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[man--eater]

Day 1- Breeding/CNC

Warning: this is Val/Angel, meaning the 'C' in 'CNC' is a little [waggles hand] dubious.

“S-stop-”

“Yeah? You feel me in there deep, baby?” Illustrating, Val laid his big hand over Angel’s belly, over the bulge of his cock. “Gonna fill you up so good.”

“Val, I don’t-” Somewhere between frightened and exasperated, Angel wriggled in his grasp- two hands pinned at the small of his back and two fastened to the headboard.

“You wanna talk shit about my kinks, amorcito, I’m gonna make you like it,” Valentino sing-songed at him, driving his cock in so deep that Angel saw fucking stars; he gasped, body bouncing with the thrusts as his brain went joyfully, sweetly blank for a second, the hit of pure pleasure that Val dangled over his head. “You’re not getting out of this until you beg me to put a baby in your whore ass.”

Against Angel’s will, his leg kicked out, a telltale sign that he was getting off on this. Fuck Val. Fuck how well he knew everything that got Angel hard.

Laying all the way over him, blanketing him with a body just barely wider than his own- Angel was so incredibly skinny that even Valentino’s slim frame dwarfed him- Val reached around him, holding him. Angel soaked it up with a soft noise, hating himself for the way he arched into the warm embrace.

“Wouldn’t it be so good, baby?” Val purred right into his ear, pure sex in his voice as he slowed down enough to make Angel feel every piercing on his cock sliding in and out of him. “Knock you up like a good bitch for me, make you fucking cry from how good it feels to let my dick change you, huh?” He laughed. “I’ve already got your number with that fucking pig of yours. How hard is it gonna get to run off on me if I put a baby in that hot little body?”

An ugly noise shuddered its way out of the back of his throat, and Angel blushed at how awful it sounded. He wanted another take. He wanted, ideally, to take back the stupid shit he said about the breeding-kink scene Val had been working on, and go back to being blissfully unaware that this could turn him on.

Because- it would. It would be fucking impossible to get away from Val if there was a fucking kid, no matter how much expensive jewelry he wheedled Valentino into buying him or how much cash he stuffed into the couch cushions. He would be fucking trapped. Totally, and forever. And maybe part of him wanted that, wanted to just give up on his constant goddamn struggle to get away that always led to humiliating relapse, crawling back to the penthouse with an eviction notice and smeared mascara.

Nevermind the fact that he couldn’t get pregnant, none of them could, which meant this kink was fucking stupid. Thinking about being changed and trapped forever, kept as Val’s obedient little house toy, maybe that went straight to his dick. Even though it also made him want to throw up. Plenty of shit that made him want to throw up also made him cum so hard he saw stars.

As always, Angel surrendered. He couldn’t not. He’d given Val his soul; what was this, in comparison? He let out a strangled noise, moving his hips back to meet the incoming thrust. “Yeah-” he whimpered, letting go. “Daddy, daddy, knock me up, please, fucking please-”

A spare hand wrapped around his throat, doing it wrong, cutting off his air. Angel spasmed with the need to breathe, maybe a slight sob. “Try it again, Angie. I know what it sounds like when you fucking fake it.”

His hand disappeared, leaving Angel adrift and shaking. “V-Val,” he said, his body bouncing still, scrambling for some, any kind of handhold here. “Just- a minute- gimme- gimme a fuckin’ second-” His voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears, but between the coke binge and the  thorough smacking-around Val had treated him to earlier, he couldn’t really feel his face.

“Try again,” Val coaxed him, hands stroking up and down his sides, and the softness of it made tears spill down Angel’s face. He arched into the sweetness like a flower turning to the sun, helpless. “C’mon, baby. Tell me how you want it,” he cooed, condescending, the way he used to in those golden-edged early days when Angel still needed to be coaxed into getting dirty. “Tell me.”

“D- don’t-” Angel choked on air, trying to swallow, trying to breathe. Begging to stop was liable to get his head smashed into the wall. “Don’t-” He switched gears, his overtaxed brain grinding a little in effort. “Don’t, don’t- please don’t, please don’t knock me up, Daddy, please, I c- I can’t-” 

Val moaned out loud, dropping his head and biting down on the thick muscle of Angel’s shoulder. His sharp teeth drew blood, left a mark, and Angel’s leg kicked out again.

