, well, then I’d never eat a thing, would I?”

“I’m not a pig, you sick bastard!” Yelled the man. Raphael tilted his head, looking condescendingly down his nose.

“Aren’t you? My sweet little mouse informed me of your, quite frankly, atrocious lack of decorum at the Caress, and that has me suspecting otherwise…”

“I thought she was a whore!” Hollered the man.

“And yet, when she informed you she was not, your unwanted advances continued, violently so in fact. My, what a conundrum you’ve found yourself in…”

“Lady, please,” the man turned his watery eyes to Tav, who had been silently sipping wine and watching this unfold. “You have to tell him. It was just a misunderstanding! I was – I was drunk! Don’t let him hurt me, please!”

Tav plucked a grape from the bunch resting next to the man’s hip and popped it into her mouth.

“Oh, you won’t get any sympathy from my mouse,” laughed Raphael, “she is far less forgiving than I am. She’s the one who brought you here to me, after all.”

“And who the fuck are you then, huh? Her dad?” Snarled the man. Like many animals, when backed into a corner, fear turned to anger and they lashed out. “Or are you just some sanctimonious prick who thinks he’s better than other men because he asks first?”

“Sanctimonious? Oh, no. Far from it.” All humour had dimmed from Raphael’s expression. With eerie stoicism he rolled his shoulders, never breaking eye contact as his human form melted away in a burst of flame and his true, fiendish nature was free. He flexed his wings as wide as they would go. Thrashed his tail. Leered and bared all of his hellish teeth; relished in the base terror the man exuded as he realised just how much trouble he was truly in.

“Nonononono wait, puh-please!” The man blubbered. Fat tears streamed down his pallid cheeks. “We can – we can make a deal! You – you’re a devil, right?”

“Yes, I am a devil,” Raphael rumbled. He leaned forward, closing the distance between his face and the man’s, his irises burning as his dark eyes glittered with sadistic malice and glee. “And here is the deal I’m offering, you contemptuous wretch: I am going to kill you, and I am going to eat you. Not necessarily in that order. What do you think? Are we tempted?”

“Bloody bards…always so dramatic,” Tav muttered. Once again she was kindly ignored.

“Please, I’m begging you,” the man sobbed.

“Quite the sudden change of tune!” Raphael said. “But I’m afraid I’ve already made up my mind. What was it you called me just a moment ago? Ah, yes. A prick. I believe that’s the perfect place to start.”

“Finally,” said Tav, but she was drowned out by the man’s awful, guttural screams as Raphael cut the first slice.

Clinical, with a butcher’s precision, he handled the man’s flaccid cock as one would handle a hefty sausage, lifting it above hairy, shrivelled testicles so he could chop at its base. The jagged edges of the knife sawed through foreskin, muscle, sinew and tubes, vibrant blood gushing from ruined flesh. Most of it soaked into the man’s pubes and flooded over his thighs. Tav handed Raphael a plate – the good china – and he dropped the severed penis onto it, adding a few vegetables for good measure.

“What is all that screaming about?” Haarlep swaggered into the dining hall, pursing his lips at what he saw. “Oh, you’re having idiot for dinner and you didn’t invite me? I’m hurt.”

“Hi, Haarlep,” said Tav.

“Hello, Mousie,” the incubus cooed, blowing her a kiss. Raphael scowled.

“Pull up a seat, if you must, otherwise you can leave.”

Haarlep pulled out a chair and sank himself into it, grinning. “Oh no, I’m definitely staying. I never pass up an opportunity to watch you gobble down cock.”

Raphael sneered as his pets laughed. The man on the table wheezed and gurgled, marinating in his own blood as the stump where his cock used to be kept spurting. He would not die. Not until Raphael allowed it. Not until he’d watched himself be consumed.

“Poor thing,” Haarlep crooned at the bleating meat, his salacious hands wandering over his harnessed body. His very-much attached cock was always a breath away from being hard. “Tell me how it hurts. Tell me how you suffer. You’ll do that for me, won’t you? Say you will.”

“By the Nine Hells, Haarlep! Not at the dinner table!” Barked Raphael, outraged.

“Ugh. Spoilsport,” muttered the demon, but he obeyed.

With delicate manners befitting his stature and standing, Raphael cut a piece from the penis, speared it onto his fork, and slipped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, savoured the noisy swallow. The man watched, aghast, because he couldn’t do anything else.

“Mmm…pleasant texture. A little on the stringy side, but the flavour is quite enjoyable.” Raphael took another bite, this time with a dash of carrot and parsley. “Would you like a piece, mouse?”

Tav sighed. “This guy is here because I didn’t want his cock, Raphael.”

“Fair point.”

Haarlep snorted, snatching the bloodied blade and his own plate. Ready to pick the meal apart like a starving man at an all you can eat buffet. “I want those testicles.”

[inuhalfdemon]

No One Can Know...(20/21)

Word Count: 6,269 Words

Rating: Explicit (SMUT + Violence)

Chapter 20

"You're a story that I hoped I'd never have to tell.

You're a lesson that I wish I'd never learned so well.

After all my years of giving up and letting go,

All I wanted was to give you what you've never known.

I know now, you can only hurt me 'cause I let you get to know me so well.

I know now, I love you 'cause only you can turn my Heaven to Hell.

I know now, I want out from under your spell."

- The Birthday Massacre

It only made sense that the radio demon and the television demon would find ways to collaborate with each other – in those earlier days. Both Sinners were of a medium variety; sharing a very specific niche. By utilizing each other’s strengths, they quickly learned that whatever power they found and obtained for themselves; it could be gathered in an exponentially greater amount when their abilities were combined.

Vox had the visuals and Alastor had the audio. A perfect combination that resulted in a greatly beneficial investment to both parties and an incredible form of entertainment.

For decades; both demons worked together and maintained a very lucrative business for themselves. Their relationship remained strictly business as they continued to respect each other’s own professions; own territories and contracts. But, like with many things; time moved forward, there was change and slowly – they both began to become more involved in each other’s lives.

“Ok, out with it – because I really want to know…” Vox slammed his drink down; splashing beer onto the bar counter. “Boys? Girls? What?”

Alastor swiveled his head over. “Hm? What?”

“You know what!” Vox growled at him; wagging a finger in Alastor’s face. “Boys or girls, I wanna know!”

They both had gone out drinking; indulging themselves a little too much after another fantastically productive week.

“No.” Alastor said simply, sipping from his drink.

“No, you won’t tell me!?” Vox nearly roared back at him; his screen flushed red from the effects of the alcohol.

“Just…no.” Alastor shrugged. “I find them all quite…unexciting.”

“You-you what!?” Vox and leaned in to take another drink and ended up spitting it all over onto the counter. “How!?”

Alastor shrugged again; smiling dopily back at him.

“No fucking way – uh uh – I don’t believe you.” Vox told him; blearily. “You are such a…fucking liar. You know what – prove it! I wanna see it for myself.”

“If you must.” Alastor drunkenly agreed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How are you not hard right now!?”  Vox was yelling at Alastor within the explicit sex club.

Alastor was leaned back, perfectly at ease, comfortable; the very picture of unperturbed; sipping at a cosmopolitan.

Vox had paid good money for them both to be treated to the most visual of erotic displays - from both men and women; all manner of demons - and Alastor had sat through each one – never blinking an eye; going on chattily about work, politics, Cannibal Town, the fucking weather… clearly disinterested and not the least bit aroused.

Vox, meanwhile, had sported himself an erection for nearly every dance; having to excuse himself to the men’s room several times.

“I told you.” Alastor sang back at him; smiling joyfully.

“What is fucking wrong with you?”  Vox glared at him and Alastor actually started giggling.

“Fuck…I’m wasted. Let’s get out of here.” Vox threw down some bills for a tip and they left.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know…” Vox began; trying to keep his thoughts straight and from slurring his words too badly. “That whole sex club thing that that guy Valentino’s got going isn’t really a bad idea.”

He and Alastor were shuffling their way out of the club, both feeling dizzy and giddy from their night spent out.

“Ugh…please.” Alastor stuck out his tongue; making an exaggeratively disgusted look despite his smile.

