#kinda cannibalism | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

its-warm-in-here · 3 months

Text

Teeth

Oh hell, I'm writing again. Let's see if this has legs, maybe I'll write a follow-up.

Alastor x !DeerDemon! Reader

Warnings: imbalance of power, cannibalism

The fact that he’s humming is the opposite of comforting.

Alastor’s room was, even compared to the rest of the hotel, bizarre. The whole foyer resembles a hunting lodge, complete with roaring hearth, mounted antlers and furniture made of bone. Nervous, you shift from hoof to hoof in the entryway, tail straight up and hair on end. If you crossed this precipes, you’d be in the lion's den. No matter how much he resembled other cervid sinners. This demon had killed and devoured countless others, and based on his furnishing, he had a particular fondness for deer. Instead of ending in a wall or window, the back of the room gives way to another realm. Like someone had punched a forest into the inbetween space of the hotel walls. You wonder how far back it went, or if there was even an end.

A staticky wail from the gramophone snapped you back to reality. The sound gave way to easy jazz and Alastor turned the music down a bit, that ever-present smile playing on his wide mouth. “No need to be shy, my deer. This shouldn't take more than a moment.” With a lip worry, you hesitate. Sure you’d said yes to this, but you’d expected a quick bite, just a sample, not whatever this performance was. Was he trying to put you at ease? Because he’s failing spectacularly. “Besides, it's quite rude to linger in doorways. Especially when you’ve already been invited in.”

With one last breath, you step into the room. Its distinctly cooler than the hallway even with the fireplace. It is probably due to having a literal forest embedded into it, but it makes you shiver. Still humming, Alastor loops around, shutting the door behind you and ushering you further into his abode with a hand at your waist. “I just...have never done anything like this before,” you mumble. He seats you at one of the two chairs. You’re pretty sure that the leather is elk hide. You hope it is an elk at least. Elks are assholes.

“Neither have I. Invigorating, isn't it?” Alastor chirps. Once more, he circles around, stripping that ever present, pinstripe coat off and draping it over the opposite seat. It catches you off guard, you’ve never seen him without it. Hell, you doubt that anyone in the whole hotel had ever seen him without it. Though, Alastor is hardly vulnerable. If anything, you’re even more unsettled than before. As if this was a relaxing experience for him. It's just a quick glance, just before he turns to face you, but you swear you spot the tuft of a red tail at the top of his trousers. That makes your stomach twist. Since arriving in the Pride Circle, not once could you have ever considered consuming another conscious being, let alone one that was alive and in the same vein of sinner.

Yet, Alastor seemed to revel in it.

Bouncing your knees, your hooves send a steady tapping rhythm through the room. “I don't know if I'd use those words exactly.”

“No need to be nervous. Im not set to devour you whole,” his hand comes to rest over your clasped fingers. The bouncing halts. “Never in all my time in Hell have I seen a sinner with quite an impressive regenerative ability. A little nip here-” fingers tuck your hair behind your ear, exposing the junction where your neck met your shoulder, “-will heal up in an instant.”

You rub the skin he’s touched, finally meeting those red eyes of his. “There’s a bit of a difference from getting hit by a drunk driver, peeling myself up like road kill and letting an overlord munch on me though.” Alastor’s eyes flash. This activity excited him far more than it should in your humble opinion.

“Well, if its boundaries that worry you, we can always make a deal instead, hm?” he leers, knowing full well that the deal might give some ground rules for whatever this fucked up relationship was, but would give him even more sway over you.

Jerking back, you jab him in the chest, “We’re starting with one bite. Don't push your luck, Alastor.”

He smiles, stands, then shrugs, “Well, let's get started then.”

With a huff, you undo the top few buttons of your dress shirt and half yank off the sleeve, wanting to avoid any unnecessary mess. Cool hands close over your shoulders and the skin to skin contact makes you jump. For someone who hated being touched, Alastor sure loved to make others uncomfortable using his own. There’s a flash of teeth and you feel the fringe of his hair at your cheek, then a moment of hesitation. It's in that you realize he’s smelling you. Anyone else this could be intimate, romantic even, but the underlying motivations are all the wrong kind of carnal. “If we're doing this can we--”

Alastor bites down, sharp teeth cutting deep into the meat of your shoulder. It's a sharp pain and a cry builds in your throat. You press your palms flat to his chest, ready to heave the Radio Demon off with all your strength. There's a swift pull at your flesh. You try to scream, letting the pain out, but Alastor’s hand closes over your mouth, muffling the cry. Scrambling further back in the chair, you try to cover the new wound, but Alastor still has you in a vice grip. His eyes are gently closed as he chews, small noises of pleasure like someone enjoying the first bite of a luxurious meal. God, it makes your stomach turn. The sheer amount of delight he was getting from literally eating you alive.