“I can’t- I can’t do it, please don’t, please don’t put a baby in me Daddy I can’t-”

“That’s my good boy,” Val purred wetly against his throat, thick tongue insinuating a slick path through his fur. His hand cupped Angel’s belly, protective, possessive. “There’s my baby. So dirty, you fucking whore. Gonna cum in you so fucking deep. Knock you up. Ruin your fucking life.”

A shudder rolled all the way down Angel’s spine, all his arms twitching. Fuck. Like his life wasn’t ruined already. How much worse could it get? It seemed like he was always finding out. Always courting worse. He wanted to pull worse close and shove his tongue down its throat. Take total obliteration into a corner booth and give it a fucking lap dance, let it have its way with him, see if it’d finally give him some relief.

“Fuck me, fuck me, ruin me, Daddy, knock me up, keep me forever-”

Val came in him with a guttural groan, hot sweet mess deep inside his body, and Angel couldn’t tell if he came or not before he passed out.

[man--eater]

Well folks, here’s Day 1 of @hellaversekinkweek for Alastor and my Praying Mantis OC Daphne (Radioflower! 📻🌸). I chose CNC. I also wrote this in one sitting and it has not been beta-read so it’s a little rougher than my usual work, but I still had entirely too much fun writing it and my girl Daph also had too much fun 😈

Tags: CNC, rough sex, prostate play, overstimulation, aftercare

My own in thee, for what thou art is mine

I flipped the hatch of Alastor’s radio tower open, letting the wood hit the floor hard. The Radio Demon was at his soundboard, sipping a glass of rye. His head whipped around, red and black hair swishing as his ears pointed towards me. “Bold, to enter the Radio Demon’s tower uninvited,” Alastor said, tilting his head to the side, eyebrows raised. “Especially while I am broadcasting. Quite rude of you, really.” He slowly twirled his microphone staff in his hands, eyes narrowing as his grin tightened.

“Oh?” I said, walking towards him slowly, raptorial claws rattling with the tension coiled within me. “Rude of me, hm?”

Alastor smiled widely, rising to his feet. Sickly green light flickered in the small room, reflecting on the crimson glass of the windows. His limbs lengthened and his antlers spread, adding point after point to his crown of black bone. His eyes went black, red radio dials ticking in perfect time with the grandfather clock behind him—8:40, my timing was perfect. The quiet hum of the jazz he was broadcasting was the only sound in the air as I approached.

We moved at the same moment, but I was faster. My claws sank into him, catching him with their spines, and I kicked his chair aside and slammed him face-down against the radio soundboard. All the air left his body with a huff, and his ears flew back in agitation as he fell to his knees; he was so tall that it was easy to bend him over even while he knelt. I shredded his pinstripe coat with one drag of my claw and tossed it aside.

“You’ve made quite the mistake, my dear,” Alastor said, voice thin and dangerous. “I don’t think you’ve realized who you are messing with,” he said loftily, “but you will.”

I pressed my hips against his ass, sinking a hand into his silky hair. I tightened my fingers and pushed his head against the soundboard with an audible thump. “Hard to take you seriously from down there,” I said, smirking. “I will take what I want, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Alastor hissed, ears flicking back and forth, and struggled under the implacable weight of my claw. “If you move,” I said, leaning over him, “I will sink my spines into you, and you will be paralyzed for hours. Is that what you want?”

He did not answer, but he deflated, his back moving up and down as he pulled in shallow breaths. I dug my claws into his hip, and reached around to touch him.

“Hah,” I breathed, palming his erection through his trousers, “what is this?” Alastor snarled, twisting his hips to get away, but I held him in place; all he was doing was grinding himself against my hand. “Wanton, in spite of all your pretense.” His claws sank into the wooden frame of the soundboard and he turned, lunging at me. I laughed, pinning him to the panel with one raptorial claw as I undid his belt and tugged down his trousers and briefs.

