#hector munday

[caramelparrotcz]

🕊️Hector Munday/Granthem Du’Met🕊️

The Dark Pictures Anthology: The Devil in Me 🤍✨🕯️

[cenomatic]

jorking it

[redran6er]

Would you let him in?

[herabora]

❤

[dogyodel]

Eyes of the devil

[milllkaa]

My love Dumet

[108garys]

Expressiveness

So I'm tired and rambly I'm sure but a thought has crossed my mind as to why the new Psycho mask doesn't hit right beyond the initial shock of it and to me it comes down to the old saying "eyes are the window to the soul" and how much eyes give away and quite frankly josh is way too expressive for that type of mask and it would give him away

The original mask gives you nothing to figure out his identity, in fact that's the whole point as josh constructs the persona to be so thoroughly different that he even moves differently and only in brief moments were he messes up and breaks character does it hint at his identity

For an alternative that does the exposed eyes look right let's look at smg's other masked antagonist, Granthem Du'met famously makes little to no expressions, doesn't speak and is so cold that even with more of his face exposed he still gives nothing and on the rare occasion where he does the impact is far greater than were he a more expressive character like josh. I get that the psycho persona is different but that's the point, if the psycho has soulless eyes like Du'met then it won't be believable as josh and if the eyes are every bit as expressive as josh usually is than it won't be believable that no one looked into his eyes recognized him immediately

On top of the old design better obscuring his identity, the black eyes made him appear alien and inhuman in a way that's just not captured here

And here I've hastily drawn the lenses back on to show how it could have been and hopefully further make my sleep deprived point, like here the tone is still altered but the original essence of the concept isn't lost, at least I hope that's how it comes across

@kassiekolchek22 @delurkr @tatjana-fantasy @unhingedlesbear @ctrvpani @tinynightmarewoman @qusok @eframschweigersskincells @kindheartedgummybears(what an awkward time to be considering having another go at redesigning the psycho mask for my Josh Du'met au 😅)

[taygetuspositive]

local serial killer has difficulties reintegrating into civil society

[mahleb]

I recently got acquainted with the Saw universe)). I especially liked one of the antagonists, Mark Hoffman. It's funny, but in his story, he is very similar to Hector Munday (Grantham Du'Met) from the game The Dark Pictures: The Devil in Me (although, given the chronology, Hector is more likely to look like him). Both worked for the FBI/police, being professionals in their field. Both committed their first murders for good reasons (Mark - killed an unjustly released murderer, Hector - euthanasia of an evil mother painfully dying of cancer). And both had someone who initiated them, so to speak. Mark has Kramer, Hector has Manny Sherman. But, unlike Mark, Hector did it much longer and more successfully… Although, again unlike Mark, Hector really liked it, even though he missed his days working in the FBI. For Mark, most of the murders were under pressure from Kramer or out of fear of exposure. I would love a crossover with their collaboration))

[caramelparrotcz]

Today marks 2 years of my fav horror game - The Dark Pictures Anthology: The Devil in Me 🤍✨🕯️

Happy Anniversary! 🤍✨ So I made my illustration for it 😌🤍✨

18/11/2024

[satanetra]

little devil

[redran6er]

" You stole my heart, and I want it back "

God I miss these two so much so I drew em! Also this will be used for my new youtube video as thumbnail hehe

[hope-to-hell]

The Quiet Game. Hector Munday x Reader. Noncon, coercion, exhibition kink, naked top clothed bottom, all around poor life choices (but this is smut so we do what we want). Mr. Munday is the strong, silent type. He is inventively cruel and yet. And yet he has needs like any man, even if his methods of satisfying them are more than unorthodox. And now that he has you, well, you’d better keep quiet. Unless you want everyone to hear.

———

You’re in his web now, you unlucky little fly, and now you play his game. Shiver here in the chill of his director’s suite and know that every ripple of fear across your skin only fuels his hunger.

Hush, now. Don’t make a sound. Match him breath for breath and maybe you’ll get out of this alive. Be still. Let him bend you down and spread your legs apart; let him cut and tear until you’re bare to him, clothing in shreds and ass prickling gooseflesh in this cold room. All the truly important parts of the console are switched off; there’s just an unblinking red light in front of your nose.

Is that— yeah. Yeah, that’s a mic and it is hot and that’s the game: take it quietly or every moan and whimper’s gonna be broadcast throughout the house. Bite your tongue bloody— or don’t. He doesn’t care. And which would be worse: your companions thinking all your little sounds are from some cruel torture, or them knowing just how gone with need you are? How could you explain the war that rages between mind and body, between the chill of fear and the thick wet heat of anticipation?

