For my main blog, follow @beast-feast. I do imagines for a lot of things that I'm planning on listing neatly somewhere, but for now if you're curious just shoot me an ask (please do!)
Welcome to this blog! Mostly I post when I have the energy, so my schedule will be a bit hectic (apologies if that's not something you enjoy!)
Here I dump my silly ideas, headcanons, and whatnot. I do imagines via asks too! My inbox is always open, and if you're not sure about what I'll make imagines for, I'll try and find a convenient way to list them! (For now, just feel free to ask! I'm open to many fandoms.)
With prompts I am given there's no set determination for what will be a headcanon list or a drabble (UNLESS you specify you want one or the other.) Mostly I use what gives me the most ideas the easiest, or if I feel one thing better suits the ask than another.
And now, as per most blogs like this, here is what I WILL write for imagines/asks:
Suggestive things/NSFW, but this is highly dependent on my mood and it may take a while to get to these types of asks. It will be under a read more and given adequate warning for what comes with it.
AUs of any kind, however I am entitled to decline an ask if I simply am not acquainted with the AU.
Most kinds of sensitive media (readers with mental illness, etc.) I may or may not tweak the prompt I'm given, depending on how comfortable I am getting descriptive or graphic — this mostly applies to sensitive topics such as death or the yandere trope.
And what I WON'T write (for imagines/asks):
Any type of ask pertaining to an eating disorder.
Controversial media; characters or the reader being discriminatory of any kind.
Harry Potter, RPF, anything that has roots in racism, bigotry, or ableism.
I try to tag posts with potentially triggering content as much as possible! But if I miss something, or you're upset by something I've posted, please let me know through either my inbox or DMs! Your comfort is important to me, and I will make a tag for you that works for you to blacklist. And please don't feel bad about asking! It's a small thing I can do to make this place as comfortable for you as possible :)
I blacklist tag things in two ways, mostly: tw [x content] and // [x content], so if there is something that you don't enjoy seeing please filter them!
And as a DISCLAIMER: Anything that I write for that involves subjects such as murder, violence and the like I DO NOT CONDONE in real life. Everything I write is purely fictitious and the content within does not reflect on my moral values. If this is something that still bothers you — that someone who is comfortable writing this type of content — please acknowledge the blacklist system, ask for something to be tagged, or simply don't interact with either the post or the blog. Thank you in advance for understanding.
CURRENTLY I MAINLY WRITE FOR! (This will be updated as needed):
• Grace (Roblox)
• Gameknight999 (that one Minecraft series)
• Hollow Knight/HK: Silksong
• If you're not sure if I'll write something, feel free to ask anyway! I can give it my best shot :)
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Thinking thoughts about Litany...so very many thoughts about them...why not share everything with you guys :)
• Litany's domain is about the most extreme idea of "peer pressure" it can get. The entity itself has all the power, and everyone underneath it (the Guilles) are kept under their control via any means necessary. Guilles snap at each other all the time, like crabs in a bucket pulling each other down so that nobody can escape the torment they're in. They lose their means of identity by losing their heads.
• The domain is gloomy and covered in smog, yet despite the fact it's so hard to see the sky, you can feel Litany watching. Even if you can't see it. Look up and you'll find eyes staring back down.
Cold, unexpressive eyes. You'd expect this thing to feel joy or even pleasure at seeing another sinner entrenched in the throes of its dominion...and yet, there was nothing like that. It was detached from everything, simply an overseer who denied any sense of freedom.
The air reeks of fear and smoke, burns your throat, makes it so very hard not to vomit. It feels as if there is no dark corner to find solace. There are eyes, everywhere. Watching and waiting for a wrong move to execute swift punishment onto.
Would it be better if Litany were a domain master with attachment to its realm? You find it hard to believe it would find any love, or satisfaction with the land it controls and shapes. You're lucky that it doesn't care; if it felt hatred, survival would be impossible. Things would be a lot more painful than they already are.