“Just because you got your wires crossed!” Vox shoved him. “Some people actually really enjoy the sex stuff, you fucker.”

Alastor cackled and Vox sighed.

“I’m just saying…the guy knows what he’s doing. Give him the right setup, the right equipment, the right people…he could really make and sell some fucking good porn.”

“Not this again.” Alastor snarled.  

“Seriously, Alastor.” Vox was getting excited. “This guy could be a big benefit to what we’ve already got rolling out for entertainment!”

“Nope…I don’t like him.” Alastor was shaking his head; stumbling a little. “I don’t like him, I don’t like what he does.”

“You’ve hardly talked to him! How do you know you don’t like him!?”

“He fucking uses the people that work for you him, Vox.” Alastor hissed. “He controls them with his powers – his abilities - he takes away all of their free agency.”

“Is it really so different from what you and I already do? With the video and the radio stuff…c’mon?”

“YES!” Alastor yelled; becoming both angry and passionate now. “What we do….it’s suggestive, it’s manipulative: cold and calculating. We find the parts in people that make them weak, make them susceptible…what Valentino does…it’s force.”

“Uh huh…clearly different.” Vox rolled his eyes, agitated.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again, Vox.” Alastor sighed. “You can jump onto a wagon with him if you want but as soon as you do, I’m out.”

“You are so fucking stubborn.” Vox hissed.

“Yeah, well…one of us has got to have their standards.” Alastor smirked back at him.  “Fuck…it’s late. I’m going to head for home. See you some time later tomorrow?”

“Yeah…I’ll catch up with you later.”

Alastor nodded; smiling before he drifted off into the dark.

Vox sighed, shuffling the last half of the block to his apartment. “…the guy is such a fucking prick, sometimes…” He mumbled to himself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

It started as a joke amongst friends; the flirting.

Vox initiated it, of course. He liked getting under Alastor’s skin and when he found that some jokes actually landed and got the guy flustered, it gave him all the more reason to continue with it. Alastor – never one to be beaten in any game – saw that Vox’s teasing wasn’t going away so he found ways to insert his own blush-inducing quips and snippets.

They flirted together with casually placed; subtle innuendos; suggestive ideas or possibilities between them that invoked hilarity and laughter. As time went on; the jokes became less subtle, less suggestive; more explicit in their nature and sometimes, less funny.

The problem with this though is that given enough time; enough history…feelings change and jokes can become less jokes and more: cleverly placed japes made to ‘test the waters’ or to pinpoint for any hint of actual possibilities; at least to some.

Years after this development; Alastor still flirted with Vox as a joke. Vox did not. Vox had gotten comfortable with Alastor and he was starting to see possibilities in Alastor that went beyond just having him as a business partner.

Alastor was very different from one you would expect to be an Overlord in Hell. He was good at what he did; he could wield awesome power, string in souls like nobody’s business and he had a sweet tooth for the violence; the blood and the gore that came with that territory, but he also: was incredibly respectful – generous even - to those he worked closely with, he was resourceful, he was dependable, he fiercely protected the things and the ones he cherished most and he was incredibly and undeniably hot. 

Vox never was good at relationships; there was always some miscommunication or lack of something vital that deteriorated any coupling he ever attempted with anyone – and all usually fairly quickly. The business deal he had struck with Alastor had lasted longer than any relationship Vox could have ever hoped to. If he and Alastor could form a working relationship; one that remained intact for as long as it had and one that kept both parties mutually benefited and satisfied…then what possibilities were they missing by not pursuing something…more? 

Alastor really didn’t like talking about sex but Vox so far had gleaned that Alastor could get it up; he just rarely found the inspiration or motivation to do so. What traditionally turned other people on…it didn’t work for him. Vox was tolerant of this to a point but he also suspected Alastor avoided trying sex; avoided trying to find ways that he might enjoy it. Maybe, if Vox convinced Alastor to pursue…something…with him; they could explore that more together.

Vox’s flirting became something else and it didn’t take long for Alastor to pick up on the difference; to put two-and-two together. A part of Alastor may have enjoyed it…stringing Vox along; feeling his ego inflate by the pining and the wanting that ultimately would lead Vox to absolutely nothing. Over the years though, Alastor had developed a fondness for Vox – developed an authentic friendship with the man. He could only say the same for one other Overlord; and very few others.

Alastor didn’t just form those types of relationships on a whim. If he felt anything for Vox; it was because Vox was important to him in some way. Maybe he built this fondness he held for Vox upon how similar they both were; both in personality and in their pursuits, or maybe he just held Vox in such a respectable, high regard as an Overlord over Hell that he could collaborate work and interests with. No matter the reasoning; Alastor was reluctant, but he also didn’t have it in him to just push Vox away.

“You’re here late…I saw the light from the office on from my apartment. Is something wrong?” Vox asked.

“No. I just came in to get some work done.” Alastor told him; irritated.

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?” Vox asked him; looking at Alastor with open concern.

Alastor’s ears leant back and he groaned; leaning himself back in his chair and rubbing at his eyes. He was irritable, he was uncomfortable, he was…he was in a breakthrough rut. He had hoped to put off having to address it until the weekend; it was Thursday night…if he could make it through one more night, one more day…

He had made it a point to never discuss his ruts with Vox.  

“Do you want to go and get a drink?” Vox asked him.

“It’s fucking late, Vox. No, I don’t want to go out to a bar.” Alastor snapped.

“Do you want to come over for a drink then?” Vox offered.

“What is it with you!?” Alastor hissed, standing up from the chair and glaring at Vox. “I’m obviously trying to get shit done. Now, would you very kindly….leave!?”

Vox just might have; but he had noticed the movement in Alastor’s ears. Alastor very rarely let his ears tell a story; very rarely let them budge from the stiff and straight-at-attention position he kept them in.

“No.” Vox told him.

“No!?” Alastor hissed again.

“No.” Vox repeated. “Something’s up with you. Something’s wrong. I’m not just going to walk away and pretend that I don’t see it, Alastor.”

“Why the fuck would you care?” Alastor growled at him.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I care?” Vox demanded, cooly. “We’ve been business partners for ages. Hell, we’ve been friends for ages. I know I’m not privy to every little thing that goes on in your life, Alastor, but I’d like to think that I can recognize when something’s off. I want to help.”

“I’m sure you fucking would…” Alastor said, lowly.

“Excuse me?” Vox’s voice was rising; he was getting sick of the temper. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that-“

Alastor was on him in a second; grabbing him by the collar; lifting him and throwing him down hard on top of the desk. Vox gasped. Alastor had him pinned on his back; clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Alastor’s eyes were wide; insane – his smile stretched tight and twitching across his face. He stepped between Vox’s legs; pressing his erection heavily into the TV man’s thigh.

“You really want to help me, Voxy?” Alastor snarled. “You really want to help me with this!”

Alastor jutted his hip; thrusting his hard length into Vox’s leg for emphasis.

Vox’s eyes widened. Holy shit…

“You want to see me fucking lose control?” Alastor continued, eyes flaring red. “You want me to fucking rip you apart!?” 

Vox erupted into laughter; his body absolutely shaking in his guffawing.

“You think this is funny!?” Alastor hissed lower at him; his grip tightening around Vox’s neck.

“YES!” Vox shouted; unable to stop his raucous outburst.

Alastor’s eye narrowed. “Pray tell…”

“Your fucking pissed off because you’re feeling randy!?” Vox broke out again into snickers. “Unbelievable!”

Alastor’s ears flattened; he leant in – about to say something when Vox’s hands were moving.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this for you?” Vox asked him, softly – his fingers working at the clasps to Alastor’s dress pants. Vox reached between them; sliding a hand into Alastor’s loosened waistband and pulling his swollen and engorged length out.

“Jesus…this thing is throbbing.” Vox smirked up at Alastor; his neck still clenched between Alastor’s clawed fingers. “When’s the last time anyone’s touched you like this?”

Gasping at the contact, Alastor’s head involuntarily leant back; feeling an incredible and pleasurable relief.

“C’mon, then.” Vox encouraged him; his hand slowly starting to pump Alastor’s penis.

Alastor thrust himself forward; hand still tightly clenched around Vox’s neck as his hips jutted against the TV man’s lower torso – into Vox’s hand.