Still you can't help but wonder... How... do you taste?

The vial thought is pushed to the side the moment Alastor leaned in for seconds. “Whoa, hey!” you shove back, “One bite, we said one!” His teeth are already primed against your shoulder, pricking torn flesh, but he retreats, smug smile spread firmly in place. Best you can, you glance at your shoulder. It's a jagged bite, stretching from the line of your collarbone to the top of your trapezius exposing muscles and tendons. But not deep enough to reach bone. The wide gash is already beginning to knit itself together and the pain is fading with it. Letting out a breath, you fall back in the chair.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Alastor teases, tracing his thumb over the edge of the wound, threatening to jab the digit in. You swat his hand away and shoot a glare up at him. With a huff, you yank the sleeve back up and do your best to ignore the self-satisfied overlord.

“That hurt, you know,” you snap, righting your outfit.

“I barely broke skin!” Alastor insists with a sing-song voice, “And I doubt my nibble was much worse than that oncoming truck.” His tongue traces the line of his teeth. “That was quite a toothsome treat, my deer. Maybe next time we could make a full meal of it.”

“Next time...” your mind wanders to how much that could hurt and if there even should be a next time. The words are under your breath but his ears prick up at the utterance.

“If you’re interested in continuing with this little arrangement, that is,” he interjects.”But what kind of a deal maker would I be if I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.” Right! The whole reason you’d agreed to this whole verbal agreement in the first place. You hop to your feet, a playful smile spreading over your face. “So what’ll it be? Now, don't expect much from our little understanding, but I'm a man of my word. One simple request that is in my power, is yours.” Alastor gives his microphone/cane a twirl before his gaze narrows, testing you.

Lots of things spring to mind. A bigger room at the hotel. A dance. Something to prank Angel Dust with. All the while you ponder, Alastor stoops, bending at the waist to make sure you knew you were being watched. A mistake on his part. Staring him dead in the face, you match his cheshire cat grin. “That's because I did this as a favor. I don’t need anything.”

“Come now, I’m offering this as a courtesy.”

“Afraid I'd hold something over you, Alastor?” you tease. He’s dangerously close now. Smug. Your lips twitch, but your smile stays glued. The miniscule respect he had in this moment would evaporate the moment it fell. “Well, I suppose there is one tiny thing I do want.”

Your hands dart to the top of his head, and fingers close over his ears. They are stiff but bend with a bit of pressure, and the fur is soft even as it bristles at your touch. For a moment, a breath is held and Alastor does not react, frozen in place. Then the world around shifts. Darkness closes in tight and any breath leaves the room. The gramaphon's soft music swells to an ungodly static. The corners of Alastor’s mouth twitch into an impossibly broad, neon grin, and the air around you buzzes with raw energy. The red of his eyes deepen to pitch black aside from two pinpricks of dial shaped irises. He does not move, but his shadow shifts, reshaping into something awful on the wall behind. In this moment he could snuff out your hellish existence.

Oh, to wield such power.

And you let go. Arms go up in surrender and you retreat a few steps. “And we're even.”

Just like that, the room snaps back. The strange cold ebbs away as pine and fire rush back into your nostrils. Your host relaxes, stepping back towards the exit and leveling a judging eye. It's a quick flourish, and his jacket is back in place. All the walls are back up. Alastor's face turns down just a touch before settling to a sly smirk and then he bends in a half bow. Not low enough to make you feel respected, but enough to put an end to the interaction. Your smile turns to pride as you mime the gesture. “That was surprisingly pleasant, all things considered,” you muse as you strut past him. Alastor may have finally gotten a chunk off you, that’d been something he’d been craving since you’d arrived in this place.

But you’d gotten something no one else ever had and lived.

Before you can step out of the room, Alastor’s hand closes over your forearm and you freeze. Terror courses through your veins. While there was no killing in the hotel, that didn't mean a powerful overlord couldn’t trap you in some pocket-torture dimension for overstepping. “I would suggest keeping this little exchange between us, hmm?” Nails bite into the meat of your arm, almost as sharp as his teeth. That grin is ever present, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. A threat.

You chew the inside of your cheek. Sure Charlie and Vaggie allowed for a few vices in the hotel, but this would probably be at the bottom of their list for team building activities. “Understood,” you say with a curt nod.