• The Guilles, despite fearing their creator, revere it as well. They seek it for guidance (commands), for solidarity (rallying), and solace (death). Litany delivers all of their requests and more. As such, it is depicted on posters and propaganda as a king, a god; it will aid you with the cost of...well, it doesn't seem like a lot. You follow its lead, and you become a part of a group, you get power, you don't have to worry about a future.
It will hurt. Litany will personally indite you. You will hear his voice inside your soul, speaking to you. Assuring, coaxing, pressing, commanding. The relief of your will, will be signed with your blood.
You will grit your teeth and bare it as the steel spikes plunge into your skin. You will not open your eyes to watch the rusted iron fingers snap shut into your skull. But Litany will be there, inviting you into their embrace. It will only last a moment longer, this pain. It will be worth it.
SURE THING OF COURSE!!!!!!! Shooting my shot with a couple of rapid-fire ideas and thoughts about them: (rapid fire, I say, proceeding to ramble)
• Mime's body is very light, if you tried to lift him up in any way you would probably end up overestimating how much he weighs and punch yourself in the chin on accident (whoopsie!) This is partially on the account that Mime, like most of the entities, is...not exactly corporeal, or even truly tangible to the human mind.
• Again about his body; Mime has a "ruff" around their neck (think like a fancy feather boa) and a "cape" composed of similar things. Calling them feathers is the easiest way to describe them, and they. Are. Soft. Downy, light — if you put your hands in there, you would basically immediately understand why downy feathers were so frequently used for insulation with manmade products.
• I think calling Mime purely a sexual being is a little disingenuous to what self-pleasure is. He's very aware and perceptive; it just so happens that masturbation or otherwise engaging in sex is a very human way to experience a sensory/sensual pleasure and thus his role as an entity utilizes that the most. Food, adrenaline-seeking behavior, and otherwise doing something that you normally wouldn't do — due to either expectations placed on you, moral or even legal prohibitions, or your own personal compass — are equally used tactics that Mime uses to "test" yourself.
(And, of course, since Grace is a very Christian-inspired game, masturbation is the focal point due to what the text and lore says.)
— – —
Mime is a really good example for the general ideas I have about Grace and everything about it, honestly. He's not a bad force that you have to run from, or hide from, or fight. Sometimes what he suggests just sounds...fun, even if you know that now isn't the time to be seeking out a thrill or even just a moment to relax. It's what makes Mime a "sin" so hard to resist: who wouldn't want to do something for themselves after facing horrors just a few minutes prior?
And at the same time, Mime is infuriating. Really, why now are we suggesting that we do this? You have bigger things to worry about. You're here for a reason and you want to get out, to be let free. Is it worth your momentary pleasure just to delay/put off your endgoals? Do you reject comfort for productivity?
— – —
Mime is also very divisive in how he's perceived as a character, in part due to how many different things he can use towards you. Some might think he's against you, and using the human nature and desire for rest as his method of being a temptress. That he's overbearing, annoying, downright appalling and disgusting.
And on the other hand, someone else who would have to face the tribulations of achieving freedom for lesser crimes, or even just having a different perspective on life, might find Mime as...fun. Energetic, a little unaware for sure, maybe a little weird, like an eccentric coworker.
But something I think is important about Mime is that it cares. About you. Even if you think it's weird or gross or a freak, obviously it cares about you enough to suggest "a tug and a pull" — whether you see it as a disgusting comment or a suggestion to take it easy isn't exactly important at the core of things.
• In my head, and with my thoughts/ideas for Grace, I should preface that all entities are by default sexless and present ambiguously. Mime is an extreme case of this; being an intangible being to the human eye and constantly shifting in appearance (subtly) is not exclusive to it, but what is, is that they're a lot more capable of directly influencing how they appear to a person if they look at him. And, of course, since he's an embodiment of the "sin" of self pleasure (and going back to the main idea behind that being masturbation/sex), it seems only fair and natural that they'd be the most fluid in presenting human sex characteristics.