“Fuck you,” Alastor spat, bloody saliva dripping from his open maw.

“You had better watch that mouth,” I said, tugging on a handful of his hair.

“Or what? Hm? What else do you think you can do to me?” Alastor grinned as I slid his pants down to his ankles, tugging off his boots one after the other until the lower half of his body was bare. I smiled at him, reaching for his microphone staff and laying it down next to him.

With the microphone mere inches from his lips, Alastor’s eyes widened with real fear; he stared up at me in horror. “You wouldn’t,” he hissed, narrowing his eyes—fighting for even the slightest bit of control.

I leaned down, smiled sweetly at him, and turned the dial.

The words ON AIR lit up in brilliant red, reflecting on Alastor’s face as his mouth went slack in surprise.

I squeezed his ass, palming the smooth muscle and then digging my claws in. I admired the black, velvet-fine fur, mottled with small fawn-spots and dragged my nails up and down the white fur on the inside of his thighs and hindquarters. I kicked his legs apart, using my feet to keep them open as I reached for the bottle of oil. I coated my fingers as he twisted to glare at me, ears pinned and jaws slavering. When I poured a thin line of oil down the center of his ass, his tail flicked down, covering himself. I laughed softly, wrapping my fingers around the base of his tail and pulling it upward to expose him. He hissed softly, but caught himself, staring at me in mute fury as I rubbed a finger up and down over his entrance.

My finger pushed inside him and his back arched under the raptorial claw pinning him, pushing hard; Alastor tried to move away and I rewarded his insolence with a second finger. I buried both fingers in him as far as they would go, and my belly twisted with pleasure at the soft, strangled sound he made. He began to fight in earnest, hands darting back to claw at me as his antlers began to spread. Shadow tentacles began to grow from his back, grasping at me. My fingertips searched for the small, firm swell inside him and pressed down.

He made an abrupt sound of distress that I could only describe as a bleat, and his body went slack, slumping forward onto the sound board. Seventeen long minutes passed as I teased and tormented him and he tried his best not to utter a sound, with only middling success. By the end, his chest was heaving and his thighs were trembling uncontrollably.

I switched off the ON AIR dial and Alastor wilted in relief, panting as my finger slowly circled his prostate. “9:00,” I smiled, glancing at the dilapidated grandfather clock. “The music hour is over. Time for the Radio Demon to wrap up his broadcast.”

Alastor went stiff, jerking his head to the side to look back at me. “What—”

I smiled as I flicked the ON AIR switch back on with my raptorial claw, giving him no time to finish. I tossed the bullet-pointed script in his untidy scrawl in front of him, curling the fingers inside him. Alastor drew in a sharp breath, ears flat and pinned back, and lifted the sheets of paper with one twitching hand, holding it at an awkward angle in front of his face. began to speak.

“My dear listeners,” he said, voice remarkably steady for someone bent double with two fingers in their ass. I would have to correct that. “That was The New Orleans Rhythm Kings with—with,” he paused, biting his lip as my fingertips began to rub circles inside him. “Blue Tin Roof,” he bit out with a burst of static, shuddering as I applied a little more pressure. “This marks the end of tonight’s broadcast.”

Oh, no. He was not getting off that easily. There was still the weather, the news, the announcements for the rest of the week’s programming. I slowly unfolded the spines in my claws, pricking him through his shirt just hard enough to sting. Alastor flinched, grudgingly picking the papers back up. “B-But of course, we can’t end without the weather!”

Alastor squirmed through the forecast, tripping and stumbling through every line, desperately trying to retain his composure as my fingers worked inside him. I pressed harder and his ears flew back as his hips thrust forward. There was another crackle of static as his body tensed. I leaned over and watched as a thin line of clear fluid dripped from his neglected cock. Heat quickened low in my belly and the muscles in my core flexed with pleasure.

“And—and f-for the news,” he choked out between stutters of static, “Carmilla—hah—ah! Carmine is—hn—rumored to be opening,” I curled my fingers. “Ah—aha—a second manufacturing plant f—for Angelic steel weapons.”