Alastor’s antlers were stretching crazily outward.

Vox tightened his grip; feeling Alastor’s member already curving tightly into his fingers – feeling the touch of pre-cum on his wrist. Vox gripped Alastor’s shoulder with his other hand; lifting his pelvis to instill more friction against Alastor’s movements.

Alastor’s hand clenched tighter and the Vox clenched his teeth.

Fuck! Now I’m hard now…

Vox tilted his pelvis even more; feeling Alastor’s momentum rubbing against him.

Alastor gasped; his penis tightened, curving more – he thrust himself heavily forward once, twice – then he released; his cum spilling through Vox’s fingers, smearing onto his lower jacket and pants. Shaking, Alastor released Vox’s neck – stepping back and feeling dizzy.

Vox sat up; a stupid smile stretched across the screen that was his face.

“Ah, fuck…” Alastor groaned; moving himself back into his pants and adjusting himself the best that he could. “Ugh...” He swiped a hand down across his face. “I guess…let’s go for that drink at your place and I’ll…I’ll return the favor.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Alastor – true to his word – returned the favor and then some.

When Vox woke up beside him in his bed the next morning; the TV demon was still reeling from the night of full-on fucking that they had had.

Well, fuck me side-ways…the guy can bone!

Vox shifted in bed; feeling deliciously sore from their nighttime antics.

Turning his head; he looked at Alastor – watching the demon sleep soundly beside him. How can a guy that did all of that last night have zero interest in sex. Vox could not make sense of it. Watching Alastor; stretched languidly out on his back – eyes closed and chest moving up and down in rhythmic breathing; Vox realized he wanted more mornings like this one. Even after last night though; they weren’t really a guarantee.  

Perhaps…maybe some insurance.

Carefully, Vox lifted a wire – sliding it smoothly over to where Alastor laid stretched out and asleep; the end of it softly connecting to the radio demon’s skin.

Now…just to fire the right nerve endings; just a touch – BINGO!

Alastor had shifted in his sleep and when he did there was a clearly pointed tent in the bed covers over which his hips rested. Vox carefully slid the wire back; anxious for Alastor to wake up and find that he was already very much aroused and ready for another round.

Clearly uncomfortable; Alastor shifted some more before waking up. Sitting himself up, he blinked blurrily; looking around him and wondering where he was - how in the Hell he got there.

“Good morning.” Vox told him, leaning back and smiling wickedly.

“Ah, fuck…” Alastor blinked. “No…we didn’t….” He suddenly remembered. “Nope…we did.” He groaned, stretching out his back. “What time is it?”

“Bone-o-clock.” Vox clucked his tongue; eyes wandering to the covers over Alastor’s legs.

“Heh, funny.” Alastor told him, dryly – sliding out from the bed.

“Wha- Where are you going!?” Vox asked, confused.

“I’m getting dressed!” Alastor told him, bending down and reaching for his clothes. “We’ve still got stuff we need to today!”

“But, you- You’ve got – You-“ Vox was tripping all over his words. “But, your boner!?”

“It will go down!” Alastor snapped back at him. “Where’s my bowtie!?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know that Val and I…we’re on and off, right?” Vox asked.

“Yeah, I knew that.” Alastor told him; fiddling at a speaker.

“Well…should I talk to Val or…?” Vox waited, then when Alastor said nothing he continued. “I mean, I don’t want it to become a problem, you know…for us.”

“Why would I care about something like that, Vox?” Alastor sighed, setting the speaker down and looking around for the right cord that he needed. “I didn’t care before…do what you want with your free time.”

“I just didn’t know if you wanted something more…committed.” Vox explained.

Alastor stopped what he was doing; leaning back and swiping a hand across his face.

“Vox…I just don’t know that I’m exactly what you are looking for in…a partner.” Alastor told him, honestly.

“I think your everything I’ve been looking for…Alastor.” Vox said, quietly.

“Look, I’m not saying…no…I just.” Alastor sighed again. “I just have never tried something like this before; it’s not something I’ve ever really wanted – I’m usually too focused on work, I don’t like the sex –“

“But, you liked our sex.” Vox smirked.

“Yes…” Alastor admitted. “I did, but I’m just not sure if – if what I have to give to you, Vox, if it’s enough.”

Vox stared at him; saying nothing.

“Let’s just, let’s see where it goes, ok. You don’t have to make any big changes, I have no expectations at present…I’m not a personal fan of Valentino’s but -funny enough - I can’t get STD’s as an Overlord of Hell, so…” Alastor waved his hand; signaling he was done having this conversation.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A long day of work led to a night of laughter and drinking. Laughter and drinking led to both Alastor and Vox feeling giddy and fantastically buzzed which led to them both being in bed.

Vox pulled Alastor with him onto the mattress and Alastor readily joined him. Settling himself in, Alastor set to work at leaving a colorful love mark against Vox’s dark skin – placed just below the collar bone. They both spent some time there; winding each other up before Alastor’s antlers started to lengthen – branching out.

Sucking at Vox’s skin, Alastor grazed the mark he had made with a sharpened tooth, piercing the skin. Vox hissed in pleasure at the stinging cut. Feeling Alastor lapping at the drops of oozing blood, he arched his back - reaching for Alastor’s antler.

Alastor caught the movement of Vox’s arm and hand in his peripheral and suddenly he tensed – flinching back. Vox immediately paused; his hand raised and holding nothing.

Alastor quickly processed his own knee-jerk reaction; eyes widening.

“What-?” Vox started to ask him.

“I need a minute…” Alastor untangled himself from Vox; sliding away.

…

Outside, Alastor leant against the second story railing – smoking a cigarette; dressed in only his boxers.

He thought about how he would be having another one of his ruts coming around soon and he’d have to make sure Vox made plans for a weekend with Valentino… Alastor would do what he always did now and find his satisfaction from other outlets. Thank god for Rosie…and all of her usefully discreet resources.

“It’s worse than I thought.” Vox commented; sliding the glass door to the patio and stepping out with him – dressed in his own set of boxers.

“What?” Alastor asked him; blowing out smoke.

“You’re smoking…that’s never a good sign.” Vox smirked; leaning against the railing beside him.

“I smoke!” Alastor gave him an indignant look.

“Yeah…when something is actually bothering you. The last time I saw you with one of those was when that tech group was jamming up your radio frequencies. It took us weeks to track them down and get that mess all sorted…that was ages ago.” Vox was remembering.

“Hmph.” Alastor pretended to ignore him; pulling in a deep drag.

Vox reached out and Alastor passed him the stick. Tilting his head; Vox held the cigarette to his screen – taking in a long and slow inhale. He passed it back to Alastor; holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before slowly releasing it out his mouth.

“So…you going to tell me what the fuck that was about back there?” Vox asked him.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” Alastor said; lifting the cigarette back to his lips.

“Yeah, no shit.” Vox smirked.

“It was just a reflex.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you minding me grabbing hold of an antler before.” 

“It wasn’t that, I-“ Alastor sighed. “It’s just my past coming back to haunt me, I guess.”

Vox snorted. “Well, that’s fucking vague as shit.”

“I…killed someone.” Alastor said, quietly.

“Haven’t you killed a lot of someone’s?”

“Not like this…I-“ Alastor’s fingers clenched around the railing. “We were…it was intimate…and I lost control.”

 “Wow….Alastor, I’m sorry.” Vox told him; Alastor turned at that. “I mean…oof…but, that’s kind of hot.”

Alastor shoved him with a hand, clenching the cigarette between his teeth. “It’s not funny you jackass.”

Laughing, Vox deftly caught him by the wrist. Holding it, he told Alastor: “You’re right. It’s not, and I know it’s not because it’s obviously something that is still very deeply troubling you. But, we’re in Hell, Alastor.” 

Alastor turned his head away; feeling sure that he already knew what Vox meant to say.

Vox continued. “We’re all here for a reason. Everyone in this godforsaken shit-hole with us has made their fair share of fucked-up mistakes. Maybe grant yourself some mercy and stop punishing yourself so much.”

Alastor looked at him again and he saw that Vox really and truly meant that.