A long-winded way of saying that Mime can give himself breasts on command. Basically.
• If he had a smell, it would be very grounded. Not floral or strong, not a natural human musk that you might expect. It would be comforting, like how smelling a partner's hoodie is, or what you smell when you shove your face in a pet's fur. It's not Good, but it's good to You.
• Resisting or joining Mime in his offers will not individually seal your fate. I would have to elaborate more on my general worldbuilding for Grace (which I'll do in a later post!) but I think what would do you in is engaging with them with reckless abandon. If you stop to think about it, or even go in without a second thought but end up feeling like it Helped in retrospect, you'll go unpunished. It's only if you form a dependence on the pleasure, for whatever reason you may have for doing so, will there be consequences. Mostly of nonlethal caliber, but nonetheless.
And to close things off for now, again this isn't exclusive to Mime, but it seems fitting again with my repeated theming of resisting temptation/giving in and indulging. The idea of any entity, but especially Mime (and Kookoo) representing an idea or a similar thing to being tempted with the fruit of Eden is very fun to me.
Ouhhh it's bad bros the newest Autism Event is hitting me. So Hi! While I put a stop on my personal projects due to lack of motivation for them, I'm opting to keep myself in the creative sphere by returning back to this blog!
I am now doing Grace headcanons/imagines!
If sending an ask to a blog that hasn't posted in a while but you're nonetheless curious, have no fear! I plan on making several general posts about one or two of the characters each so that you know what quality to expect from me :)
idk if you're still into EXEs but i gotta get this out. sorry if this is weird
i think when rewrite cums his limbs all squirm around like worms do when you poke them
I'm Kind Of still into them but they're definitely on a way back backburner these days. But also anon, I love you, this is probably one of the funniest things to get out of the blue one day. Please never change.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I know this isn't my typical type of post on this blog but the ending of II17 made me feel so strongly that I sat down and cranked this out. Continuation where MePhone becomes a free man
I've had this in mind for quite a while now, and I think I'm just about ready to get this all out in the world hah.
Thoughts and headcanon about Animatic !!!
• So we know that he's been generally isolated from other objects in Object Fool, and craves the fame of a host. So it'd be plausible to think it got so deeply ingrained in his head that he would get his fame that he would lash out if that belief was challenged in any way.
• Him being caffeinated is one thing, and his childish demeanor is another. But if he were to get upset. Well. Things would be much more horrific for the folks partaking in Animatic Battle. I mean — to them it isn't that serious, he isn't really "host material", so why exactly should they care? But ah, well. Looks like he wasn't pleased about catching wind of those words.
• How he feels changes on a whim; sometimes it's like a rubber ball, other times like you're slamming your hand into a pile of broken glass. Luckily nobody really...comes into contact with him unless they're being turned into abstract lines, so worrying about him just Changing Texture out of nowhere isn't really a concern.
• There's lapses in time where Animatic will just. Stand around. And not do anything for hours on end. Nobody really knows why he does it exactly, but to him it's a brief moment of clarity through the moral ambiguity that he has. Now he doesn't regret anything mind you, it's just that he's not as All Over The Place and can organize his thoughts in a linear fashion.
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I had a moment and wrote down a whole lotta nonsense with Popcorn and I accidentally made myself feel really hard with it so. I might as well haha
Tw for drug use and (NONGRAPHIC) mentions of sex.
Okay so, where to begin hah. A lot of this was spawned from indulgent things and so I'm going to try and reword a lot of what I wrote down to make it more general.
• To me she is the pinnacle of "making everything a joke to push away the fact that she is deeply fucked up". To her it's just easier to never address anything and play it off as just a bit or something unimportant if somehow, someway, someone approaches her about it.
