#cha.alastor

[spitdrunken]

I haven't seen him on your blog yet, but, do you have any thoughts on Alastor?

My thoughts are that i do genuinely like him BUUUUT I'm probably never really gonna write 'general nsfw/dating hcs' like I do about other characters just because I enjoy the aroace vibe of him too much HAHA Honestly, not 100% saying I might not in the future but just putting that out there!

I have some thoughts though! I have a couple of little works for him in the drafts, I've just been busy lately to really put the time and effort in to really nail his character...

notes: cannibalism mentions, heavy dubcon implied

One of them where you help with a yearly occurence that has to do with his deer nature (and no, it's not a rut, it's not anything sexual, haha), and it gets a bit... gross. But also kinda sweet? I'm working on it, lol.

Other one is a thought wherein Rosie and Reader are dating, and Alastor just hangs around you two together... A lot. I don't know, Rosie and him are def just friends, but I like the idea of this guy being in like. A QPR with Reader with a lot of specific unwritten rules, and he doesn't even know what a QPR is lmaoooo. Like no one knows what's going on between you two- Least of all you, haha.

Last one,, is more of a general cannibalism fic (entirely non-sexual within the story,, it's just straight up cannibalism. but it's sexual to ME) which involves Cannibal Town Mob characters, Rosie, and Alastor. Essentially, I have been thinking a lot about the idea of demons being able to make money in hell by willingly selling parts of their body to Rosie and the others! ...It all regrows eventually, and in Hell, there are enough desperate souls.

One nsfw idea I do kinda like is, if Alastor were to have like a rut/heat thing like i've seen some people say on here, it would be the worst time of self-loathing for him HAHA basically, him just being purely driven by instinct and hating absolutely every second of it, if that makes sense. but he's still doing it.

So, those are some of the thoughts I'm working on about him! But I feel like I would struggle a bit taking more general requests for him because my thoughts for him are so specific i guess....... ace2ace connection between us right there LMAO but pls do feel free to send in asks ^^!!!!

[spitdrunken]

notes: alastor x reader. content warnings: gore (broken bones + amputation), cannibalism

You groan, and try to ignore whatever’s trying to prevent your second death. 

“Oh, wonderful! You haven't died yet!! Now, listeners, could any of you have expected survivors in such a filthy warzone? What a twist!” 

You’re being roused to consciousness by a cheery voice laced with static, and something poking repeatedly at your face. Your eyes are crusted shut, your throat so parched it hurts. It was easier when your awareness was fleeting.When your right arm twitches, the worst pain you’ve ever felt once again blossoms up your arm, forcing your eyes wide open. Any hope of peace is dashed. You’re back here, surrounded by the remains of a ruined, broken city, laid beneath a red sky. 

The stranger is tall and imposing, his smile showing an array of sharp teeth as he waves his microphone back and forth in front of his mouth. You have no idea who you’re looking at. He’s some kind of… Deer? You’re not quite sure what he’s supposed to be, and you absolutely do not have the energy to spare to contemplate it. You’re a complete stranger to this area, this place, that you can only assume is Hell. You wandered into some kind of conflict on day one, and your fate seemed to be sealed. You’re not so sure anymore.

You shouldn’t look. You know you shouldn’t. You can’t help it, though– Not knowing is somehow worse. When you take a glance, the sight that greets you matches your last memory. Your arm is crushed underneath a large rock, pinning you to the ground. Your hand barely pokes out underneath, bent the opposite way it’s supposed to. You tried your best to lift it, but to no avail. In the end, the pain, exhaustion and inhalation of fumes knocked you right out. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him narrowing his eyes. 

In the blink of an eye, he smashes down his cane just above the break in your arm. You lurch forward, choking on your own spit as your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Your breaths are wheezed in and out, chest moving in stuttering movements. You’re practically foaming at the mouth. The world blurs around its borders, tears only burning at your eyes for a moment before running down your cheeks. The microphone is shoved in your face the whole time, catching every little noise, every little wretched sob or whimper of pain, until the stranger lifts it up to his mouth again. 

“Now that I’ve got your attention, a little warning…” He bows down in your direction, and gestures at your arm. "Careful! If you move around too much, you might lose more than just an arm! You really are in quite a pickle here, yes, it’s safe to say your arm’s been absolutely blown to smithereens! " You’re still so out of it you can hardly respond, can hardly process what’s going on around you. “But, don’t fret, I’ve arrived to save those such as yourself from such a horrible, slow death!” 

That catches your attention. 

“R…Really?” You barely manage to croak the word out, in between your crying and gasping. His eyes narrow into slits, though the stranger’s grin remains unfaltering. 

“Certainly! I may be a lot of things, dear, but I’m no such thing as a liar! Right, listeners? You all know I would never dare to lie. Though, hm…” He taps his chin repeatedly, like he’s genuinely considering some kind of prospect. “Even if I removed that big hunk of rock for you, I don’t think you would have much use for it anymore, don’t you agree?”

You stare up at him quietly, mind struggling to keep up with what he’s getting at. The corner of his eye twitches, before he lets out a loud, and very clearly fake, laugh. “Alas! No interviews, folks! Ah, well, we all can’t be born for a main part on the stage, can we?” Tinny laughter blasts out from all around you. “Well, you can see for yourself!”