The red glass of the windows put his reflection on show—the rigid grin plastered on his face, the desperation in his eyes, and the tears running down his cheeks.

I moved my fingers faster, circling and pressing, circling and pressing as his tail thrashed.

“And finally,” Alastor said, voice rough, “the announcements—hn—hn—for next week’s programming.”

He read through them hastily, interrupted by his ragged gasps and radio static so frequently that it was barely intelligible. Alastor’s hips rocked back and forth, stammering through the end of the announcements as he began to clamp down on my fingers.

“And that’s,” Alastor half-sobbed, “that’s—ah—ah—our show. J—join us tomorrow at eight-o-clock—”

I was sure there was more to the line, but he could no longer speak. Mirrored by the window, I watched as he bit his lip hard enough to bleed, keeping his jaw locked tight. His tail twitched upward with each thrust of my fingers and he let out a high, muffled whine. I could watch him like this forever—beholden to my will, my touch.

Alastor leaned back against me, helplessly seeking more, and then a shudder wracked him as his tail waved frantically. His hips bucked and he tightened around my fingers, and a thrill rushed through me as I watched him break in my hands. In the window’s reflection, I watched his hard length twitch as my fingers mercilessly circled his prostate; he clapped a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. His body quaked from hoof to horn and I watched, entranced, as his hips thrust forward into empty air once, twice—and then his untouched cock jerked and he moaned against his fingers. Alastor shook as he spilled himself, muffling the soft whimpers that accompanied each volley of his seed as it splattered on the soundboard.

I turned the switch to end the broadcast and straightened myself, leaning one hand on his ass. I huffed in derision and slid my fingers out of him, wiping them on his ruined coat. “You cannot deny that you wanted it,” I said, reaching around his hip to squeeze his half-hard cock. Alastor inhaled sharply, his body going rigid in my hands. “You ended my fun too early. What kind of slut comes without even being touched?”

Alastor let out a ragged cry of protest when I began to move my hand up and down his length, slick with his own seed. His legs quaked and his tail flagged wildly in every direction as I stroked him faster. His cock slid out further, swelling in my grip until he was more than hard, and I reached down to palm his testicles, squeezing them. He hissed and braced himself against the panel to buck me away from him, but I rubbed the tip of his cock with my thumb and his thighs went slack as he let out an agonized groan. My raptorial claws struck, pinning his wrists against the panel as I squared up my hips to his, settling into an even, merciless pace.

“No, please,” Alastor sobbed, “no more, I can’t—hah—I—”

I smiled, dragging my claws down his back as he struggled to get away. “Is this the great Radio Demon begging I hear?” He turned his head far enough to roll one bright eye back at me in withering outrage, ears back and teeth bared in a vicious grin. I slowed my pace, tightening my fingers into a circle that I slid up and down over the head of his cock, over and over. Alastor gasped and whined, trying to move away from the overstimulation even as his hips bucked, thrusting his cock all the way through my fingers. “Perhaps I should turn this back on,” I said, reaching for the knob. “I think Pentagram City might like to hear this.”

“No!” he cried, lunging for me—he closed his fingers around my wrist. “Don’t. I’ll—I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, just do not—please—”

“Anything?” I laughed, loosening my fingers, then tightening my grip on his straining, oversensitive cock.

“Anything,” he ground out as his tail flagged, the muscles of his thighs and ass rigid with tension.

I groped the spotted swell of his hindquarters, enjoying the softness of his fine fur against my skin. Seeing him like this filled me with satisfaction and hunger—prey squirming in my grasp. “Perhaps we will make a deal. But right now I want to see you come again.” I continued to stroke him, teasing the swollen head of his length as he writhed, trying to escape my touch.

I gave him one last stroke from base to tip, then slid my hand down to the head of his cock, holding it there with my fingers curled. Alastor stilled, ears twitching as he looked back at me in confusion.

“Well?” I said lightly, “I told you to come again.” I cupped one side of his ass and shoved it forward, driving his cock through my circled fingers.