• Her avoidance has lead to an unstable relationship with substance use — it's a cycle of getting high and getting a whitey, and then getting hungover and being back at the base of "feeling the things she literally just got high over to not handle". Keeping herself busy with hosting (as precarious as it is, given that her contestants aren't exactly the most empathetic bunch about her case) is one of the only means for her to dodge herself, in a sense. So it sure isn't a good alternative, but it's better than y'know, whiting out...right?
• Literally everything she has is undiagnosed and she isn't about to get her shit checked out. (ADHD, BPD, MDD and Crohn's.) The majority of the folks around her aren't really versed in Why she decides to act like she does; they just think she's egotistical, big-headed and a dick overall.
• If for whatever reason somehow there was someone who was wholeheartedly genuine with themselves and with everyone around them...she'd actually kind of hate them. Literally they could do nothing wrong but she would be skeeved about the fact that they can just essentially gallivant around with their heart on their sleeve. It's like an anti-her, you get me.
• To add onto the last point, she's made herself so distant that if there was anyone that would try to actually talk to her and y'know, be a basic human being (or, well, object being) she wouldn't know how to reciprocate that in the slightest. Because she does want closeness but that kind of thing is deeply unsettling to her, and she would engage in what she guises as just "casual" sex; to her it's the only feasible way to actually figure out how exactly she feels about someone. It's just an empty feeling spawned from an innate guilt at this being the only way she can achieve basic positive social interactions and anger — less at herself and instead projecting it onto the other person for, in a twisted and cruelly roundabout way: leading her into this situation in the first place.
• She doesn't really cry — it's just...hard for her to be able to. "Feeling miserable" isn't how she'd describe it but there's no real way to really say it otherwise. Pretty much everything gets bottled up, both good and bad, and it can sometimes (unfortunately) seep through into her actual hosting job.
• If somehow she came across Airy, he would genuinely be one of the only people she could tolerate. He's so similar and yet could not be more different. Both apathetic but in his case he just... legitimately doesn't really seem to express that he cares. It's like if Popcorn were a firecracker and Airy was a bundle of wet sticks — they can exist next to each other without friction that would spark either of them.
• On MUCH much lighter notes: somehow she managed to get her 3D glasses to be prescription. She cannot see without those things but also you just Cannot take them off; if you lift them up there's just an endless amount of others underneath the pair(s).
• After having his memories restored he still suffers from gaps in his, well, memories, haha. He doesn't exactly understand why that's the case, and it's confusing on a level that nears right-on uncomfortable.
• He and other Meeple don't really "age" the same way other objects/people would. There's a learning period, of course, which can be drawn as a parallel to a childhood, and if I may detract from MePhone and instead speak about all of Cobs' productions for a moment. The learning process can be overridden into making something completely functional without the need for a significant testing process; the downside of that is that unfortunately that very same testing period is important for Meeple to really grasp more human emotions and responses. They're more mechanical, far more so than the likes of MePhone4 himself. Quite frankly, he's one of the only Meeple that has the desired "spectrum" of reaction and then some. All of this to say that he is closer to being "human" alongside his object contestants than he's close to essentially his own siblings.
It was important for him to seek the approval of Cobs, perhaps more than he himself realized. Peering around corners, gauging the husk's temper from afar. Should he report with results from his attempts to conjure items? Or would it be met with the reprimand he'd become familiar with — it wasn't a planned event, as Cobs would put it. MePhone4 was new to this world but already well acquainted with the expectations held in front of him, lurking over everything he did like a looming viper honing in on hapless prey. He did not know quite yet that this was not how the world was meant to operate. That siblings weren't meant to be kept apart like prisoners in cells, and that imminent disappointment for any minor error wasn't the norm. Even so, he could not help but feel...and that feeling was something he could not ever dream of speaking upon, least of all to his creator.
The word "father" was not in his directory. Even if it was, he wouldn't use it for someone like Cobs. The definition and the man in front of him were two very different things.
