#i-am-knot

[ash-and-starlight]

humble contribution

[krysmcscience]

The Lamb is malicious in a funny way and the Goat is funny in a malicious way. No, I will not elaborate.

Anyway, everyone give thanks to the Lamb for interrupting what was sure to be a very boring and patronizing PSA from their grouchy cat hubby. Truly, they are doing God's work. Granted, the Lamb canonically is God now, so, uh. Mostly they're just doing their own work.

Speaking of their grouchy cat hubby, yes this is absolutely still Narilamb, Narinder is 100% into his goofy-ass spouse always no matter what and we all know it, he just wasn't expecting his brand new adopted kid to share the same single goofy-ass brain cell as the Lamb. :)

[l3viat8an]

Nsfw! listen…..I’ve got handjobs on the brain again- also lil bit of size kink :)

Thinkin’ about how much Diavolo loves handjobs! Now don’t get me wrong he loves blowjobs and even better; he loves getting to fill your little cunt with his seed-

But there’s something about watching your hand jerk him off…….everything about you looks so small….compared to his demonic cock size, your fingers just able to wrap all the way around his cock.

But he’d think it’s even better if you have to use both hands to stroke him properly- His eyes following the way your hand moves, up and down, rubbing your thumb over the tip.

Your action being rewarded with a low moan from the prince above you.

He can only relax into his thrown and watch as you lean in and lick along the full length of his cock, sucking the little bead of precum off the head before, letting your hand go back to work.

More and more low groans, mixing with soft moans leaving his lips, when you speed up your movements.

He’d love to just fuck your hands like a toy, using you for his personal pleasure…..but he holds himself back, sitting as still as he can and letting you work him to his orgasm.

He knows it’ll feel so much better if he waits, and when he finally comes, the sticky mess spurting out and coving your hand……you’ll reward him by slowly bringing your hand to you lips. Tongue licking it off slowly, a pleased little smile on your lips as Diavolo sits panting above you. Cock already half hard again-

[queerbrainrot]

reason number 1 why I will never again post about Pit Babe publicly

Pavel will fucking crawl out of the shadows, materialize out of thin air, and fucking like that post.

But oh no, not the tame ones. Not the NORMAL ones. Only the worst, most unhinged and thirsty ones.

Or worse, he'll repost it or put it on his story.

[arataka-reigen]

Today's embroidery project was a little cherry blossom tree, and the one that took me the longest to complete so far

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

had another one of those dreams where i'm in the forest and the trees start whispering.

which is chill, i'm not gonna disrupt community cohesion. but then i swear this one damn aspen gave me the side-eye, and i just knew it was gossiping about me. fuck that birch

[merakiui]

thinking about a royalty omegaverse au with fluffy alpha floyd.

(cw: omegaverse/abo, nsfw, female reader, pregnancy, knotting)

You and Floyd grew up together within the palace, with Floyd being one of the two princes who would one day rule the kingdom and you being a regular servant girl who had been born within the palace to parents who were servants for the Leech family. From the moment you were deemed old enough, you were being trained in servitude so that one day you would eventually be an obedient, dutiful maid. You and Floyd got along very well as children, often escaping your lessons and scaling trees in the courtyard to hide from the pesky grown-ups. Floyd never seemed to care much for the divide in class, but it was always made obvious when you’d watch from afar, noting how much time and effort went into tutoring him and Jade in all subjects, getting them accustomed to the tasks of the throne that they would one day inherit, while you were taught how to do laundry, how to clean, how to tidy a bedroom within minutes, how to keep everything that made you an omega hidden so you wouldn’t “tempt the princes,” as everyone often said.

Despite that, you were still cordial to Floyd, even if he seemed to be way too friendly with you, a mere servant. Floyd had always said you were his favorite maid because you never acted like one, which had bothered you immensely back then. Your entire existence revolves around Floyd; you’re meant to serve him and his brother, not befriend him. It’s what you’re being conditioned to do right now! But Floyd chooses to see you as his friend, which makes it awkward for you as you’ve never been particularly close with royalty or any of the aristocrats who occasionally fill the palace for grand events and balls. Your parents secretly encourage it because Floyd likes to gift you things that he thinks are insignificant but cost a fortune for you. And your parents sell these items to make more money in hopes of one day saving enough to send you to a magic school. It won’t be anything nearly as sophisticated or expensive as private institutions like Night Raven College or Noble Bell College or even Royal Sword Academy, but they hope to at least give you an education. You feel a little bad about tricking Floyd when you accept the jewelry he gives you, but you’re just trying to keep everyone happy.