He plucks the debris from your arm like it’s no more than a pebble. Your bones crack at the shifting of the weight, and the removal can’t exactly be described as a relief. It hurts like a bitch. He chucks the rock over his shoulder without breaking a sweat. In the distance, you can hear someone crying out at the impact. 

“Now, don’t be shy! Take a look.” Morbid curiosity takes hold of you once again. The skin is broken open where the debris made impact, a jagged part of your bone sticking out from your flesh. Strands of flesh cling to it like the last strings of a decaying rope, just barely keeping your arm together. “See? It’s a lost cause, truly. To keep from bleeding out, that thing really has to come off!” He speaks as if he’s pitying you, but there’s not a hint of change in his expression. 

“Wait, wait, wait–” You desperately try to sputter, to no avail. You can only stare in horror as a flame flickers to light in the stranger’s hand. The bottom of his cane collides with the middle of your chest, pinning you to the ground. He slowly, slowly lowers the flame to your skin, the heat increasing by the second.

“Won’t you show some appreciation and smile for me? You’re never dressed without one!” You can’t force one onto your face. Silence hangs thick in the air for a moment. “Well, as they say, the show must go on!” The flame makes contact with your skin, just above the elbow, and you can hear your flesh starting to sizzle. You bite on the inside of your cheek to try and distract yourself, blood spurting into your mouth. The scent of burnt flesh, your burnt flesh, fills your nostrils. The pain is excruciating, and you bash your head against the ground as you flail around. Even in this amount of pain and distress, you try to keep quiet, no matter how much it feels like your skull is about to explode. He hits you across the face with his cane, finally making you cry out. It’s heavier than it looks, and blood trickles down your face from your broken nose. Still, the pain pales in comparison to your arm. 

He takes his sweet time burning his way through your flesh, occasionally making some smart-ass quip that’s lost on you. Your ears ring with audience laughter. You’re breathing through your mouth because your nose is clogged with blood, and you taste your own scorched meat on your tongue. No matter how much you swallow, you cannot get rid of it. Black spots dance across your vision and overtake it. 

You must have blacked out for a minute, because when you come to again your arm aches and pounds and burns and burns and burns– Or, not your arm, your stump, as the stranger is holding your arm and waving your hand right in front of your face. The wrist is folded over and with a snap, the flesh tears away. He lets out a “whoops!” and barely catches your hand before it hits the floor.

His eyes bore into yours as he cradles your hand. He’s been so talkative this whole time, that the silence strikes you as incredibly discomforting. You can hear him sniff. Right in front of you, he pops one of the fingers from your amputated hand into his mouth and bites down. Your bones crunch in his mouth, and blood gushes past his lips. He swallows it in a single gulp. You jerk your head away and start violently retching, but there’s nothing in your stomach that you can regurgitate. 

When you finally turn back around, the stranger has moved mere inches from your face, and you jerk away, slamming the back of your skull against the pavement out of instinct. His eyes are wide and pupils distorted, smile impossibly stretched out further than before. “You… Your flesh…” His hot, deep breaths waft against your skin. Droplets of drool drip down onto your chest. A loud, overlapping form of static vibrates through your whole body and pushes down all around you. Then, when you think you might explode, it stops. He pulls back while looking down at you, head slightly tilted. His hands still tremble. His eyes dart around all over your body. 

With a snap of his fingers, a roll of bandages appears. He chucks it at your chest. The arm holding his microphone is stretched back, as far away as it can possibly get from him. He talks lowly and slowly. “Wrap those around your arm, and you’ll live.” He inhales deeply once again and licks his lips, which he somehow manages despite still grinning. “Scram now, but don’t even think of dying before I find you again.” 

Collecting every ounce of energy that you have left in your body and forcing your shaking legs to their absolute limit, while every instinct in your body screams its agreement with him, you push the bundle of bandages tight against your chest with the arm you have left, and run.

[spitdrunken]

notes: alastor x reader, graphic violence @ reader character, but not very detailed. cannibalism description, manipulation, unrquited feelings. alastor is nooot nice he’s terrible. this is just a vague ideadump before i forget this. none of the fics about this dude are dark enough for my liking HAHA maybe i’ll write something full for this later

i’ve been thinking so much about alastor killing you it’s unreal. my idea just being that he tortures you and broadcasts your death right on radio... i was also thinking of maybe making ‘you’ some really messed up fan of his like, someone who WANTS to be killed by him. this is such a difference from the norm that it might actually catch his attention for a little. (he always seems to be looking for things to quench his boredom, after all.) dude would definitely play a laugh track while you’re bleeding out underneath him. 

in general i just really like the idea of manipulative alastor as well just... i dunno, i wanna imagine that he would try and make someone completely dependent and in love with him once for his own entertainment. the romantic feelings are completely unrequited, btw. maybe he’d have a little fondness for you? but like more in a ‘pity for a lesser creature’ kind of way, pitying you for ever believing him. he would never see you as an equal. maybe these two ideas could build off of each other,,, with the willing torture being the finale of his grand efforts. 

(CANNIBALISM WARNING.)

 i want him to be just gross and touchy and for it never to be quite sensual or close to romantic enough. and during the torture then,, like him leaning in for a kiss, but when kissing you all he does is take the opportunity to bite off your tongue and swallow it. you’re still lucky, he doesn’t usually spend so much time with anyone <3!