• Him being a year old has many implications. He's only been around for so long and in a sense he's been forced to mature much faster than his peers; indirectly, but nonetheless through a means unconventional for most others. Had his circumstances not been so...unique, he would have the mentality of someone in their mid-20's, rather than someone nearly two decades more.
!!! Oh I'd be far more than happy to do this funny little fella . Many hearts sent out to Yoshka :)
(This might be shorter than my normal posts but only because I'm not sure what exactly to write about him atm oopsie !!!)
• His Host-ing skills are as good as Kratcy's, it's just that he's never actually done any hosting so he doesn't exactly know what to Do. He has anxiety about performing well given that he's the assistant to the actual host and it's that anxiety that causes him to fumble. Were he not holding himself up to a standard he would do MUCH better than he already was.
• Speaking of Kratcy actually, he's (already obviously, but still) INSANELYYYY different from him. Yoshka takes the words of the contestants to heart, much to their and his own benefit, but occasionally to his detriment as well. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's easy to dig your nails into it with a few poorly placed words. Do take care to keep your harsher criticisms out of earshot of him.
• He'd develop genuine friendships with the contestants were he not in a higher position than them. Trust me, he'd love to be friends with (most of) them, it's just that he has a job to do!!! And he's incredibly sorry that he can't be as close as either of them wants, but it's just how the cookie crumbles, unfortunately.
• He's crepuscular. Which definitely has its effect on how he hosts; it's very easy to tell when he's pushing himself into daylight hours to host because it's what Kratcy does (who's nocturnal but chooses to host when the sun's out anyway, on account of him just. Deciding that he doesn't need to sleep. But I digress.) and Yoshka honestly kind of strongly dislikes hosting that way. Give him a nice dusk or dawn and he'll fare much better. (Huh. Kind of set up for failure now that I think about it. He's pitied on by folks like Putty and Cuppy, but they don't say anything about that.)
• Everything and anything you say to him he WILL take literally. I.e.; when he asked everyone what they wanted to eat and Kurasan said a knife. He was a little confused and a LOT worried, but who is he to deny someone what they wanted? Even if he does everything he's asked of/told to, he still thinks about it sometimes. Y'know, wondering if he could have done something a little different, more "satisfactory" in a way.
• He doesn't technically need the wand that he uses for recovery/revival, he just finds it a nicer alternative to...using his power directly. Think of it as him redirecting that power instead into a vessel, so that it appears that he wields nothing like what Kratcy can do, and instead relies on something else. It's for his peace of mind and, per his assumption, it also helps the contestants feel less intimidated by him. Can't exactly go around recovering folks from his palms and doing other Strange Things without rousing some suspicion, y'know!
mephone....i am starved i am desperate i am on my hands and knees begging my title is that for a reason
👋👋👋 have I got hella news for you brother I rise from my chamber-den full of half-finished ideas and a half-finished fic to bless you once more. I return once again.
(This will just be a general list since there's a few more that get a little more specific !!!)
• This one's probably a given, since we rarely see him with any other Meeple, but MePhone is generally pretty distant from relatives. It's a mix of being too uncomfortable to be around them, and simultaneous guilt for not taking anyone with him when he escaped Cobs. (MePad knows bits and pieces about it, but has promised him not to tell anyone.)
• Since the contestants gathered his split memories he's been noticeably more at peace with himself in the long run, even if at first it had him really messed up. Suppressing everything for so long, to have it blow back in your face definitely wasn't a thing he was expecting from a "challenge".
• He has yet to really figure out why he doesn't like Toilet. There's a reason there beside the assumption that Toilet is under management from Adam, but if you were to ask him about it he couldn't provide a solid, sensible answer. He honestly just has a lot of animosity for the guy.