His ears leant back; and Alastor said nothing. 

“Now,” Vox reached for the cigarette – taking it from Alastor’s mouth and flicking it over the railing. “I believe we were in the middle of something.”  

Vox offered him his hand.

Taking it, Alastor went with him – following him back into the bedroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

If things were on and off again between Vox and Val; things with Alastor were – mostly…well, were off.

Not that Alastor completely ignored Vox; they still worked well together, and they still went out drinking and enjoyed spending time together but Alastor never really wanted to do anything…intimate. Not usually. At least, not in the ways that Vox did. He didn’t want to kiss, he didn’t want to make-out, he didn’t want to fondle each other in the bedroom every night or in the taxi going home – the fucker didn’t even want to hold hands.

Every once in a blue moon; Alastor would get some random itch and Vox would happily scratch it for him.

Years and years went by, and Vox thanked Satan that Alastor really didn’t seem to care that he was seeing Valentino on the side. Vox was itchy all the god-damned time and he wasn’t finding any relief unless it was by Val.

Vox wanted to understand. Vox wanted to be patient. He really did, but this…this was so irritatingly one-sided; he didn’t know what to fucking do anymore.

“Ugh…I don’t know, Val. The guy just really frustrates me.”

“Hmm…no kidding.” Valentino replied, bored.

They were lying together in Valention’s bed; both passing a joint and shooting the shit after a rather rough round of fucking.

“I’m sorry…I’m sure you’re tired of me venting to you about it.” Vox sighed.

“Oh, contraire. I love getting to hear about your on-going tragedies in paradise.” Valentino chuckled. “But, I wonder…have you tried extracting what you want from him?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re convinced that he has feelings for you…that he won’t admit them to you or himself; why not use some of those oh-so-special powers of hypnosis you employ on others to get what you want from your radio demon?” Val asked him; pulling in a long drag from the joint – letting pink-tinged smoke out from his mouth to curl and swirl around them.

“I’ve…never tried that on him before.” Vox admitted, realizing that he never really thought or dared to.

Valentino chuckled. “It could be worth your while.”

“Yeah, or it could blow up right in my fucking face.” Vox told him. “He might not like it…”

“It’s not as bad as everyone thinks, come here.” Valentino pulled Vox to him. Taking another deep drag from the joint; Valentino held the smoke in his lungs then pressing his lips to Vox’s screen – he blew the smoke into Vox’s nose and mouth.

Vox felt light-headed but euphoric. He blinked his eyes; shaking his head.

“Now tell me…” Valentino’s eyes glowed in the smoke-filled room. “What are your deepest, most darkest desires…Voxy?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alastor realized that he hadn’t been very fair to Vox.

He had spent years…not really pushing him away but encouraging him to walk away.

It wasn’t Vox’s fault that Alastor didn’t find anything good in sex or intimacy with others but…Alastor had enjoyed his time with Vox. Sleeping with Vox was…much easier than it had been with anyone else. Vox let him take control; let him set the pace and things never got nearly as clumsy or clunky as Alastor imagined that they might have been. When Vox did his part; he was sure and confident in his administrations and Alastor ended the night feeling satiated and satisfied; something that rarely happened.

It scared Alastor, but Vox clearly…cared…about him; actually wanted something with him. He hadn’t known that feeling often; living or dead.

Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe Alastor could let go, give in and just be with someone.

His rut – a true rut – was coming on; he could already feel the hormones skittering through his system. This time he wouldn’t avoid it; this time he wouldn’t even seek out other outlets. He would tell Vox about his ruts - he would spend his this one entirely with Vox - and when it was over, he would really and truly try to be something more for him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why did I know you would be here?” Vox asked Alastor. “It’s late…”

“I know, but I think I figured out how to re-route the system – channel your power into multiple stations…if you help me, this will be done in 20 minutes.” Alastor was untwisting some wires; tracing the cords back to their sources.

“I don’t really want to do this tonight…can we please just go home? We can get it sorted in the morning.”

“We can’t keep all your reserve power stored here into this one unit, Vox.” Alastor was telling him, “It leaves you too vulnerable...”  

All of my power…it’s here. 

“I’d really rather you put that focus toward…other things.” Vox told him, going over to Alastor. He leaned over Alastor’s back; wrapping his arms around the radio demon’s waist.

Alastor shot him a smirk over his shoulder.

“And, I’d rather you focused on anything else – but, here we are.” Alastor gave him a light shove. “Now, seriously. Help me with this.”

Vox stepped back; a dark look crossing his face and he sighed.

A series of wires shot out from a wall of modems and servers that dominated the back wall of their business suite; wrapping around Alastor and pulling him backward.

Alastor was pulled roughly against the buzzing and flashing tech; the wires forming tight wraps of bundles around his arms, torso and legs.

“The fuck!? Vox!?”

“You know, Alastor…you can be very tiresome sometimes.” Vox walked slowly toward him. “So resistant to change…so resistant to progress.”

“Cut the shit, Vox! This isn’t funny. Let me go!” Alastor was fuming.

 “Why should I?” Vox tilted his head.

“I’m…uncomfortable.” Alastor growled.

“Well, let me do something to make you more comfortable.”

Two wires quickly slid from Vox before quickly shooting toward Alastor; their ends connecting smoothly to either side of his neck. The wires glowed a vibrant blue and suddenly Alastor felt a jolt of pleasure shooting down his spine; pooling deep into his abdomen – heating his groin.

Alastor gasped; his pupils dilating widely.

“Fucking stop it!” Alastor yelled.

Vox left the wires; looking hard at Alastor.

“I was just at Val’s…he showed me something…I’d very much like to show you.”

Alastor jerked his head to the side; his breathing becoming heavy from arousal and stress.

“Nothing good can ever come from Valentino.” Alastor spat and he struggled against the cords that were holding him.

Fuck….he’s somehow suppressing my power… I can’t even use my shadow. Alastor realized and a cold, sharp panic sunk deep into his chest.

Vox’s stimuli thrummed through his body and he was feeling an ominous twitching between his legs.

“You want to fucking rape me now, is that it!?” Alastor growled. “You think that is wise!?

“I won’t be taking anything from you that you won’t be willing to give, Alastor…” Vox stepped closer. “I’ll only touch you when you ask me to…Hell, you might even be begging me to.”

Alastor snarled.

“It’s time you and I were honest with each other, Alastor.” Vox continued.  “It’s time that we were open with each other. I can go first, if you’d like.”

Alastor glared at him; narrowed eyes flaring red.

“I’m tired of you always calling the shots and I’m tired of you always stringing me along. So, this is what is going to happen… Val’s coming on board. I’ve already made him an offer, you should consider joining us.”

“I decline.” Alastor hissed.

“That’s your prerogative.” Vox shrugged. “You’ve never been interested in advancing your own work and I’ll leave you to it….however, you and I – we can’t keep tip-toeing around each other. You’re so scared to care about someone; so afraid to love someone… I want you in my life, Alastor. I want you as my partner. I’m done playing and I’m done waiting. And…I need to know that you feel the same.”

Vox had learned something about himself earlier that evening while he was with Valentino. He wasn’t just infatuated with Alastor…he was obsessed with him. It wasn’t enough for Vox to have Alastor in his life in the way that he had him now…he needed all of Alastor and he needed Alastor to feel the same way about him.

“If you want to know my true feelings, Vox, then fucking let me go.”

Vox just stared at him.

“I’m serious…I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything. I know I haven’t been fair…I know I’ve been a complete and total ass about this whole thing with you and I can try harder; I know I could be a better partner…just let me go.” 

“No.”

“No!?” Alastor yelled, struggling harder now. “You think this is funny!? You think this is some joke!?”

“Oh, I think that you’ll find that I am being very,” Another wire slid from Vox; shooting toward Alastor; it veered to the side, swinging back around to connect smoothly to Alastor’s temple. “Very serious.”

No…

“Vox…don’t. Don’t do this.”

“It’s not as bad as everyone thinks it is...” Vox told him; widening his eyes; the pupils turning into hypnotic rings.

Alastor flattened his ears; squeezing his eyes shut. The wire connected to his temple glowed neon blue and he felt a kind of thrumming entering into his thoughts now. Alastor clenched his teeth.