Floyd’s scent was always strong, even after he had finally presented as an alpha, but as he grew older it only became so much more stifling. Not that it’s a bad thing. It doesn’t bother you as much as it used to. Now you can tell when he’s bounding down the halls the moment you catch his scent before you actually see him. You’re usually good about keeping track of your own biological troubles. The palace provides all staff with heat suppressants and rut modulators and scent blockers just to keep things peaceful and prevent any issues. As always, dutiful as ever, you follow the rules and do everything that’s expected of you.

As a result of your obedience, Floyd has never known what you smell like.

Until years later, when the both of you have become fine young adults. He and Jade had been accepted into NRC, which wasn’t much of a surprise, and a big celebration was held to commemorate the acceptance letters that their parents proudly boast. Unfortunately, the celebration happened to fall on the day Floyd’s rut started. His ruts have always been sporadic, as if they’re mirroring his own spontaneous nature, but it could just be because he refuses to take any medications necessary to regulate such things. He’s royalty. Why should he? Floyd’s ruts always leave him in the most volatile of moods; he’s violent and irritable, prone to lashing out at anyone who happens to get under his skin.

Usually, he locks himself away in his room and fights through it, dazed, hungry, and endlessly horny. Tonight, however, he seems to be roaming the halls as if in a trance, led by a scent that is foreign to his keen nose. So when you turn down the corridor and nearly run into him in the shadowed hall, you think for a quick moment that this is Jade. But then Floyd’s overwhelming pheromones hit you like cold water in the face and you almost crumple to your knees.

“Y-Your Highness!” You take a measured step away from him, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are fixated on your face, nostrils flaring and pupils blown impossibly wide. “Can I... Can I help you with something?”

He smiles at you, a lazy stretch of his lips that shows off rows of pointed teeth. “Shrimpy smells nice.” He looms over you, his scent rolling off of him in aroused waves. “Real nice.”

Your blood runs cold and you slap your hand upon your neck, realizing with rising horror that you forgot to put your scent blockers on. You’d been so wrapped up in party preparations that it had completely slipped your mind. No wonder why Jade had given you such a strange look when you’d served him his breakfast! He must have smelled you.

You know this is a terrible mistake made even worse by the alpha in rut standing before you. And not just any alpha in rut. It's Floyd. Prince Floyd.

Before you can think of what to do, Floyd’s hands are on your hips, feeling and squeezing, and he rubs himself against you, practically clinging to you out of sheer need. Though he’s wearing thin nightwear, you can feel his hard cock pressing against your ass and it takes all of your restraint not to give into your omega instincts. You know it’s useless to try to stop him; it might irritate him and you’re not looking to lose a few teeth tonight.

When he’s undone the upper half of your uniform, letting it pool at your waist while he fondles your breasts, you realize that it won’t be too terrible if you let him get it out of his system. You’re his maid, after all. It’s your job to help him, even if you know that this sort of relationship is forbidden within the palace.

Floyd would have been content to touch and nip at you in the hallway, but you’re worried someone might walk down it and catch the both of you. And then that would be the end of you and your parents, the lot of you sentenced to eternal banishment (and that’s only if the Leeches feel lenient). Floyd whines when you squirm out of his grasp, his hands chasing your waist to tug you against him again, but instead you take his hand and hastily lead him into the nearest guest bedroom. He seems to catch on right away, for a clumsy grin blossoms on his face, and he nearly throws you onto the mattress in his haste, shedding his clothes so quickly that it’s almost silly.

“P-Please be gentle,” you whisper when he’s climbed over you, too impatient to remove the rest of your uniform. Your skirt is hiked up in ruffled bunches, your panties slid down to your ankles. His scent is so strong that you feel your arousal building between your legs, slick gathering in amounts so copious you’d think you’re in heat.

Floyd leans in to nose the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Course I'll be gentle,” he mumbles, officially rut-drunk. “Shrimpy smells amazin’... Never knew ya could smell this good. Why were ya hidin’ it?”