• In my head there's an Object Facebook and he's an avid user of it. He has like no followers but if you go into his post history you can see the change in character he goes through. Old text posts complaining about contestants behind their backs to his more recent ones being the photos taken during the challenge in III. (Side note: the selfie he took is the photo that means the most to him that he's ever shared.)
• He's a lot older than he looks. Which is definitely saying something given he's a phone, but in certain angles under light you can see hairline cracks on his screen and his backing has become worn over time from natural wear and tear. If he were human he'd be in his early 40's.
• One time he was asked if he had a favorite/least favorite contestant and the only reason he didn't list them all in order of most to least liked was because he didn't want to be sued for emotional damage (this was in S1, in S3 for example he wouldn't do it because he doesn't really have a Least Favorite of them. Yes some of them annoyed him but that's just how life is sometimes, y'know?)
• He has a Nighttime Mode but never uses it. This has lead to him losing TONS of sleep during hosting because his own blue light keeps him up all night. Coffee isn't going to save him now.
Thought to change up this URL, and apologies for not posting anything in a while! Life has been busy and whatnot, and I've been writing an actual fic which is CRAZY.
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This one goes out to my homie @sneefer-beaw I LOVE YOU and I hope that ages of not writing doesn't show with this (/lh)!!! A Rush × Reader for all to enjoy :)!
Rain fell off the sides of the twisting mansion — hotel? What it was seemed irrelevant nowadays, however long you've been here. The walls were damp with the musk of rain and mildew permeated by the everlasting water. No matter what time it was, it always seemed to at least be drizzling outside. Outside...a place you haven't been to in a long, long time. All that you were familiar with for what felt like weeks now were rooms and halls that looked the exact same as the last one you stumbled across. You didn't know if you were getting anywhere, or if you were trapped in some loop.
Creatures stalked about, making floorboards creak and lights flicker, tripping faulty wires and sending entire rooms into darkness because of it. Your mind became accustomed to being wary, and your body rigidly tensed at every moment, ready to run. Every strange and unearthly new sound to curse your ears made your heart freeze and your blood run cold. And yet, it felt like a ritual now. Every now and again you just knew something would happen. You knew how to avoid the beasts that dominated this plane, the demons that have probably preyed on countless others just like you.
Your body shivered fiercely as you carefully stepped about the wooden floor; one wrong move and you'd be creaking on a board that hadn't been maintained in possibly millennia, alerting something to your presence. A window to your right was your only source of light as of currently — you made sure not to take the lack of lamplight as nothing to worry about. It could bring forth one of two beasts, possibly three. The screaming one that followed you, the one that makes several rounds around your location, hoping to track you down and strike...or the big one. The big one was the most terrifying one in your opinion. It was loud, it was fast, and it quite literally left you shaken even if you're rooms away from the trail it burns through the halls.
Your eyes drift to the window, then to the wall opposite it. Your shadow was barely visible in the meager light, tiny raindrops encompassing your silhouette. Then suddenly your vision goes white, and a thunderous boom roars through the hall. It shakes the walls, dissipating off into the distance. It was just thunder. Just thunder...
Yet the sound was so similar to the tarry creature's trailblazing cry that it set your heart ablaze, racing a mile a minute. Without even thinking, you dart away from the window to search for a room, anything to take cover inside or behind. Your throat was tight, many terrified cries gathered from days past locked inside. Sounds like those would get you killed, and your instincts demanded you survive this prison.
Nothing proved fruitful; the beds you found in decorated rooms were too low to crawl under. And every place you went, there were no lights. The air got chillier as well, one degree by another, sending goosebumps down your skin in an attempt to keep yourself warm. The chill made your breath shivery, as you rubbed your arms to try and produce some friction. It was impossible to see. No light switch worked, and there wasn't a single flashlight or similar helpful item in sight.
All you had to rely on was your other senses, primarily sound. Your ears strained at every little tink, creak, and groan, determining if it were just the natural state of the hotel, or if it was something approaching. And when you weren't hugging yourself trying to keep yourself warm enough to stay awake and alert, you brushed your hands and fingers along the nearest surface you could feel. Walls, drawers, doorframes.