Have my body, Vox…but don’t invade my mind!!!

Jolts of stimuli shot through Alastor’s body and his mind; he threw back his head and arched his back; sweating as he mentally and physically fought against the attack.

“Tell me what I mean to you, Alastor.” Vox’s voice was reverberating from every direction.

“I….I….ugh!” Alastor bit himself, blood trickling down his chin. He was straining; fighting for control. Vox increased the stimuli; doubling his efforts and Alastor gasped – eyes flying open.

Monitors and screens lining the walls were flashing and glitching across the screens. The cords wrapped around Alastor were tightening; and sparks were shooting from splits in the wires.

There was a pulsing in Alastor’s groin and he knew he was hard; his heart was slamming against his chest and his blood was running hot… Vox’s stimuli was coursing through his veins; igniting the hormones that were flooding into Alastor’s system. Vox was going to send him into his rut.

Black splotches erupted behind Alastor’s eyes and he knew he was losing consciousness.

I can’t blackout…I can’t…I’ll…I’ll kill him… I’ll –

Power erupted in an explosion of twisting cords and fraying wires – electricity surged through the building – illuminating everything in a brilliant light before all of Hell went dark.

…

“Vox! VOX! I swear to god; if you caused a rolling blackout on a night that I have fucking royals at the club, I’ll-“ Valentino had thrown open the door to Vox and Alastor’s business suite.

Wires were sparking; a screen here and there flashing or flickering erratically around the room. One wall of monitors was lit up in stark white screens; but there was something splashed across the surfaces of each one – dark and maroon.

Valentino couldn’t fucking see a thing but he felt something; large and hulking in the room. It made the feathery ends to his antennae stand on end. Something shifted and large, glowing red eyes glared at him from the darkness.

“Mother of fuck-“ Valentino pulled out his pistol; he couldn’t see for shit and he still didn’t know where Vox was so he shot the gun off straight overhead.

The gun cracked; the bullet piercing loudly through the structure of the building.

Alastor’s eldritch form jerked at the sound; dropping something heavy from its mouth. Valentino caught impressions of large branches moving close to the ceiling; rolling red eyes; a large lanky form of something crawling toward him and great, long pointed teeth.

A groan from the darkness…from where something heavy had fell. 

“Vox!?” Val yelled, stepping back and aiming the gun at what he thought might be the incredibly large head to whatever was moving toward him – he really couldn’t tell.

“Val!?” Vox yelled. “Val!”

Dazed; Vox shot a voltage of electricity into the monitors that were lit white above him and their screens lit the room in a brilliant flare of bright white light.

Alastor’s eldritch demon form flinched back; blinking at the onslaught of light. Blood and drool seeped from the great mouth; stains of blood washed across the talons of his huge clawed hands. The brilliantly white screens shown through a spray of blood. Vox leaned against a pile of broken monitors; blood pouring from a gaping wound to his shoulder and neck – it was pooling into the fabric of his suit.

“VOX!” Valentino yelled and Alastor’s large head snapped around. Baring his teeth; he crouched and prepared to lunge.

Yelling with effort; Vox threw more cables from the servers and the modems at him – coiling around the large frame and sending volts of electricity through the radio demon.

The eldritch demon jerked from the contact of the cords; pulling and clawing at the modems and servers – sending the tech bursting into flames or crashing heavily to the ground.

“NO!!!” Vox was yelling; feeling the power he had stored and relied on dissipating from him entirely.

The charge of energy burned through Alastor’s senses; his conscious flickering back to his body and he saw Vox; bleeding and torn in the wreckage below him. Stumbling; Alastor quickly shifted form – falling to his knees and gasping in pain.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” Vox roared at him.

Hitching in a breath; Alastor struggled to stand – his legs shaking heavily beneath him.

I didn’t kill him…He’s alive. I didn’t-

A sharp crack resounded, and Alastor’s legs buckled underneath him; and he fell - feeling like he was punched heavily in the shoulder.

A split second to process; then Alastor realized that Valentino had shot him in the shoulder with his pistol. Before Valentino could chamber another round into the gun; Alastor quickly merged into the shadows – disappearing entirely.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Directly following these events; Alastor decided to lie low…monitoring the aftermath of their situation.

It didn’t take long before rumors were spreading and tabloids were headlining “Don’t FUCK with the Radio Demon” with all kinds of charming bits about how Alastor had shamelessly and violently murdered a variety of bedwarmers… It wasn’t a hard guess as to who was spreading this information. It did nothing deteriorating to Alastor’s formidable reputation as the radio demon but it hit him somewhere sore, just the same.

If Alastor had meant to continue to regularly satiate his rut; he would have found a hard time in it…even with Rosie’s unique resources. For now though; Alastor was finding that he was less and less interested in meeting the needs of his cycles. He commanded more power now than he had before– he would be less susceptible to any ill and knowledgeable intents – and…whatever suffering he endured because of his abstinence would be well earned.

Alastor decided that the only reason Vox gained the upper hand on him…the only reason that Vox could actually hurt him…was because Alastor let Vox get so close to him. Alastor had made another mistake, had let himself become too vulnerable with someone. He gave Vox a chance for something that - he decided then - would never be worth giving to anyone very again.

Vox and Valentino joined forces; just as Vox had always planned. They didn’t become “The Vee’s” right away…at least not until Velvette entered the game later on.

Alastor watched things play out; deciding to make himself scarce for a while longer yet…In doing so; possibilities he hadn’t previously thought to consider before crossed his path…and Alastor became much more…scarcer…than he had ever fully intended to be… 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 21

[chuckeroo777]

Dungeon Meshi Volume 14 Part 3

Eat or be eaten. There is no hierarchy. Eating is, quite simply, the exclusive privilege of the living.

Come on, it's time to eat! What shall we have today?

I think the real takeaway from Dungeon Meshi is that cannibalism is a firm "maybe".

Slurp!

I remember seeing a post a while ago about Dungeon Meshi being fatphobic, and while I kinda see where they're coming from, I don't really agree. It's not exactly controversial to advocate for healthy eating and moderate exercise. While the body types could be a bit more diverse, especially in the main cast, Kui clearly has respect for people of various body types. Have you seen some of the daydream hour stuff?

They know him so well. Chilchuck in particular I think understands best. After all, his succubus becomes what he most desires, but it isn't what he wants.

I love this grumpy old gnome who spits nothing but facts.

This whole sequence is very nice.

So, I know this isn't literal, but do you think Falin would have been able to fully expel the dragon's soul? But even if she could, she chose kindness instead. And that's really nice.

I wonder what the demon thinks about all this. Has it actually learned any sort of lesson from all this? Either way, it at least seems to be taking its defeat as graciously as one would hope.

A precious image. It's all been leading up to this.

So, all the changes I've noticed. First, she has feathers covering most of her body. Some haven't grown in yet, but the coverage seems to match her chimera form, leaving her hands, feet, head, and tummy bare. She has large canines. She might have enhanced strength, though she was known for bashing heads in before her transformation too, so it's hard to tell. She also has normal eyesight, as opposed to her previous nearsightedness.

God, she is just like me.

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?!?!

Everyone loves pizza.

I still say familiars are the best solution. He can both make his own monsters, and observe real monsters through the eyes of his creations.

Oh, quit your bellyaching. A quick detox spell will have you right as rain.

An adorable image, and a fitting ending for an amazing manga.

Of course, it isn't quite over yet.

Glad to see she's doing well. Cat's would totally do this if they could talk.

This is so cute. Just like when you were in school!

Was it ever established what the heck living armor eats? Most shelled mollusks rely mostly on filter feeding, but that doesn't work so well in a terrestrial environment. Then again, we know monsters can supplement their diet with mana, and the mana in this dungeon awakens Kensuke later, so maybe they're super efficient to the point that they only need mana. And iron.

I love these dumbasses.

An important image.

Have I mentioned I love the dynamic these guys have?

One final precious image to end things off. What are the odds his wife is just off-screen?

Thanks to everyone who joined me for this tasty journey. I still have some other stuff cooking, so stay tuned! The Laios Got Eaten AU might be a bit. I'm struggling to figure out how they defeat Thistle or the Demon without Laios. I also have another AU I might write involving an OC. We'll see.