Alastor whined, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips involuntarily bucked forward. His thrusts were halting at first, clumsy—but after a minute or two he fell into a rhythm. “Look at you,” I smiled, “the aloof, untouchable Alastor rutting into my hand like an animal. How far you have fallen.”

He looked back at me, fury and desperation on his flushed face, but he did not slow his pace. Alastor groaned, thrusting harder and harder until it was a struggle to keep my hand in place. I slapped his ass and he flinched, gasping as his movements began to stutter erratically.

He let out a high, keening cry that grew louder every moment, and his cock twitched and strained in my hand as he came. Ropes of his seed painted the red panel and he thrust into my fingers over and over until his hips finally stilled and he collapsed. I pulled my hand out from under Alastor, but not before giving his cock one more firm squeeze and wringing a final sob from him. I squeezed my thighs together, intensely aware of how much I had enjoyed this.

“If only Pentagram city could see you now,” I said, resting a hand on his trembling back and pushing him further into the mess where he had spent himself. My predator’s instincts screamed for me to bite, to kill, to eat. “The terrifying, larger-than-life Radio Demon—Alastor the fearsome Overlord—weeping in a pool of his own come.”

His breath hitched in a silent sob, and I could not stop the way my heart contracted with feeling. His hands were buried in his hair, clenched into fists as he panted. My hands ached to touch him, to soothe him and hold him. But it was not over just yet, and I would not ruin this for him—I had to trust that this was what he wanted. I turned and walked away without a word, flicking the lights off and shutting the hatch behind me. I climbed down the ladder and went into his bathroom, washing my hands and glancing about for a clean towel. I pulled one from a small stack in a cabinet and drew some water from the sink into a small bowl and set them on the nightstand. I ran my fingers down my face, adrenaline and arousal pumping through me. Had it been long enough?

It did not matter. I could not stand one second more of not having him in my arms.

When I burst through the hatch, he was still slumped over the soundboard, face hidden in the crook of his elbow. I crossed the floor in a blur, slipping my hands under him and pulling him up into my arms, bracing with my claws. “Little dove,” I said, leaning in to kiss his tear-streaked face as his arms weakly encircled my neck. “Come here.” He buried his face in my throat, panting against my skin.

I stripped off his wet shirt, tossing it to the ground as I supported him on the way to his bed. I sat him on the edge of it, reaching for the cloth and water to clean him up. My hands moved gently over him, and Alastor leaned his head against my shoulder, pressing his nose into my hair. We did not speak—in fact, this was the longest I had heard him go without making a sarcastic remark in recent memory. When he was clean, I tucked him under the covers, shed my outer layers, and crawled in after him. He reached with a shaking hand to pull me into a kiss, catching my lower lip between his teeth and biting just hard enough for me to taste a hint of blood. I smiled against his mouth, kissing him until we broke apart breathless, blood on our lips.

“Come, dear heart,” I said, pulling him against me, kissing his forehead and gentling him. Alastor trembled in my arms, tail twitching erratically as he snuggled closer. His eyes were large and soft, tears still lingering in the corners, lips pressed tightly shut in a tremulous smile. Something in my chest moved and swelled until everything became too tight; I could not breathe. The only thing I could do was reach up to brush away his tears before they could fall. He always wanted to lay like this after intimacy, but he had never gone quite so boneless in my arms. It was endearing, yes, but my awareness of how unguarded he had left himself was what truly captivated me.

Alastor had wanted to see this cruel, hard part of me, unpolished and without pretense, knowing that it would expose and shatter this soft, breakable part of him. A fierce affection for him swept me away with the force of its current. My arms tightened around him as he buried his face in my breast; his hands dug into my shoulders and pulled me against him with surprising strength. I smiled, stroking his ears as he made a soft, muffled noise against me. I swallowed around the tightness in my throat and dragged my fingers through his hair, letting his contentment mingle with mine.