Lightning flashed by a window you didn't know was behind you, several rooms down from where the first one had struck the earth. Despite yourself, you whelped with shock and terror, every inch of your body jolting and cascading you in icy-hot adrenaline. And then came the crack of thunder, much louder this time. It rattled your teeth in your skull and made you wince, your heart feeling like it was being crushed by the sheer volume of the sound. It felt like it lasted minutes, hours, until it finally died down in the distance.
Your body felt much warmer suddenly, like your muscles blazed anew with vigor and the desire to get you out of there. Yet when you tried to run, you felt stuck in place. Not a single fiber twitched; you were paralyzed by your fear while your body was desperate to escape.
You tried harder, as if the force of your will would make your legs move. Nothing. Your eyes darted in the darkness, your breathing hastening, before a warm gust brushed against your hair, hot against your face. It was ragged, rough; like the thing was constantly yet only slightly congested. The chill crawled through you again, and you toppled back. Finally you could move again, and yet before you could even attempt to escape, a hand large enough to cover your entire torso pinned you to the floor.
It was your worst fear: the big one; the one that rushed. It had you right beneath its claws, its enormous fingers unmoving as you pushed and pleaded to be let go. As if it would listen to you.
You tried to cry out, but your throat gave out. All that came out was a pitiful squeak, as the beast lowered its head, two tiny and malevolent pinpricks of light — its eyes, the ones you only ever saw when it was honed in on something — staring you down from within the sockets of the skeletal face you were lucky you couldn't see. You flinched back from its breath, shivering not from the cold now, but from pure fear.
Its face drew closer to yours, its body shockingly hot — so much so that the heat radiated off of it and onto you. Again you tried to free yourself, shoving your hands upwards, attempting feebly to remove yourself from the eyes peering down at you. Yet it was unfazed, the uneven, nasally expirations heating your skin, until you could feel its head pressed against your chest. It...it was smelling you, like you were nothing more than an interesting object it captured for further investigation.
A dull thought crossed your mind then: maybe, if you didn't move, it would lose interest and leave you alone. Or maybe it at least wouldn't realize what you were (but if it already did, did it toy with its prey first? What would the benefit of that be?) You remained still, praying for any divine intervention or being to bless you and keep you alive one more day. All while its hot breath snuffled against you, the hand that had captured you lifting slightly. But then lifting you, as well. You held your breath, trembling as the embrace of the floor was snatched away from you. The air felt much colder, but less so because of the heat of the demon that held you, felt at you with a curved knuckle, the pinlight eyes never leaving you. Its gaze betrayed its intelligence; it was a smart thing, it knew you were nothing more than human. It was dead, empty, devoid of any emotion, yet nonetheless enraptured with you. Aware of your fragility, your vulnerability. Two of its hands cupped themselves around you like a dome, entrapping its body heat in with you.
It was keeping you warm. The only question in your mind now was why?
Your bewilderment was invisible to it, for even in this pitch darkness it could not see clearly, but its gesture was unmistakably, enigmatically gentle. No matter which angle you looked at it, why it wasn't tearing into you was beyond you; it was so capable of doing so, and seemed intent on that goal every other time. Now seemed no different.
But...you were still alive, and you were in the hands of a beast that terrified you. So despite the warmth, and the way it held you, you couldn't bring yourself to feel safe. Perhaps grateful, in a strange, roundabout way, even when you were still scared out of your wits. A large thumb pressed against your chest, like an attempt at a caress, and the motion made you flinch and push back. The heat helped to clear your mind (or perhaps clouded it further; who still had their sanity and just let this thing touch them?) and a feeling of...it not actively trying to hurt you crept up your spine.