Have a great day, and may all your Meshi be Dungeon.

[lilbob228]

Mao (´ ω `♡)

Disclamer: Mentions of alcohol and, in general, bad attitudes towards one's own body. None of this is to be taken seriously, only in a joking way. the author is such a clown that he makes jokes even in dis. Enjoy reading at your own risk, and thank you for being you. Stay safe (*¯ ³¯*)♡

A categorical welcome (and sympathy) to all who have chosen to read this blog now. I felt it was time to share with you the major crash of our universe.

As you can tell by the hairstyle defying the laws of physics andwith a large cocktail straw it's MK, but it's not as simple as it seems.

For starters, we decided to give him a name (but made sillier than the creators of the cartoon did) and now, within our universe, his full name is Mao Kwan.

At the moment he is one of the most powerful people in the world of this universe, everyone loves him and is a little bit afraid of him. How did this happen?

//disclaimer: the events of this universe have no relation to our world and events, and some similarities are coincidental//

brief background: The personification of all that is evil and vile, in a coincidence of some circumstances, was a monkey, namely Sun Wukong. For 5 thousand years it tormented the whole world, and so tormented that the industrial revolution occurred and full-fledged states also began to form relatively recently. He was hunted by Gods, Half-Gods, Humans, and Demons, but he cared too little for these endeavors (and they often ended badly for everyone but him). In addition to the monkey, there were crowds of cannibal demons that appeared with each new human victim, unjustly killed. It was easier to fight them (which was done mostly by half-gods), but they took quantity. And people have gotten used to the constant attacks, when suddenly, news arrives that the monkey has been killed. And, even more shocking to everyone, it wasn't a God/Half-God or Demon that killed, it was a Man.

As you understand, this man was Mao. After this news, the world began a celebration that does not end to this day, because, can say, that Good has triumphed over Evil (although there are still a lot of problems within that world, but I will talk about that a little later).

At the same moment, in the state in which Mao and dwelt, there is a change of government and the new ruler takes him under his control as a symbol of Peace and Justice. Under him the main team is organized to fight the undead and the remnants of the evil of the past years.

The victory over Sun Wukong marked the beginning of progress and everyone was grateful to Mao directly, making him the symbol of the best. However, he was not so simple

Interesting facts without serious spoilers (dis: things said below are not to be taken seriously or personally. All noses are beautiful. It's just his own vision of himself):

He's a raging alcoholic and he's just as delusional as the author, only the author is sober and he's drunk

Nose complexes (looks like a bent leg)

Has problems with aggression (and with the doctor). Drinks pills with alcohol because it tastes better that way

Failed a major exam, but still became super rich and famous

Wanted to be a confectionery-doctor, but became a multi-billionaire and heir to the bigweld industries corporation

His parents told him to shove your money up your ass and he did, but not to himself…..

He's been isolated from society, but society loves him

Became a national meme and hero because he killed a monkey

He has a basement he doesn't know about, two dogs he doesn't know about either, he has friends and a partner he ALSO doesn't know about. He only sees problems or his nose

First you see the nose, and then you see Mao

Squidward kinnie

When he's sad, he admires the stick… And his victims

His dad kins Gregor Zamza of "reincarnations"

Thank you for reading through to the end of the post! The clown author tried very hard, as English is not his first language (well, the artwork is considered labor too) and it's very important to him. Thanks again for your attention! If anyone is interested, please write in anonymous messages to whom to dedicate the next post or tell more about Maochka. Take care σ(≧ε≦σ) ♡

[thebunniesgrim]

Ok so wait  

So, the recent episode of Helluva Boss made me...  

Think.  

About something. 

I know, right? so scary  

But oops made me stop for a second (as much as I like one could say love the episode)  

Are the sinners worse than the literal 7 deathly sins?  

I know it's a little early to say this considering hazbin hotel hasn't come out yet and helluva boss hasn't shown us all the 7 deadly sins, yet you know?  

But considering our track record with Asmodeus not thinking lust should be forced and Beelzebub not encouraging overindulgence or overindulgence for the wrong reasons (when she tells Loona "like hey he a mess and killing the vibe k?”)  

(Also, I feel like the Asmodeus thing is a damned if you do damned if you don't thing honestly there was no winning with this one viv would have gotten flamed either way. I don’t have a gripe with it either way  )  

Are the sinners worse than them? Like Valentino is an abuser and uses angle dust and others for his body in more ways than one. Alastor is allegedly a cannibal (can that be seen as gluttony or some other sin? Other than it being morality wrong to eat people), angel overuses drugs, husk drink to an excess Yada Yada Yada  

....so, like who are the real demons?  

(That was the gotcha moment the whole time.)

Hazbin Hotel pitch: "Maybe the real demons (or redemption) were the friends we made along the way *rainbow emoji*"

You're telling me that Valentino can just sexually assault folks and get them doped up on magical cigar smoke, but Asmodeus doesn't believe that diddling people without consent is just too far?  

Ok yeah totally  

Because honestly what's next?  

Is Belphegor gonna recommend we get the daily recommended amount of sleep and to put healthy breaks in between tasks? (watch her be a doctor)  

Is mammon gonna vouch for ethical consumerism and hoarding money is bad?  

Wait no, let me guess!  

Leviathan is gonna tell us about that envy in small doses as motivation is healthy but too much and it's not?  

Is Lucifer gonna be like yo Dawgs being prideful in one's achievements is totally radical but don't be a dick about it  

Is satin gonna like to tell us getting angry is ok but pointing one's anger towards other is totally uncool?  

Because he'll doesn't seem like a doomed eternity it just seems like a playground, they aren't even being like damned for their sins  

It's like the purge but slightly more civil  

How is a sinner gonna be worst that a demon?  

I am very aware expecting Viv to give us correct demon mythos is a tall order and not realistic at all, but I don’t think we can stay any farther from the 7 deadly sins in their basic boiled down forms, you know? Like money, anger, ego, sex, food, lazy, and jealously.  

They are demons! You can have kind and sweet demons like minion from the Cuphead show he's a sweet heart but he still encourages the devil to be the devil  

Or even king dice (not a demons but a bad person he works for the devil) he has sympatric qualities but he's still a bad guy. Same with the devil too if you look hard enough  

They are still demons people have a negative connotation with them why not make them morally gray? Like “you can cut some guys arm off if both parties are into it, I don’t care just ask first” that would be kinda funny. But also, he values consent to a fault he doesn’t care about them being safe but as long as you asked its fine.

Asmodeus:

Or if like cheat days turn into cheat years idk  

It just seems like the 7 deadly sins are just guys and the sinners are just worse than them 

Like look at pilot of Hazbin and look all the non-sense they do then look at Helluva it’s so sanitized comparatively it's kinda funny ngl  

If the sinners, the worst of the worst of humans and this is how soft the demon royales are like pilot hazbin would bully the hell (heh) out of Helluva

Lol is the pride ring just a bunch of uncivilized edgy children when everyone else just kinda looks on in utter horror? Now that I wouldn’t mind  :)

small rant about the Hazbin hotel piolt

Why does Charlie call the sinners her people in the pilot?  

Like I feel like her people are the hell born like her, the deadly sins, the imps, the succubus and so on 

You know her people the demons and junk who are like her kin of sort?

Also why is over population such a problem? It seems like a fitting punishment to me if there's limited space seems like a good thing, no?  

Are they not here to suffer?  

Also why not just allow the sinners to wander the other rings? Why are they only in pride?  

What's the point of the other rings? Why are they named after sins if they aren't going to be used by the sinners? 

ok bye :)

[camilaxmartin]

OKAY SO‼️‼️

i’ve decided to share my art for the first time like publicly😵‍💫😵‍💫 and i’m hella nervous about it but i wanted to share my oc from hazbin with you as i plan on drawing her more and more:)

meet the one and only, caroline - the music demon:)

here’s some facts about her and her backstory if you’re curious: (i’ll probably be updating it when i think of something more)

~

♪| caroline is alastor’s sister (while on earth as well) (can you tell i love this man???)