You swallow thickly when the fleshy head of his cock prods at your pussy, and in that moment you realize this is the first time you’ve ever been intimate with anyone before. To think you’d spend your first time in the dark of a lonesome guest bedroom, with the prince as your bed partner. It feels like a dream or the plot of a whimsical romance, but you know this is neither. This is just a convenience.

“It’s... It’s against the rules.” You try not to think of anything; you try to ignore the fact that he is much bigger than your fingers.

“Fuck the rules,” he spits with an annoyed growl, and then he’s snapped his hips forward, his cock filling you much more than what you’re used to, and an unrestrained moan rips from your throat at the intensity of the stretch. Floyd exhales shakily, gripping your hips so tightly you think he might shatter you.

This is not gentle at all, you think, but that thought is quickly punched out of you when he pulls back and thrusts in, searching for a pace he finds pleasurable.

You bite into your wrist to muffle your cries, far more aware of how loud Floyd’s groans are. If anyone hears and peeks in... If the party stops and everyone sees... If the king and queen...

“Lemme hear ya,” Floyd whispers, stalling his movements to search for you, a single golden eye sparkling in the dark. “S’no fun if you’re quiet.”

“T-There’s still... The party... I don't want to get caught,” you admit through gasps, blindly feeling for his shoulders. You find them, broad and wet with sweat, and you loop your arms around his neck to bring him closer to your face. “I... I could get in trouble.”

Floyd giggles, teeth flashing. “Aw. Is Shrimpy scared?”

Yes, you think frantically. Of course I am! My entire job is on the line!

“Anyone who’s got a problem with it is gonna hafta talk to me first,” he says, syllables punctuated with rough, uneven thrusts.

You’re writhing under him, shredding his shoulders bloody. He’s set an erratic pace, fucking into you as if you’re all he knows. His lips find your cheek and then the corner of your mouth, and it isn’t long until he’s kissing you, exchanging saliva in a sloppy first kiss that leaves you dizzy and breathless.

“You smell so pretty,” he’s murmuring into your skin, tipsy on your scent. “Wanna knot you so bad...”

You’ve heard that knotting feels good and that it usually helps with heats and ruts. Apparently it clears an alpha’s head, and it relieves the omega. You only know so much from listening in on conversations with the maids, so you’re not too sure what it’s meant to feel like or if it’s even as pleasant as the maids made it sound. But Floyd is a prince, your superior in every way, and you can’t possibly deny him. Besides, he’s already inside you. What’s a little more?

You moan your acquiescence and that’s all Floyd needs before he’s drawn himself back, laughter in his voice, and pushes into you so quickly that every inch is swallowed effortlessly. And then there’s something more, a larger, thicker something that stretches you wide, not yet filling you. Your nails burrow into Floyd’s skin, and he hisses a groan through grit teeth.

“S’tighter than I thought...”

“H-Hold on... It—” You wheeze, the breath squeezed out of you as his thick knot bullies its way past slick rings of unrelenting muscle. Tears gather in your eyes. “Hurts... It really hurts!”

Floyd’s shushing you, rubbing circles into your hip. He’s not particularly listening, holding you against him despite your anxious wriggling, and within just a few more determined pushes his knot pops inside. You howl through a messy orgasm, dampening the sheets with your fluids, and a torrent of filthy moans tumbles from Floyd’s lips when he finally reaches his end, cumming inside in thick spurts.

In the aftermath, the both of you are panting wildly, a mess of sweat and slick and cum. Floyd presses his forehead to yours in the dark, his breath ghosting over your lips for a mere second before he seals what little distance is left. The kiss is soft and sweet—an oath between lovers, sealed within darkness. You know you shouldn’t be so happy to reciprocate, but for the moment you allow yourself the delight. His tongue tastes every inch of your mouth, nearly choking you, and you whine into him, breathing in the scents of his pheromones and filthy sex.

He wraps the both of you in a blanket, cradling you against him while you remain connected. He’s buried his face in your neck, licking at your scent glands with happy, rumbling hums, and you almost embrace him out of pure instinct. But instead you keep your arms to yourself, resting them at your sides while Floyd douses you in his scent and takes yours in all at once. It takes some time before his knot has gone down, but by then he’s fallen asleep on top of you, his cock still nestled inside you. You lie there, staring blankly into the darkness, and it finally dawns on you that you just slept with the prince.