Oh, you pathetic little thing. So weak, so lost. He doesn’t even need that knife to keep you here, although it’s sharp and firmly in his grip, shining silvery right where you can see it. Point being, it’s a threat but it’s nothing against solid warm flesh and the soft whisper of cambric and wool as he digs the fingers of his free hand into the meat of your ass. It’s a dull bruising ache, leaving its echoes deep in your flesh when he flexes his fingers to get a better grip. Yeah, you like that, enough to push back as best you can into the feeling. You want it, yeah? Bad enough to beg for it?

Tch.

Giving up so easily? He isn’t even in you yet but anticipation is a bitch. And wouldn’t you know it, but he feels it too: he shifts closer and oh, he is hard— all his bulk is just a solid wall to cage you here, as his cock burns hot like a brand even through his trousers. If he ever smiles at all, if there is anything within him beyond implacable grim fate, surely something of it must be present here, teased out by the interplay of wanting and taking. If you’re lucky— if you make it through this to emerge aching and sticky in the predawn gloom— you’ll see what he looks like when he slips enough to let his human side show, and won’t that be a treat. So are you gonna play the game, sweet thing?

Shame might be one side of the coin, but the other side is animal need. It’s instinct: the kind of bone-deep wanting that’s got you biting your lips bloody to stop yourself from gritting out just fucking give it to me already. And yeah, he’s gonna fuck you raw; how better to conquer you completely than to bury his seed as deep as he can get. There’s the scratch of wool over your ass when he opens his flies just far enough to take himself in hand. Can you picture it? The way he stands silent, dressed like a man out of time, palming his cock for just a moment before he lines himself up and pushes in deep? Is he thick? Long? Does he know the angle that’ll tear your last bit of resolve to shreds? Oh, honey. This isn’t his first time around.

Quiet that mind of yours. Don’t try to hold those thoughts; let them blow away like smoke until all that’s left is pure sensation. Were you an animal, your entire life would be like this: fleeing, fucking, living with no thought to a future so uncertain it might as well not exist, each successive moment belonging only to itself.

There, can you feel that? The brush of his cock against you, slipping through your slick: one thrust, two, and he’s home. There’s no mercy in the way he shoves himself in you to the root, crushing you down against buttons and dials, hard enough that if tomorrow comes it’ll find you brushing fingertips over a pattern of aches in the shape of the console. Sweetheart, can you feel it? He may be cold behind the mask but he still breathes, still shudders with the pleasure of conquest, still exhales a hot wet ah into your ear. And then he moves. He is greedy, selfish; he takes and takes and takes but he’s crushing you down against the console just so and listen. Listen. If you think he doesn’t know what that does to you— if you think he doesn’t mean to hold you here in such a way that the very motion of your body sends lightning through your veins— then you’re a fool.

I can’t. I can’t. Please. It’s too much; you can’t possibly keep quiet any longer, not with the way he curves over your back, smearing sweat and slick and wouldn’t that be a sight: his vest and trousers rumpled, shirttails half-freed, with your shining wet need stained all across his front. The image bites its way into your core and wouldn’t you know it but he’s just a little more urgent, a little more ferocious when he feels the ripple of your walls around him. I— I need—

What do you need? Release, certainly, but your mind is unwinding and all your thoughts spiral out into nothingness. The only thing left is pure sensation: heat, desperate breaths, the chorus of your nerves that screams too much, too much, let me— let me— make me come.

Please. It’s soft, nearly inaudible, breathed out with the wispy unh of a body with no more room for air. It’s not a plea to let you go, but to give you more, and for a moment he is caught off-guard. This wasn’t in the plan.

His hand over your mouth, covering at first and then adjusting. Fingers dragging down, past your lips to rest heavy on your tongue, his hand bridle and bit and gag at once. He tastes of leather and salt and a whisper of blood. The razor’s disappeared somewhere but it doesn’t matter; all your senses now belong to him. The game he’s playing is distant, unimportant; you are filled with him from end to end and with each stroke he digs thick fingers into your mouth, holding your jaw open wide. Like this he pulls you back hard onto his cock, leaving spit and bruises at the corners of your lips. This is mercy.

This is torture, and it is sweet.

You can’t fight what’s coming, so let it happen. Let that lightning work its way up from your toes to curl brightly in your center. Relinquish yourself unto him; he has your mind already and now he will possess the undoing of your flesh as well. Feel the delicate balance between pleasure and pain, and know that neither exists alone but is only a mirror of the other.

Collect yourself. Nevermind the discomfort of your jaw relaxing back into place, or the gooseflesh that prickles your skin when he no longer rests heavy at your back. Breathe for a moment. You did so very well. And now the door is open, leading out to the warrens between the walls. He stands straight-spined and still at the console, armored with mask and apron to conceal any evidence of sin, but now he cannot hide how his blood pulses hot beneath the surface.