That feeling was almost as uncomfortable as your fear, due to how alien it was. But as you pushed the thumb away, your hands lingered on its skin. Beneath your palms it felt like taut leather, oily yet firm, and not quite like it was hard to grasp. However, it made you feel like your hands would be greasy once you pulled them back. The beast grunted at your reaction, huffing and violently tussling your hair as a result. Its thumb pressed back against you, and this time you didn't struggle. It made another sound, some sort of rumbling noise, low yet deep enough to send ripples through your ribs. You removed your hands from its finger, earning a growl that shook you to your core — placing them back on brought forth the rumbling again.
Okay, so it...liked? was satisfied? with this. Swallowing down a fraction of your fear, you managed to find just enough of your voice to make a few words; "What do you want?" From me, the words you wanted to add on evaded you. You got no response, just the cold lights in those dead eyes staring down at you. Could it understand you?
"What do you want...from me." You spoke again, more of your voice coming back to you. It shook and wavered horribly, but you were legible. One of your hands balled into an anxious fist, trembling as the hands surrounding you closed in slightly. The beast gave no answer, only moved, lifting itself and trudging along, with you still held in a hand. Well, you were closer to its chest now, and the two hands domed over you were no longer there. You don't know where it was taking you, but you didn't move a muscle, listening intently. To its rough breath, the strange pulsing feeling beneath its skin. It wasn't a heartbeat, it wasn't nearly as centralized or strong enough to be that — it was like its entire body beat as one, solid, strong, and steady.
The rhythm of its walking and the pulsing of its body became something you counted your breaths to. How many steps it took, how many times it thrummed with energy — you tried to figure out where it was taking you, but after enough turns around corners, you were left lost and wondering. The entire time, you were held between its chest and hand.
What felt like out of nowhere, you were lowered back onto the floor, your legs almost instantly giving out from under you. The beast made no effort to catch you, instead nudging you so that you were sitting and off your knees, settling itself beside you. It was close enough that you could still feel its warmth, warding off the cold of the hotel.
You fumbled around a little, unsure if you wanted to act like this was a normal situation, like you weren't scared, and so many other things. Eventually you settled on hugging your knees to yourself, ready to bolt at a moment's notice, yet begrudgingly remaining close to the side of the one who had brought you here. Seeming to notice your behavior, it released a low growl, and you went tense as you felt its claws pull you against itself. But that was all; it kept its hand close, yet made no further move. You were left to your own devices now.
And your devices weren't very diverse right now. You concluded you had no real choice in the matter, and relented in leaning towards the palm at your side. Tentatively you clear your throat; "You're not going to hurt me, are you?"
Who asks that question to something like this? You, apparently. And apparently, it responds. It uttered another growl, yet you couldn't tell what that meant, or even if it understood you. You had to assume it did, even if it was still a guessing game as to what it was trying to say.
"You...aren't?" The growl was replaced with that thrumming sound again, gently vibrating against the floor. Oddly this released some of the tension in your shoulders. You let out a soft and shaking sigh, your shoulders falling. "Thanks...I think."
Its breath roused your skin and hair again as its head settled near you, eyes watching you again while it kept its hand around you. It was lax, its body moving only in time to the inhales and exhales it took, a smooth and rhythmic motion. Nothing about it really expressed an ulterior motive, and so many questions died on your tongue as you surmised that asking it many things would only land you in a tricky spot.
Slowly, you leaned into its palm, shuddering at the initial contact before forcing yourself to ease up a little. All it did was watch, motionless, before only slightly curling its fingers around you. You sighed again before sucking in a breath, leaning your full weight against it, as it seemed to curl itself around you.
You were no longer cold. All you felt was its heat that it mysteriously shared with you, the gentle pulsating of its heartbeat without a heart, and the vibrating of its strange rumbling against the floor. Not even the rain crept its way through its sounds — it was all around you, all your senses could pick up on. It drowned everything else out, and you felt something odd about that. As if that wasn't a terrible thing. And maybe it wasn't.