Thankfully, he doesn’t stir when you move out from under him, detaching yourself so carefully. His flaccid dick slides out and it has you shuddering with the need for more. You busy yourself with fixing your uniform and tucking Floyd into bed to dispel any foolish thoughts from muddling your rationality. And after you’ve finished with those tasks, you make your swift retreat—or about as swift as you can be when your legs are wobbly from both the sex and the fact that they had lost feeling with Floyd’s body lying sprawled on them. You still smell like him, and it takes two intense scrubbings with plenty of soap before your own scent returns. You wash your uniform right away, silently vowing to yourself to keep away from Floyd for the time being.

It was dark, so you’re certain he didn’t get a clear view of your face. You assure yourself with that thought as you snuggle into bed in the servants’ chambers, unable to shake Floyd’s rut-drunk words: You smell so pretty.

Floyd wakes the following morning in a very good mood, but it quickly sours when he realizes you’re not in his arms. In fact, your scent is just barely there. He sniffs the air, but his search yields nothing. And though he flits through the palace in a robe, too lazy to bother with proper dress, he can’t pick up that sweet scent.

But how could he when you’ve made doubly sure to wear your scent blockers?

He wants to find you. Floyd spends his day in a foul mood, chewing through the bones of the grilled fish he’s served at lunch, grumbling under his breath. No one comments on it because it’s so normal, but there’s more to Floyd’s behavior that the servants just can’t see. He’s anxious, drumming his fingers along the table and bouncing his leg. Jade notices it right away. He intends to ask, but Floyd doesn’t seem to be up for chit-chat and so he holds his tongue.

You can hide from Floyd all you want, but he’s going to find you.

Many weeks later, you wake with an omen. Nausea. You think it might just be the nerves. Floyd had looked at you yesterday when he was sparring with Jade, his eyes falling upon you for a brief second before you hurried along with the basket of linens you had collected from the clothesline. It’s probably the fear that he’ll find you and then your comfortable life as a maid will be uprooted that’s causing this unrest. But then the nausea persists, and as days become weeks it gets worse. You can’t seem to hold your meals down, and the foods you used to enjoy now make you sick to your stomach.

It’s the third time that day you find yourself emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet while a maid strokes your back, easing you with her soft cadence. She suggests you see a physician. You know you’ll have to, and when you finally do they confirm your suspicions. You’re pregnant. You lie through your teeth when the physician asks if you know who the father is, if the pregnancy was planned, if you have any plans for these next nine months. You’re already eight weeks along, and you dread having to admit the truth to your parents. You should have suspected something when you missed your period, but you’d been so caught up in avoiding Floyd that a missed period was the least of your worries.

If you were scared of being found by Floyd, you’re downright terrified now. You’re not sure what you should do. Will you get in trouble if you get rid of the child? Will you get in trouble if you keep it? It feels like a battle you just can’t win no matter what you do.

You hide the secret for as long as you can, relying on support from the maids who promise to you they won’t tell a soul. You work as you normally do, smiling through the fear, tidying the twins’ rooms when they’re out, artfully evading Floyd if it seems like his path might cross with yours. Aside from the nausea and the exhaustion and soreness that overwhelm you after spending each day moving around on your feet, you manage to accomplish everything that’s asked of you. You fight cravings and hormones and the omega instinct to seek out your alpha (who isn’t truly your alpha and can never be your alpha), swallowing them down as if they’re needles. It’s troublesome, but you tell yourself you can handle it. You must if you intend to live quietly with this secret.

It’s when your bump becomes more prominent and you struggle to fit into your uniform that problems start to arise. In addition to that, you’ve started producing milk and it’s become increasingly difficult to manage the bodily changes that come with pregnancy in addition to your duties as a maid.

You’ve had your fair share of rough days and pleasant days. Today seems to be the former. You haven’t even gotten through half of the day and you’re already exhausted, pausing your cleaning to take a breath. You should have taken a sick day; you just want to lie down and rest, you want to ease the ache in your heavy tits, you want a massage, you really want—

Your foot slips on the stairs and your heart drops into your stomach when you feel yourself falling forwards. The stairs spread out before you like a monster’s maw, steep and dangerous. But then someone’s seized your arm, tugging you against their chest, and you’re hit with a familiar scent. You turn slowly, as if on rusted hinges, and peer up at Prince Floyd. He looks annoyed, but his face softens when he notices your bump.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ spacin’ out on the stairs? It’s dangerous, y’know.”