And now you have a choice: you can run shaky-legged and stumbling back to your companions and retake your place as quarry in the hunt. You can dive for the razor that’s on the floor just out of reach, and hope that you’re faster than he is. Each is expected. Understandable. Or you can turn against all reason and look him in the eye. You can tell him the least you could do next time is get me a blanket, and mark the way he tilts his head with interest. The choice is yours.

[tinynightmarewoman]

CREDIT TO @vendetta935 FOR THIS MASTERPIECE!!!

[meitsuki24]

Here’s a Du’Met for spooky season 🍁

[108garys]

Workaholic

For Hector's birthday I am again returning to "the perfect shot" au, in which Hector remains with the FBI long enough to be given a new task, watching Charlie in the aftermath of his involvement in hoa after his move to America. File this under me writing Hector in a way that makes me want to hit him with a news paper, Charlie too but he has a better excuse so yeah, Heclie but Hector literally trips over the finish line, straight up "it's not stalking if I get paid for it" and a lot of poor Charlie, I forgive your life choices because the way you are in this polished up wip is certainly not as bad as you are in writings I've done while this was on a shelf

Hope y'all enjoy 💕

May 31st, 2004

Special Agent Hector Munday had always been a bit of a workaholic. Diligently he examines every seemingly insignificant detail of a given case. His therapist claimed it was obsessive but how can it be a flaw when doing so took dangerous criminals off the street? Hector's work was very important and it deserved nothing less than his full attention…

In mid 03' he was assigned a very different task, something a little more low stress than he was used to but the stakes were no less important… He would not be tracking down a dangerous criminal and bringing them to justice, in fact the tracking was less seeking and more stalking for he'd know the man's location since day one- Not that Hector was stalking him! …it was his job to keep tabs on the aspiring director, lest he reveal classified information.

Charlie Lonnit, 30, was his assignment, the London born documentarian had been in the states for just under a year now, pursuing his dreams of make a name for himself in the industry but struggling to make necessary connections in a new place… The Brit was a workaholic too, Hector observed. It was the anniversary of Lonnit's highly classified time in Iraq. He had been coming to this bar more frequently in the lead up and Munday couldn't risk a drunken error changing the nature of his task. Charlie wasn't a dangerous man by any means but he carried dangerous secrets that must stay buried…Even if he must also be put in the ground in the process…

Hector found himself slowly sipping what had now become a regular order in his quiet corner of an unremarkable bar as he discreetly kept an eye on Charlie, not Charles, he hated being called that, over at the bar… Some may argue that his research went beyond what was strictly necessary but as far as Agent Munday was concerned the more he knew the easier it would be to catch subtle changes in behavior.

Hector was on edge watching some random sleeze getting a little too invasive for his liking, usually he wouldn't think Charlie was the type to go for that but these are unusual times… he'd be lying if he denied a level of possessiveness over the idea of him going home with the guy but for all he knows the combined factors could prompt Lonnit into committing a serious crime. Special Agent Munday was a professional after all.

So when the man's unwelcome touch travels a little too far his liking, Hector did something very stupid… He found himself approaching, "Is this guy bothering you?" He said with the casual air of an uninformed bystander, having convinced himself of the other man's threat, "What the fuck do you want?" The other man looked up, in disbelief at his audacity until Hector, against his better judgement, handed off just enough cash to turn the man's head. "I'm sure you have better places to be." he confidently asserts and the man complies with an air of confusion. Hector takes the now empty seat and Charlie stares at him having seen this stranger pay off the other guy. Taking a moment to consider his next move…

Hector had heard Charlie's voice uncountable times… on tapes, audio of secret things where he's trying to maintain his composure, trying to explain himself near tears as he's given an ultimatum… warmth as he calls his mother at a specific time that works for the difference in timezone, at least twice a week, his current tone was somewhere in the middle, a certain level of polite caution. "You're a regular here aren't you?" as far as Charlie knew, Hector had been in here everytime he's visited the less than stellar establishment. "It's a stone's throw from my place, it's as good as any." it wasn't an out right lie but Hector wouldn't come here willingly without a reason.

Charlie adjusted his glasses looking him over and Hector's skin felt like static under the unexpected attention, suddenly regretful now that he was no longer fixated on the possibility of the other man… he should excuse himself and continue doing his job at the appropriate distance, but… Hector was diligent about his work and looking into his eyes… The way his own face looked reflected across the younger man's glasses.

He had Charlie's full attention.