Thanks for reading!! Let me know what you think, and if you enjoyed this, you may like my main fic of Alastor and Daphne! It’s a slow burn so it’s not at the porn yet, but it will get there 😏

[man--eater]

from his lips, not words alone pleased her: chapter eight

Chapter Eight: So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear

The little spider draws closer, wringing its hands. Fear gushes from it in spurts, like blood from an artery. My empty belly twists and I grimace in pain. When the spasm passes, I still ache—there is something deep in the core of me, burning. I want something. Something more than just food. The spider reaches out a shaking hand, pulling at the thing wrapped around me. “Daph,” it says, mouth barely moving, its mismatched eyes flitting up to mine. “It’s me, Angel. You know me—right, toots?” My body coils with the desire to strike, to bite, to feed. It touches me again and I shudder, hissing and snapping with my teeth. It recoils from me, animal terror plain on its face; its limbs tremble and its white fur stands on end. The spider steels itself and tries again. “Come on, Daph. We’re stuck in this together. But better me than some random fuck who’s gonna hurt you, right?” It laughs softly, nervously. It was pulling away another layer of the cloth, and my sluggish brain kept trying to put a name to it. Striped cloth with a long tie around my middle and neck. Apron. I frown, wondering where the word came from. It was not from here—not from this place of blood and gnawing hunger. The thing’s fingers keep moving, slowly crawling down the front of my body. “Hey, Daph,” it says, blinking down at me. “Don’t you remember? You live with me, you drink with me and Husk—you feed me.”

read more at AO3

DAPH IS HAVING A REAL BAD TIME GUYS

[man--eater]

In light of the Lore FM thing: if you want audio recordings of fanfiction, SUPPORT PODFICCERS.

If you didn't know already: podfic is basically fans recording themselves reading fanfic, almost always available for free. There are so many amazing podficcers out there and they don't get enough love for all their hard work!

There's an audiofic archive here, thanks to Jinjurly.

And most podficcers tag their work as "podfic" on AO3 if you want to search there, too.

And if your favorite fic hasn't been recorded, there are ways to request them. I once got a podfic recorded as a gift for a friend in exchange for a Fandom Trumps Hate donation, and it was amazing! And as an author, I've used the "podfic welcome" and "podfic available" tags on works that I'd like recorded and that have already been recorded, respectively. And some podficcers might even take commissions or have requests open on their blogs.

AND it's a very welcoming and supportive community who are happy to share tips and tricks on how to get started, so you too can record fic for others! If you've ever thought "man, I wish there were a way I could contribute to fandom but I can't draw and I'm rubbish at writing," maybe podfic is for you!

Anyway. PODFIC IS A THING. SHOW IT SOME LOVE.

[man--eater]

from his lips, not words alone pleased her: chapter eight

Chapter Eight: So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear

The little spider draws closer, wringing its hands. Fear gushes from it in spurts, like blood from an artery. My empty belly twists and I grimace in pain. When the spasm passes, I still ache—there is something deep in the core of me, burning. I want something. Something more than just food. The spider reaches out a shaking hand, pulling at the thing wrapped around me. “Daph,” it says, mouth barely moving, its mismatched eyes flitting up to mine. “It’s me, Angel. You know me—right, toots?” My body coils with the desire to strike, to bite, to feed. It touches me again and I shudder, hissing and snapping with my teeth. It recoils from me, animal terror plain on its face; its limbs tremble and its white fur stands on end. The spider steels itself and tries again. “Come on, Daph. We’re stuck in this together. But better me than some random fuck who’s gonna hurt you, right?” It laughs softly, nervously. It was pulling away another layer of the cloth, and my sluggish brain kept trying to put a name to it. Striped cloth with a long tie around my middle and neck. Apron. I frown, wondering where the word came from. It was not from here—not from this place of blood and gnawing hunger. The thing’s fingers keep moving, slowly crawling down the front of my body. “Hey, Daph,” it says, blinking down at me. “Don’t you remember? You live with me, you drink with me and Husk—you feed me.”

read more at AO3

DAPH IS HAVING A REAL BAD TIME GUYS

[man--eater]

Fresh link! We are small but active!!

18+ kink-friendly Hazbin Hotel/Hellaverse server

hey so I had been looking pretty fruitlessly for an adults-only, smut-and-kink friendly, OCs-welcome Hazbin Hotel/Hellaverse server. So I made one!

Unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk

If these rules sound good to you:

This is an explicitly 18+, NSFW, kink-friendly, OC-friendly server. Dark and fucked-up content is as welcome as fluff. This is a place for adults who take ownership of what content they choose to interact with—who abide by “don’t like, don’t read”—and don’t shame others for their kinks/ships/etc. If something makes you uncomfortable, scroll past it or look at other channels until the topic is changed.

and if you are an artist, writer, a creative of any kind, and/or an unhinged Hellaverse fan, and would like a collaborative and friendly space in which to create and chat, I want this to be it! OCs welcome, come yell about them!!

Posting this invite for right now, then we will go back to speakeasy rules. Lemme know if the link doesn’t work.

[man--eater]

18+ kink-friendly Hazbin Hotel/Hellaverse server

hey so I had been looking pretty fruitlessly for an adults-only, smut-and-kink friendly, OCs-welcome Hazbin Hotel/Hellaverse server. So I made one!

Unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk

If these rules sound good to you:

This is an explicitly 18+, NSFW, kink-friendly, OC-friendly server. Dark and fucked-up content is as welcome as fluff. This is a place for adults who take ownership of what content they choose to interact with—who abide by “don’t like, don’t read”—and don’t shame others for their kinks/ships/etc. If something makes you uncomfortable, scroll past it or look at other channels until the topic is changed.

and if you are an artist, writer, a creative of any kind, and/or an unhinged Hellaverse fan, and would like a collaborative and friendly space in which to create and chat, I want this to be it! OCs welcome, come yell about them!!

Posting this invite for right now, then we will go back to speakeasy rules. Lemme know if the link doesn’t work.

[man--eater]

Hello there new OC x canon friend! Just dropping my baby Comet here and glad to gush about her if you’ll listen cause she has become my everything as of recently and I love her. To keep things a bit on the basic side without boring you with the long biography I have on my girl, she was raised by her serial killer great grandfather after he parents died when she was a child, later killing him in fit of rage when she was about 12. Tragedy struck her new family a few years later resulting in the murdered of her foster mother and sister, and the unrelated murder of her childhood best friend finally resulted in her killing the people that took her important people from her. Many years later she’s murdered via being pushed off a bridge and being impaled on a broken light pole below. She’s an up and coming Overlord who despite believing in Charlie’s cause and even sends the few souls she has contracts with to the hotel for redemption, Comet won’t seek redemption for herself until her personal vendettas are finished. Is close with Angel Dust and seeks to free him from Valentino and I ship her with Husk and Pentious cause I couldn’t decide and she’s got two hands! Anyway any questions?

I love Comet's deeply DEEPLY tragic backstory, and her dedication to her vengeance--we love women with ruthless determination around here. There's a lot of complexity and depth in balancing that with her support for Charlie, and how her own welfare has taken a backseat to her need for retribution. And Husk and Pentious!! That sounds very fun hehe. Thank you so much for telling me about her, and it was fun to draw her! I hope you like it <3

please click for detail <3 (the art is yours to do whatever you want with @iwriteunoriginalideas, feel free to use it however, repost it, etc, just with credit pls <3)

lemme draw your hazbin hotel OCs

[man--eater]

I am begging everyone on both this hellsite and AO3 to stop tagging canon character/reader works as canon character/OC

They are not the same thing and it makes finding actual OC content so hard to find 😔

[man--eater]

Still taking these!! Will be working on them this weekend 😊

lemme draw your hazbin hotel ocs

hey i am trying to make friends with other canon x oc writers/artists/creators but they can be hard to find and i'm awkward. If you have a hazbin OC you'd like to have sketched, send me an ask! Tell me about them! who they are, how they ended up in hell, who their friends are, who their love interest is (if they have one). feel free to include references if you have them. these will just be sketches with basic color, and i work full time so it may take up to a week for turnaround time, but this should be fun! let's be friends 👉👈🥺 if you wanna see my style, it's gonna be something like this--lineart and simple watercolor (i cannot guarantee i will have time for love interests/friends--but i may surprise you!)