Alastor’s fingers drum once and he releases you. “Lovely,” the charismatic note bounces back into his voice, “Now, what do you say to some etouffee? It might be a bit early in the day but after that little appetizer, I’m positively ravenous for something more substantial.” With that, he sweeps past you into the hall.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #radio demon #alastor x reader #reader is a deer demon #alastor is a cannibal #dont like dont read #this is kinda gross #but so is the radio demon #sorry not sorry #asexual Alastor

259 notes · View notes

catscidr · 29 days

Note

Could we get some Dottore x escaped experiment reader? Gn if possible, doesn't even have to be smut. I just can't find anything along those lines and I like your writing style :)

i. note — hehehoho i might have uuuhhh used this ask as an excuse to go off a lil and try something new teehee °ᗜ°) but this was really fun to write!! thank you nonnie for the suggestion, and thank you very much for liking my stuff enough to req something!!! i hope u all enjoy ii. includes — dottore, gn!reader iii. cw — unhealthy and toxic dynamics, no dialogue, mentions of cannibalism, mild body horror, one (1) dead body, not quite stockholm syndrome but maybe kinda, reader is a mess and dottore is not a good person (shocker). minors do not interact, age in bio or block. iv. wc — 2k -> posted on ao3 too!

To humans, running is what they do when they’re late to work, when they’re working out, or even when they’re playing games at recess as children. To predators, running is what they do in order to secure their next meal. To prey, running is what they must do so they can escape from the predator’s clutch in one piece, to not end up as a mangled corpse serving as someone or something’s food.

You have more in common with prey than you have with humans, despite being one yourself.

It hasn’t always been that way. One moment you were enjoying the warm afternoon sun of your home region out on a walk, and the other you found yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder with a bag over your head.

You always find yourself reminiscing, yearning to feel the warmth you felt that day— minus the incident. You used to be a model citizen; someone people would rely on.

A shame no one helped you when you desperately needed it.

Your own mind is all you’re left with, as you’re clumsily tripping over your feet, rocks scraping your skin and blood trickling down your legs. The feeling is almost peaceful; but after running for so long, and with how often you’ve gotten yourself in this exact situation, you’re starting to second guess your motive for running in the first place.

Is it a form of entertainment, are you growing bored of the four padded walls engulfing your five senses at all hours of the day that you feel the need to get the energy out of your body like a hamster does by using the wheel in its cage? Is it to leave the predicament you found yourself in after trusting someone you, under no circumstances, should have trusted?

Or is it because you gradually have come to find yourself sharing more similarities to a dog, begging its owner to even unenthusiastically throw a plastic frisbee for a smidge of attention to fulfill your need to be seen, to be heard, and now you feel the responsibility to own up to that label you inflicted upon yourself?

The lines between reality and your thoughts have blurred so much it frightens you.

...Or, rather, it should scare you. After spending so much time in your own head, one would find that it’s surprisingly easy to come to distrust your own mind. You’re not sure if you should believe what goes through your head, even less believe what you feel. But at the same time, you’re all you have. You have no choice but to trust yourself, even when you shouldn’t.

Only a select few are aware of how dreadfully strong and outright stubborn the human mind can be, whether it be from their own personal experience or from seeing others slip into a state like yours.

Unfortunately for you, He’s familiar with your situation. Painfully familiar.

…

Sometimes you wish you were a luna moth. Delicate and radiant, people would be torn between praising you for your beauty and shunning you away for the crime of looking different than what they’re used to. You wouldn’t be a butterfly, would not conform to what society wants you to be. You would be able to be who you want, look however you want to without worrying over other’s opinions.

The people that did like you, though, would treat you with care and would do everything in their power to make your stay in this world a pleasant one. A stay that would only last a week.

Not long enough for you to become familiar with the horrors that await humanity. Seven days filled with nothing but genuine smiles, void of empty promises.

You’d crawl out of your cocoon, eat good food, find someone to help continue your bloodline, then die somewhere peaceful and hope that your crumbling, decomposing body will bring relief to someone desperately needing something to eat.

But you’re not a moth.

…

It’s unbearably cold when you come to your senses. Peeling your eyes open, you glance around to find yourself surrounded by cold limestone, barely illuminated by the cave’s entrance just a few feet away. The hairs on your skin rise from the wind guiding snow through the passageway, making you curl into yourself in a pathetic attempt to keep your body’s temperature from dropping too low.

You look down at yourself; your pants are ripped at the hem, and you see messy splotches of brownish red staining the fabric and your skin, going all the way down to your calloused feet. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out for, but it must have been at least an hour given how the bleeding from the numerous scratches and gashes on your legs stopped without any assistance.

The cave felt completely foreign to you, but even then, it brought you more comfort than He had. Or at least you think it does.

You feel free. Despite the way your body shivered endlessly from the wind howling into the cavern, despite the dull but searing pain that made it feel like your feet were scorching that traveled up your legs, despite the way you couldn’t move your lips from how dry and cracked they were, split from sheer cold.

You think this is the most freedom you’ve felt since you’ve gotten yourself stuck in His maw.

...

The wind is reduced to a soft, soothing melody when you wake up again. Almost calming enough for you to drift off to sleep a second time, but a nagging feeling in the depths of your gut told you that it was a bad idea to fall unconscious this time around, so you try to shake off the numbness in your limbs instead of succumbing to the call of the void.