He not so reluctantly stayed put, he couldn't help it… listening to him speak like he had for the past year. He tried to listen more than he spoke, the more he speaks the more he'd risk mentioning something he shouldn't… Eventually Charlie got onto the subject of his documentarian dreams and his fascination with serial killers and what makes them tic, he said he wasn't sure why he felt drawn to true crime. It was a coping mechanism after what he faced in Iraq, he needed to rationalize the darker parts of the world to feel safe, it made sense to Hector even if Charlie didn't do it consciously…

He couldn't turn his brain off, trying to analyse every little detail, Charlie leaned closer to him, Hector's dark eyes looked predatory reflected in Charlie's soft blue ones… His focus so singular that he'd barely noticed that he'd allowed his hand to wonder, far past the boundaries of what a complete stranger should dare. he quickly withdrew it not wanting to make Charlie uncomfortable but-

Charlie grabbed his hand, Hector felt like the young man just didn't want to be alone, everyone else who knew what he'd been through was far away… Everyone he could confide in was involved in a conspiracy to keep that hurt buried… They sat in silence for beat, before Charlie kissed him. Hector pulled back in surprise before he could process the sudden contact, Charlie's face flushed bright with embarrassment. His eyes wide, likely wondering how he had misread the previous touch. "I- I'm so-" sorry? Hector opened his mouth to explain but Charlie rushed out before he could. What was he thinking!? Hector payed for both their drinks before following, his stupidity is getting expensive.

He found him out front, trying to light a smoke, becoming visibly upset as his lighter refused to cooperate. Charlie turned with the cigarette between his lips, the redness in his face betraying him. Hector fishes his lighter out of his pocket stepping closer, he lit up his own before sharing the flame with the younger man. Charlie looked away, relaxing slightly as smoke escaped into the night…

Hector ignored that it was entirely inappropriate to know that although it wasn't when he started smoking, his trauma related to his time as a military journalist had solidified his habit into something he depended on…

The silence stretches awkwardly, it begins to rain…

He felt like he should explain but his own reaction was much more of a mystery than Charlie's, all neat and categorized through careful observation. He felt words would fail him, that even if Charlie really did just want a distraction he could do that… He approaches again, much more deliberately, with clarity of purpose…

He was passionate about his work.

-- June 1st, 2004

Hector's therapist had advised against taking his work home, it was unhealthy she said, but as Charlie's form rose and fell in soft sleep he knew she was wrong… Charlie had slept with a light on every night since his trip to hell, as had all the survivors, Hector left his bedside lamp on hoping Charlie wouldn't think too much about it.

This was uncharted territory, learning so much that had previously been beyond his reach… The way Charlie's skin felt, how he clung to him like he's the only thing between him and that place Hector only knew through reports… Very many other things… New information, mentally filed away. It was… educational.

Hector's hand ran over long inhuman claw marks that scarred Charlie's hip, imaging what it must have been like, how terrifying those creatures must have been… He refrains from sliding any further as Charlie began to stir, slowly rolling over to look at him. He smiles sleepily, accepting as Hector offers to make him coffee.

A shortly after Hector is again in his head, wondering if things will go back the way they were now that his… Now that Lonnit had gotten through the anniversary, they should. It could never work. He distracted himself with the task at hand, listening to the sound of the shower down the hall, he turns on the radio to the classical station to distract himself. He wouldn't bring it up first, that would make him look like an ass… What the hell is wrong with him!?-

"I hope you don't mind, my stuffs still in the dryer." Hector turns to Charlie, wearing one of his shirts… He absentmindedly handed over a cup of coffee… It was far too large, hanging off him in a way that- Hector looked away, grabbing his own mug and drinking, before he turned back with a smile. "No no, it's fine, it was my fault you got wet in the first place." Charlie smirks, Hector clears his throat, trying not to blow his cover… Or look like an actual idiot. "So, what's with the scar?" he sees Charlie's expression fall, clearly blindsighted despite the obvious likelihood that it would come up, Hector quickly spoke up again. "I understand if it's too sensitive a subject." Charlie nods, relived, looking away. "Yeah." he says drinking his coffee, still greatly affected by what he'd been through.

He was supposed to say he'd had a close call on a hiking trail a few years back… That was the 'official' story given to him but this was the first time he's actually been in a situation where it'd come up.

Hector retroactively decided this was a test… He couldn't have Charlie floundering and potentially slipping up with other men, it was a matter of confidentiality… He looks at him, at the way the morning sun hits his face just right, his glasses framing his features perfectly… He wanted to see him wearing more of his clothes, wanted to be in on the secret irony that the man who had survived vampires loved the feeling of his teeth… Wanted to feel his warmth and leave more marks on him…

He moved to grab things from his pantry, barely thinking about it as he begins to make breakfast to prolong the time Charlie stayed in his presence, thinking of the right words to convince him to do this again. It would be much more efficient to keep tabs on him this way…

After all, Hector Munday was a workaholic and Charlie Lonnit was his job.

__

@kassiekole22 @delurkr @ctrvpani @tinynightmarewoman

@eframschweigersskincells @aydeenchan @mybrainrotforreal @unhingedlesbear

@kindheartedgummybears @blubary

I thought it was fun to cross out Information hector definitely shouldn't know, like its a denial of his actual behaviour, I hope it's as fun to read lol