[man--eater]

Human Vox! 📺🌀⚡

So, I've been plagued with the idea that, when he was alive, Vox was a former car salesman turned semi-succesful tv host for a small channel.

I'm kind of in love with how he turned out, I love his lil curl and competely rotten loser personality. Please come talk to me about him he's my babygirl <3

[man--eater]

just some Daphne/Alastor fluff to cheer myself up while I write all this angst for them. All he wants is to be in her lap, whether she's just reading to him or petting his hair. help i love these two so much please click for detail!

[man--eater]

Hey there! It's the "feeling seen" anon again! I finally finished up your story and AHHH I love the dynamic of Al and Daphne! You've really inspired me to pick up my sketchbook again to create my husky fallen Angel called Herald! Did you draw any inspiration for Al and Daph's dynamic from somewhere or did the beginnings of their relationship just come to you as you started writing?

Hello Anon!! <3

Thank you so much!! I’m working on the next chapter of Alastor and Daphne’s story now. I’m so happy to hear that you’re feeling inspired to create your OC! A fallen angel has so much potential. I would love to see them/hear about them!

Oohh, what a great question! Alastor and Daph’s dynamic is inspired a little by a few different sources, including Howl and Sophie from the book Howl’s Moving Castle, a bit of Irina/Mirnatius from Spinning Silver, and a hint of Jane Eyre. And I did have to start writing to get to know their dynamic. But it was solidified and refined mostly by screaming about them in Discord with a couple friends, especially Sunsetofdoom <3. Bouncing ideas back and forth, gnawing on the characters, thinking about how their similarities and differences clash or fit together. I cannot overstate the value of creating stories and characters with the help of friends!

Developing the characters and then throwing them together is the best way to get started on a compelling dynamic, in my experience. For these two: Daphne has an innate need to care for things, in spite of her aloof and no-nonsense demeanor. She cares for people by making them food and putting 100% of herself into her work. She cares for her plants very tenderly, and she even tosses veggie scraps to Fat Nuggets while she cooks. She has an enormous capacity to lavish attention and care on someone, but has never had the opportunity or conscious realization that she wanted to. Alastor, in my story, had a traumatic childhood and has kept everyone at a distance, physically and emotionally, ever since. He never knew affection of any kind, and did not see a need for it other than as a tool to manipulate others. His lack of hygiene stems from never developing self-care as a skill, and is a subconscious way of keeping people away. Daphne needs to care for things, and Alastor is in need of care--there is an instinctive magnetism there that captivates and terrifies both of them. And it's very fun and satisfying to explore where that will take them. That's only one aspect of their dynamic and I can talk about them for hours because I love them so much so I will wrap this up haha

Thanks again for the ask and kind words, and I am excited that you’re picking up your sketchbook and creating a character that makes you feel seen! <3

[man--eater]

Thank you, @deannamb for the idea, and thank you Parks and Recreation❤️

[man--eater]

lemme draw your hazbin hotel ocs

hey i am trying to make friends with other canon x oc writers/artists/creators but they can be hard to find and i'm awkward. If you have a hazbin OC you'd like to have sketched, send me an ask! Tell me about them! who they are, how they ended up in hell, who their friends are, who their love interest is (if they have one). feel free to include references if you have them. these will just be sketches with basic color, and i work full time so it may take up to a week for turnaround time, but this should be fun! let's be friends 👉👈🥺 if you wanna see my style, it's gonna be something like this--lineart and simple watercolor (i cannot guarantee i will have time for love interests/friends--but i may surprise you!)

[man--eater]

I love characters with tunnel vision. False dichotomies. The sunk cost fallacy. Characters who are convinced of their utmost rationality and can even lay out their entire philosophy in logical, impersonal terms and convince others even though the whole of their actions, rationalised to hell and back though they may be, are spurred on by something entirely emotional (and this doesn't stop them from being right on the money about some things). Characters who are at once the most and least self-aware people ever. Characters who know the ins and outs of their psyche like a map they've memorised but can barely tell when they're experiencing a feeling.

[man--eater]

When boys when boys when boys make that little "Ah ah ah ah" sound as you're fucking them into the mattress

That's it that's the post