“I’m sorry. I... I wasn’t...” You shake your head, tugging your arm free. “T-Thank you for catching me, Your Highness.”

Floyd peers at you, his brow furrowed. He’s eerily concentrated, as if he’s working out a particularly perplexing equation, and then he asks, “Why’re you working when you’re pregnant?” Before you can answer, he’s quick to add, “Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with it. Just... It can’t be comfortable.”

Tears gather in your eyes. You’re not sure why you’re overwhelmed with a sudden onslaught of emotions, but hearing the concern in his voice and smelling his comforting scent has you recalling the night that started all of this. Before you can stop them, the tears are falling and you’re sobbing on the stairs, wiping fruitlessly at your glossy eyes. Floyd flinches away, hands awkwardly grasping the air as he debates whether or not he should hold you.

“Hey, don’t cry... I’m not mad. I don’t care if you wanna work,” he adds hastily, offering you a smile to ease you. But it only has you crying harder, and he frowns deeply.

On the staircase that would have seriously injured you had you fallen down it, you admit the truth through blubbering sobs. And Floyd stands there, taking it all in, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

“You...” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re Shrimpy?”

You swallow another rising cry and nod pitifully, pulling your apron up to dry your blotchy eyes. “I... I kept it because I thought that... That you’d want... That since you’re a prince...”

Your shoulders are trembling with your every breath, and you prepare yourself for the mood swing. You’re ready to be shoved down the stairs, to be kicked and yelled at, to be punished brutally. But that never comes. Instead, he pulls you into him, embracing you warmly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You feel wetness on your skin next, and then you hear the softest of sniffles.

It’s a weird thing to hear Prince Floyd crying, but then you’re crying as well, the both of you clinging to each other as if you’re braving the harshness of a rainstorm. And then he laughs, a strangled sort of sound that prompts a broken giggle from you, and now the both of you are cry-laughing on the stairs. He peels the scent blockers from your neck, and your scent hits him head-on. His arms tighten around you, not enough to crush you, but enough that you can tell just how fond he’s become of you in the time that you were apart.

He wipes your tears from your eyes. “Why’d ya hide from me? I was lookin’ all over for ya. Thought I’d never see Shrimpy again.”

“I... I was scared. I can’t lose this job. If anyone found out, my parents and I would be in trouble.”

“Mmh, I guess so. Looks like you’re out of a job.”

Your heart hardens and you blink at him. “W-What? Y-Your Highness, I... I... I’m sorry. I—please reconsider. I’ll do whatever you want, so please don’t—”

Floyd’s giggles silence you, his scent filling the air so warmly. He bumps his forehead against yours, grinning that dopey smile you love so much. “How’s about you become mine instead?”

“As in... L-Like your...wife?”

“Wife Shrimpy!” he cheers, taking your hands in his and squeezing. And then he raises them up as if they’re a cheerleader’s pom-poms. “Wife Shrimpy! And baby Shrimpy’s joinin’ us, too!”

You’re smiling through your tears. You’re certain your face is a mess, but that means nothing when you throw your arms around Floyd. He laughs, his body rumbling with the joyous sound, and his arms lace around you in adoring reciprocation.

Perhaps, you catch yourself thinking, this won’t be so terrible after all.

[justaregularken]

Everyone appreciate your local werewolf FUCKER because holy shit taking a knot is hard work send post

[journey-to-the-attic]

one thing i've noticed about obey me's story is that it generally delivers on big dramatic narrative moments, but often neglects the surrounding scenes and especially the fallout. there is of course, the oft-talked-about lesson 16, feat. mc's death that never gets brought up again, but then there's also s2's amnesia arc, which ends things with "mc has the ring so everything is completely fine forever"

om has a habit of doing this, where a realm-wide (or heck, universe-wide) problem is hand-waved away by the appearance of a convenient fix-it, which is usually either an object or just ~magic~ (magic as a plot device in om in general is handled poorly but that's a story for another day)

in some cases they just don't address the fallout at all. at least belphie talks about what he did in lesson 16 - but, see nb s2, wherein levi floods the entire devildom, submerging entire houses, and they don't bring it up again afterwards. as far as i remember too, belphie's mini-arc in this season wasn't really given room to breathe, either

but here's the main thing (spoilers for nb lessons 38 and 39)

i've just done these two lessons and in hindsight lucifer's mini-arc feels like a lot of missed potential

honestly they could have excluded diavolo entirely - his main purpose was to stall for time so that the brothers could show up. the moment where he kneels was cool (more on that moment later), but the way they've written him in means that the angels kinda. don't get to do anything? at all?