Standing up proves to be a challenge as your legs buckle under your weight. You catch yourself before you fall, holding onto the rough formation of a rogue stalagmite; it’s a struggle to hold yourself up, but at the very least you didn’t give yourself a concussion.

The pain isn’t completely unwelcome, though. Your feet are throbbing, and the palm of your hand holding yourself up with the help of the stalagmite stings. As you blink the drowsiness away and the blood begins to flow through your limbs correctly again, you straighten your back to take in your surroundings properly.

The cave’s entrance was filled with thick snow. There was enough that it would reach your stomach should you walk up to it, ignoring the snow that fell into the grotto, and not the snow that partly obscured your way to the outside world. You can’t see much outside, only the faint outline of pine trees wavering in the distance, far enough that you can only barely make out their form.

Looking away from the blinding whites outside, you notice how utterly desolate the cavern is. Not even a single trace of a life was left behind in this cold, worn hollow. Maybe it’s better this way. You’re not sure you would have appreciated seeing even a wild hare or a fox in here, much less a bear.

Sitting down on the rocky ground again to give your legs a break, you take a moment to think back to what got you here in the first place.

You faintly recall rusty medical equipment, convulsing organs, and seeing Him jot down notes. You remember a plate being handed to you, the vague image of a man covered by a stained sheet of what used to be white, and the bile that rose to your throat when your gaze focused on what was on the plate itself.

Everyone knew the Doctor was a twisted man, but you doubted He was twisted enough to force someone to cannibalize one of their peers.

Clearly, you were wrong.

Then, you remember making a mad dash for the thick iron doors of his laboratory. By the grace of god, you were able to leave; and you now found yourself in this desolate cavern, tucked away from civilization.

As far as you were aware of.

But you shouldn’t trust your mind. You knew this, yet you also knew not to trust yourself when you told yourself you couldn’t trust yourself. Simultaneously believing in logic and being a mess of paradoxical jargon— it exhausted you to think about. So you try not to.

Whether by a stroke of bad luck or because of something else entirely, your dull sense of hearing picks up the faint sound of snow crunching beneath boots. Your hands and legs scramble to take you where you can hide as much of yourself as you can behind a rock formation, and you stare out of the cave’s entrance, holding your breath.

The sound becomes louder. An almost gentle woosh noise accompanies the scrunch of snow, and soon after it stops, you’re able to make out a blurry figure approaching the cave’s entrance. The icy flakes make way for Him at His command, hand waving to get rid of what was keeping you physically separated from Him.

The pure white snow behind His body glinted off his intricate accessories, the light forming a halo so otherworldly that it left you utterly breathless.

His boots make a soft clicking noise against the limestone as He steps into the grotto, your safe haven for however long you had been here— now not. Not a single word left His lips as he assessed your rugged appearance.

You wish He would smite you right then and there. He was most likely able to, and with ease, but you doubt He would willingly discard one of his longest-running experiments for disobeying a rule that you had broken many times before anyways.

Your jittery gaze follows His movements as He outstretches His arm, offering you a gloved hand, silent.

Did he know how much you simultaneously trusted and distrusted your own judgement? You stare at His hand, unmoving, heart racing against your ribcage— torn between bolting away, into the darkness of the cave, or intertwining your fingers with His, allowing Him to take you away voluntarily.

This was mercy either way. You could either die at the hands of whatever lurked in the shadows of the grotto, or you could die at the hands of the man that brought you so much pain it morphed into comfort, solace. He stood, unmoving. Observing you.

You knew Him well enough to know that He was taking mental notes on your behavior even now, outside of the familiar comfort of his lab in Haeresys.

Both options were foolish, but you weren’t exactly known to be in the sanest state of mind.

Pulling your arms away from your body, you bring a shaky hand up to take ahold of His, allowing Him to pull you up to your feet. You almost fall as a result of your nerves, but thanks to His quick reflexes you find yourself tucked in his arms, cheek pressed up against His navy cravat. The hand that wasn’t holding yours comes up to pat your head, gently untangling the knots that had formed in your hair. You melt into His touch, eyes fluttering shut to bask in the warmth He provided.

As you stand there with Him, knees weak, body upheld by His will alone, you shove down the thoughts that brew in the forefront of your mind. Usually you would welcome the noise, even be grateful that you, at the very least, had yourself to lean on. But you find yourself wishing to lean on Him more than yourself, both literally and metaphorically, keening at the comfort He brought you.

You knew you couldn’t trust your mind, so why not trust His instead? If you couldn’t rely on your own instincts, judgement or thoughts, then how bad would it truly be to let someone other than you become fully responsible for your wellbeing?

...

You were neither a moth nor human.

You were a dog.

52 notes · View notes