♪| (it’s only my own au so don’t come at me please, but i imagine alastor’s dad to be white while his mother had darker skin and as alastor was born darker caroline was originally white, as i am in reality:)

♪| she’s the demon of vinyls and music because of her adoration to it while being alive!

♪| but beside her adoration, it’s also connected with how abusive their father was. (i saw this one day on tiktok and couldn’t let go of it) when she was alive their dad used to always take out his anger on her or their mother, so one day when he got really pissed off and heard caroline’s gramophone playing in her room, he just stormed in, snatched the needle out of the machine and literally cut her body with it (it’s shown in her demon form on which i’m still working)

♪| i also headcanon that their father was the first person alastor ever killed so let’s just say this whole thing messed up caroline’s psyche even more than it was already

♪| her hyena’s features are caused by the way she died which was being fully torn apart by them. (there’s a story about it as well including her ‘friends’ but i’m too tired to write it now😭)

♪| another small story about it - that when she was still alive her ‘friends’ used to bully her for her laugh so because of that, after death, every time she laughs she sounds like a hyena - it’s a sort of punishment while being in hell i think!

♪| anyway! she gained the status of being an overlord when alastor disappeared for seven years and she kind of took his place as his sister and just someone other overlords and sinners knew anyway.

♪| but the story of getting sinners to sell their souls to her is a bit different, she didn’t just steal them from her brother of course. so first when she arrived in hell and reunited with her brother (alastor died a bit before her) and learned about the ability of possessing another’s’ souls she immediately started to wonder what she can do to gain them. at first it was silly games, gambling and stuff like that but the more time passed, she started learning about spells and potions (as she loved them on earth as well) and started to drug the other sinners to sold her their souls (she’s outrageous i know) (i can also add that many sinners sold their souls to her for spending the night with her, but as soon as they signed the contract she’d just leave them hanging and threaten them with second death if they won’t leave her alone)

♪| she’s obviously friends with rosie, the three of them being a literal menace to the hell-society

♪| she got really close with carmilla when alastor disappeared for that seven years and i’m planning on expanding this part a bit more so you can be waiting:)

♪| opposite to alastor she’s very up with trends which also leaded her to being something like friends with velvette.

♪| when they first met, vox told velvette to wrap caroline around her finger so he could get closer to alastor and she did. after many many angst, both of them confessed their feelings in a fight >:] and from then on, began actually dating. (i will expand the angst part but im too tired right now lol)

♪| she lives in the hotel as well, not fully believing she could be redeemed but hoping deep in her heart that it’s possible cause even though she doesn’t think she deserves it and struggles with self-image and self-acceptance, she secretly wants to get better -

♪| - despite being a murder and cannibal even while living. (i may expand this one too but no promises here!)

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains and: What They Would Put in the Hat

(The 7 Minutes in Heaven hat)

This was pretty much inspired by This post by @your-mxnd-is-mxne ! ^^

Warnings: Cursing and gore (As in limbs being put in the hat)

Animal the Cannibal: A potato peeler. BE CAREFUL.

Baby Firefly: A cute scrunchie. Put it in your hair!! She thinks you'll look so cute ^^ If you don't have hair/its too short, you can put it in hers! ^^ (So basically you win everything)

Billy Loomis: A folded up poster for the local cinema's horror night. They're playing Psycho, The Birds and then Psycho 2 Back-To-Back.

Bo Sinclair: Little plyers. he never leaves home without them, so you better give them back! Play nice and he may use them on you *cough*

Bubba Sawyer: A pig femur... its not clean...

Candyman: A little leather bound journal with his poetry in it. If he likes you, maybe he'll read you some!!

Captain Spaulding: A pamphlet for his shop! He'd just fucken love to show you around.

Carrie White: A pencil. She wasn't sure and she didn't have a whole lot on her! she hopes that's okay ^^

Chop Top Sawyer: His sunnies! Not his wig, that's special. But you got his glasses! He even wants to see you put them on.

Chucky Lee Ray: He put his whole damn shoe in there. I mean, he's a doll. Why not? // If he's in his human form, though, maybe... a... condom...

BONUS for @your-mxnd-is-mxne because its their idea in the first place ^^ Daddy Hall- *cough* I mean Doc Halloran!: Bullet casing. Its, oddly enough, the only thing that was in his pockets?? 😅 After all he is only here to hunt Leslie- see if you can distract him, though.

Dr Suave: A pack of tooth floss from his pocket. He's a dentist, what do you expect from him?

Drayton Sawyer: The keys to the chilly van (Its all he had on him). He's gonna want them back.

Freddy Krueger: A scrap oh his sweater and it turns to dirty brown dust as soon as you see what it is.

Granny Boone: Buckman's initialed handkerchief.

Harper Alexander: A twig that's been widdled a whole bunch. It may snap in your hand- don't you worry, he don't mind ^^

Inkubus: Ripped piece of paper with a backwards K scribbled into it. You get ink stains on your fingers.

Jack Dante: An action figure! Probably He-Man or something. You can play with it for now but you're gonna give it back when he goes home.

Jason Voorhees: A chunk of moss. Its squishy and fresh.

Jedidiah Sawyer: A tie! He's a well dressed man and always brings an extra XD

Jennifer Check: Cherry Coke Chapstick! You know she's that super cool person who had all the branded soda flavours. And she may even apply some to you~

Jerry Dandridge: His scarf. And its cold- why don't you wear it for a while?~ He's very charming. And this is the man you're gonna get stuck in a closet alone with for nearly 10 minutes! Goodluck-

Leslie Vernon: His mask. He's gotta spread the word!! Make sure people know who he is! This felt like a marketing opportunity.

Lester Sinclair: That grizzly lookin' knife of his. Listen to him chat about it and he'll love you forever.

Luda Mae Hewitt: Wooden spoon. Her logic? If she goes in there with someone iffy she can beat them with it.

Max Grief: Cassette tape out of his car. He wasnt sure what to really put in, so, *shrug*

Mayor Buckman: Boone's initialed handkerchief (Yeahhhh, they're cute like that XD).

Mental Manny: Straw twisted and bent into the shape of some satanic symbol. You feel uncomfortable holding it. But oh, he wants you to have it now~~ A gift.

Michael Myers: Someone's ear.

Mickey Altieri: A snack. Like a cookie from a vending machine or a pack of 2 minute noodles. You can have it, no worries.

Midnight Man: The page with the names on it. ... wanna play a game?

Miss Quinn: Her hand mirror. Come on now, sweetheart!!~ We'll make you look pretty.

Monty Hewitt: A screwdriver. You got anything he can fix up rela quick? He doesn't mind, if it means he can get away from Hoyt for a bit.

Otis B. Driftwood: You don't wanna know. I'm not telling you. Put it down.

Pamela Voorhees: Her drivers licence. She was looking in her wallet and thought it was logical- plus she sure as hell wasn't putting in her polaroid of Jason.

Patrick Bateman: His card, of course. Its so damn crisp- you get a paper cut.

Pennywise: A horn! Honk honk!

Rocco the Clown: Some poor bastard's kneecap. Yes. A kneecap. And I still won't tell you what Otis put in the hat.

Roman Bridger: A very fancy pen. The kind thats like 50 dollars for one. It's for signing contracts but he likes to show off that he has it.

Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie Hewitt Jr: 'His' sheriff's badge! He wants you to comment on it, too- call him Sheriff Hoyt- stroke his ego. That's all he wants.

Stu Macher: A lollipop! You can have it, he's already sucking one. You two can have matching blue tongues!

Stuart Lloyd: Someone forced him to chuck in the USB that his little movie is on- he's terribly anxious about it and hope that you'll just give it right back and don't play it. Its not done...

DBD! The Clown: A little travel bottle with a suspicious liquid inside. He suggests that you drink it... I suggest you do not. Unless, you know, you're into it-

DBD! The Deathslinger: A wrench. He's a handy man and never leaves the house without his handy wrench!

The Djinn: ... the jewel...

DBD! The Huntress: A bunny ear from a bunny doll. She can do it herself but if you sew it back onto her dolly then you have a friend for life.

The Man (Hush): A switchblade. He's gonna want it back but (; you can keep it while you're in the closet with him if it makes you feel safer.