look - raphael has a gorgeous character moment at the end of 37 where he cries for the brothers' plight. like you don't understand this had so much potential!!! he didn't really do much in s1 (and might not have actually been himself??) so i was hoping this would be his chance to shine, but instead he's on the sidelines. simeon gets the most to do, and even then it's really not much. luke doesn't do anything, unless you count those blessings he and simeon give mc, but they don't really factor in at all??

what especially doesn't make sense about diavolo's role here is that lucifer turns on mc after they step in to protect him. this is meant to be a pay-off to diavolo's less savoury motivation for saving the brothers, revealed in his arc in nb s1, but all lucifer does is say it, get mad, then completely forgets about it once all is said and done

if that's all they were going to do with it, why bring it up at all? from a character standpoint, it makes more sense for mc to shield one of the angels - again, raphael this could've been your moment. (alternatively it could've been a call-back to the og s1 where mc shields luke in the underground tomb)

the appearance of the brothers was welcome, but at the same time i don't quite buy that they all got out of their respective predicaments completely fine. (also where did mephistopheles go??) lucifer also calms down very quickly, which is a great moment for the power of family, but at the same time i feel like he would've needed at least a few more dialogue boxes of him registering through his rage that his brothers were there. eh, this is more nitpicky than everything else

the brotherly moment was 10/10 though. love these guys <3

but i hated the final resolution so so much. sure, have god forgive him, whatever. but why would you end it all with a "papa loves you"???? if it had been raphael or simeon saying it, maybe i could get behind this as a symptom of the celestial realm's unhealthy society, but LUCIFER, whose greatest fear was revealed to be his father in s3 of the original story?

om has never made it seem like god's relationship with the angels was anything other than controlling and borderline abusive, and for some reason (if the poignant flashback is anything to go by) they've done a complete heel turn into "actually it's fine because he loves the angels". it could be read as representing how children often still cling to abusive/controlling parents, but i doubt it - especially coming from lucifer, who started a war and lost a sister in direct opposition to his father

and i get the whole deal with "lucifer was so beautiful as an angel" but it feels really disingenuous to the brothers' arc (about settling into the devildom and coming into their own as demons) to harp on about it. like, fuck that, have lucifer cast away the angel form, or at least have some pushback from him in the aftermath. have mc tell him "you're even more beautiful as a demon" or something

then in lesson 39 everything's back to normal. it's a very cute lesson and i had fun in the moment, but it feels off. there's no discussion of what happened, everyone's completely fine. there's got to be some psychological after-effects to all of that, no? for lucifer especially if not the brothers who got frozen as well???

though lucifer's dragon gift was very sweet. i can't stay mad at that old man

[brie-draws]

“There’s a sailor’s knot I learned on the boat. I’ll teach you how to do it back on the bus“ Ishmael and Yuri [Limbus Company]

[puppygirlgirldick]

trans women should be able to impregnate trans girls, me in particular. trans men should also be able to. also cis women.

[ssamja-trash]

LEE KNOW in Double Knot

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Okay

Another fic idea

Vox’s reaction to being in hell for the first time

I wanna see him have a panic about why his head is so heavy,

Freak out when he feels his head

And have an anxiety attack when he sees himself

Old Ties Severed New Knots Made

Vox awoke in a daze, the acrid scent of sulfur and brimstone filling his nostrils. His vision was distorted, flickering like an old television struggling to find a signal. He groaned, the sound echoing oddly in his head. As he attempted to sit up, a sharp pain shot through his neck, making him wince. His head felt heavy, unnaturally so, and his balance was off. Slowly, he raised a trembling hand to touch his face, only to feel the cold, smooth surface of a screen. Panic surged through him.

Staggering to his feet, Vox scanned his surroundings. Hell. He was in Hell. The realization hit him like a freight train. Streets lined with demons and sinners bustling about, some sneering, others completely indifferent. He stumbled towards a storefront window to get a better look at himself, his mind refusing to accept what he already knew.

The reflection staring back was a grotesque version of his former self. His head was now an old CRT Television, bright red eyes with cyan pupils staring back at him, he had bright blue claws instead of hands and- a strangled cry escaped him as he bumped into a passerby who paid him no mind. His breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to get his thoughts in order. He needed to get away.

Vox broke into a run, pushing through the crowded streets, ignoring the jeers and shouts of those he shoved aside. His thoughts were a chaotic mess, a swirl of fear and confusion. The world around him seemed to blur as he ran, the sounds of Hell blending into a cacophony of noise that only served to heighten his panic.

Finally, he ducked into an alleyway, the relative quiet a brief solace. He slid down against the wall, rain beginning to fall and mixing with the grime of the alley. He could feel his circuits misfiring, the glitching worsening as he fought to regain control.

Vox's chest tightened, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His heart pounded against his chest as if trying to break free from its confines. Each beat reverberated in his ears, a deafening drum of panic. His vision blurred, the world around him spinning out of control.

He clutched at his head, fingers digging into the smooth surface of his TV screen. The weight of it pressed down on him, crushing him under its unnatural heaviness. His thoughts raced, a jumble of fear and confusion swirling in his mind like a tempest.

Images flashed before his eyes, memories of his former life flickering like old film reels. He tried to hold onto them, to anchor himself in the familiar, but they slipped through his grasp like sand through his fingers.

A sob escaped his throat, raw and desperate. He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he had never known before. The world seemed to close in around him, suffocating him with its suffocating embrace.

His screen glitched and flickered, static crackling in the air like electricity. His body trembled uncontrollably, every muscle tensed and coiled with fear. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the cruel fate that had brought him to this hellish place.

But all he could do was curl into himself, his cries swallowed by the relentless noise of Hell. He was alone, lost in a sea of torment, drowning in his own despair. The sound of his own ragged breathes echoed off the walls, accompanied only by the sound of rainfall. It had him completely soaked as he tried desperately to calm down. Coldness seeped into his bones as his breathing began to level out.

Footsteps approached, accompanied by the faint strains of soft jazz and a crackling static. Vox tensed, lifting his head to see a figure standing over him. A tall, slender demon with a devilish grin and eyes that gleamed with curiosity. Alastor, the Radio Demon. But he

"Well, aren't you a peculiar one?" Alastor said, his tone almost mocking but with an underlying hint of genuine interest. "That's an odd head you have. Looks like you're in quite the situation here... need a hand?"

Vox hesitated, his pride warring with his desperation. He didn't want to trust anyone, least of all a stranger in Hell, but he had no other options. Reluctantly, he nodded, extending a trembling hand towards Alastor.

"Good choice," Alastor replied, his grin widening as he helped Vox to his feet. "Let's get you out of this rain, shall we? There's much to discuss about your... unique circumstances. Say, do you need a place to stay? I imagine you do, else you wouldn’t be sitting there like a lost child!"

A laugh track played from a place Vox couldn’t quite pinpoint as he shakily stood and looked the demon up and down. His suit as a bit tattered at the edges but besides that and the deer features, he seemed perfectly normal. He had no idea how to respond, and he found himself struggling to even keep up with his long strides.

As they walked, Vox couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a deal with the devil. But for now, it was a lifeline he couldn't afford to refuse.

[ladyluthien]

SO not to talk about my various hustles on tumblr but: I bead pearls now!

I have 0 budget for advertising but I am trying to sell them because at a certain point being creative just fills your house up.

What they are: handtied freshwater pearls with sterling silver clasps

Why are they cool: for one, they're pretty affordable for a gem that's been treasured since antiquity. For two, pearls actually have the potential to be super sustainable and actually clean the water they're grown in! Like they truly might be the most sustainable gem you can buy

What you can do to help my lil business get off the ground: reblog this and follow me on my very small Instagram because that's where the makers are these days, or even check out my shop if you're feeling rad

ok thank you

[puppyeared]

Xīn Yá and @crow-cap ‘s Little Sailor

[pickled-flowers]

Funny fact about me is I have very little dexterity in my hands actually which is apparently hard to believe because of my art?