Taxidermist: Some kind taxidermists tool. Maybe a fleshing cone or a necker knife.

Thomas Hewitt: A pretty rock. 🪨

Vincent Sinclair: A notepad so he can talk to you if you don't know sign language ^^

Winslow Foxworth Coltrane: A crushed can of coke. He doesn't carry shit around with him and he sure as fuck is not handing over his knife.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Would it make much of a significant change if, say, Ella was born a boy instead(so, Rhaegar??). So, Daemon and Rhea have three sons instead of just two.

I would assume they would still claim and have their respective dragons like in SOTF(come on, Cannibal and Yorick are soulmates), but in Ella/or Rhaegar's case, would he be more unhinged? I don't doubt the Roycegaryen kids's love for their mom, one bit, but since Ella is born a boy, that would mean Daemon probably took him with Yorick to King's Landing, too.

Much discussion had to be had to figure this out (because while I've thought--not in depth mind you--about Roycegaryens Genderswap AU, I haven't thought about a "they're all boys" au) & it's not totally figured out how it would be different, but I've got a chunk of it so let's go!

So, the names would be switched around a little bit. Ella was born first, so she'd be Yorick & our Yorick would be "Rhaegar." For the purposes of this as I'm gonna keep it easy & mostly refer to them as boy!Ella & Rhaegar!Yorick, & we're only gonna use the in-universe names when it feels like it suits the need. Also, because boy!Ella is, y'know, a boy, Daemon would actually notice that this is the kid who's like him & be slightly less focused on trying to mold Rhaegar!Yorick into being his mini me like he tried with canon!Yorick. There'd still be Vizzy's weird projection because all versions of Yorick look like the late Prince Baelon, but that wouldn't be the "be all end all" for both Targ Brothers. That would inevitably change things from the get-go, for sure. Now, I'm gonna try & bullet point the alterations I know would happen just to try & keep this sort of coherent.

The "let's deflect from my brother wanting me to have another kid & piss off my dumb wife I hate & take my son as a squire" thing would still happen. Daemon would propose taking both of the twins, but because there's two boys now one of the other adults present would probably bring up the "just have one & the other stays at Runestone" thing. Either Aemma trying to minimize damage or Vizzy going full delusion, either way boy!Ella remains at Runestone due to being the heir, & Rhaegar!Yorick is in King's Landing to be Daemon's squire because that will offer him more training for things he could do with his life now that he's not the heir to Runestone.

When this gets agreed upon, this makes a bit of a rivalry form between the twins. Because boy!Ella is still working off the same logic as canon!Ella, so the whole "I need to convince dad to be proud of me" would become "I need to make dad love me the most because I should be his squire instead of Rhaegar." There wouldn't be any outright animosity between the twins during visits to King's Landing to go see Rhaegar!Yorick, it would just translate less as "codependent we shouldn't have been separated, that's my other half your honor" & more "time to be super competitive with my brother to prove myself!"

Things are mostly the same until the Go Pick Up Daemon From His Drunk Night/Meet Evyn/Befriend Evyn/Get Caught In The Tunnels/Daemon Was Exiled to Dragonstone & Took Rhaegar!Yorick. That all plays out, but now the dragon claiming is boy!Ella sneaking out alone to try & prove himself in Daemon's eyes & become the favorite. Rhaegar!Yorick sees his brother sneaking out & follows him, & tells him that he's gonna go with him & be lookout because even though boy!Ella sees him as a rival they're still brothers & he can swallow his fear to stick by him. This is basically their reconciliation (because they're 10 & they were besties before the sort-of-one-sided rivalry, so it is that easy), & then the dragon claiming plays out as in the canon of SOTF

Things are unaltered again until the twins' 13th name day. The fam is in King's Landing & Daemon takes both his boys to a brothel to get laid. Rhaegar!Yorick isn't into it, Daemon tries to coerce him into being into it, & boy!Ella puts two-and-two together that "oh, my dad got my mom drunk & assaulted her at Storm's End & he's doing kind of the same thing here with my brother." This is where the resentment kicks in for boy!Ella, & a fight breaks out (yes, boy!Ella is the one with the fucked up nose in the All Boys AU & it happens way earlier)

Back to business as usual, following the events of SOTF where Daemon gets exiled (for distressing his sons & breaking boy!Ella's nose. "Daemon, that's a 13-year-old you should know better. Boy you are 28"). The Royces back in King's Landing again until the s1e1 tourney. This also goes mostly unaltered, save boy!Ella being Ser Gerold's squire & there not being the Baby's First Period stuff

Rhea still has the "I have blue screened in the throne room & blurted out that my son is betrothed to Shireen already, sorry Vizzy." So Yoreen still happens, but there's another boy in the picture so there's still a chance for Vizzy to kind of get what he wants

And it's at this point I stopped plotting things out & knowing exactly how they go down. I can however present you the absolutely cursed (& completely canon to this au) love triangle of boy!Ella/Laena/Rhaenyra. Also, I apologize for how crunchy the picture of boy!Ella is. I couldn't find a higher resolution image of Carlos Peters that I liked

Whatever happens though, boy!Ella is the baby father. Is he married to Rhaenyra & those boys are his legitimate sons? Is he married to Laena & he's slutting himself out by being Rhaenyra's side-piece to give her sons that are at least kind of believably Laenor's because "at least they're blonde?" Is he married to some heretofore unconsidered woman & he's fucking Rhaenyra and Laenor? The possibilities are endless (I mean, not really, I just listed the possibilities. But you know what I mean).

Also, Rhea Royce lives longer in this AU. The hunt that had her isolated for Daemon to kill her happened to celebrate the first grandbaby, & in an AU where Yorick isn't the heir that wouldn't really play out the same way. Both boys would be dragged to the Stepstones, I don't think there's any way around that. And it's boy!Ella's wedding who was planned for when they got back because Rhaegar!Yorick getting married isn't as much of a priority. His kids aren't gonna inherit anything. And, much like how Ella didn't get pregnant from her wedding night, boy!Ella's wife probably isn't getting pregnant immediately either. So no hunt, no isolated Lady Rhea, no murder even if Daemon is exiled in The Vale. So that's all getting stretched out, because honestly everything would get run into the ground of any version of Ella was the head of House Royce that young & that full of grief. If we've got a normal Rhea death there's a fighting chance for a normal reaction to it.

[thesmpisonfire]

MY VIEW OF QCELLBIT IS ALSO HEAVYLY INFLUENCED BY MY TRAUMA YIPPEE PUTTING OUR OWN TRAUMA INTO THE FAVS

(I project my dissociation, derealization, depersonalization onto him (and also Pac a little), so the whole eating people thing has. My past self is NOT me, but it is still kinda me. My past can't affect me if it doesn't exist. Erasing that those things happened but they very much did. Knowing that with your current self, the thing you did broke the only rules you currently care for with your trusted friends. The fact he forgave you, but not completely, he's still scared. Scared of that very act that you bury so deep in the past. Yet in his own fear of that very thing, OF YOU, makes him strong enough to bite back. There's something so hot about that. I don't think Cellbit cares about the cannibalism part it's the trust breaking that doing cannibalism tends to take to do. That he's scared of, cuz being friends despite that taught him why eat people bad(because it hurt the trust between them). And then watching someone else doing that very thing it's like, a declaration of ultimate trust in a way. That you would do this despite the risk of losing trust, my trust. That tells me that you trust me so much that you'd do it anyway. (I'm now seeing in writing just how fucked up cellbits way of thinking really is rn and god I'm obsessed with him, bro really just thinks eating people is the most normal thing ever and I love him for it) AND THEN THE DOING OF SOMETHING YOU HATED HIM FOR, FOR HIM, BECAUSE OF HIM. AAAAAAA, hot is the only descriptor I can use to describe this deranged form of love.)

(I love throwing my own trauma into the character and pressing send. Cannibalism really is the best form of gay love.)

SHAKES THEM SHAKES THEM SHAKES

The trust that biting back means and the trust that Pac will still have Cellbit as family even if he's terrified and traumatized but he BITES BACK and it means they're on equal ground now and so Cell is forgiven in a way-