An excuse to study something really

you know what?

I don’t care tbh just have some quick/lazy sketches I did of

✨🌷mushroom oasis 🌷✨

sweet sketch💛

Vs

someone intrude his area and try to hurt his chickens/hens🐓

Enjoy those art dumps or idk

(The creator of the visual novel : @/deerspherestudios)

More of my lovely boy.

He does anything to soak in every ounce of your attention, often at the cost of your dignity unfortunately.

Hes a jerk, your honor. Sketch under cut.

—————————————————————————

Series: Hazbin Hotel

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Alastor x R.femele ( Charismatic radio host )

—————————————————————————

(Oc ) S.bunny

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Part: 1 / part: 2 / part: 3 / part: 4

—————————————————————————

when he lost his first love and became what is most feared......

The moment when the intelligent boy, kind only to those he loved, becomes a predator.

—Around the turn of the 20th century, between the end of the 1890s and the beginning of the 1900s

— In the city of New Orleans, Louisiana, in the United States.

The house was silent.

Too much silence.

Little Alastor - thin, polite, frighteningly calm - found his mother fallen on the kitchen floor.

Bruised face.

Weak breathing.

Blood dripping.

In the corner, as if nothing had happened, the father cleaned his hands, mocking.

A man who should never have been called father.

Alastor's breathing became slow.

Too slow.

He didn't cry.

He didn't scream.

He just walked to the kitchen drawer...

He took the meat cutting knife...

And he said, with a voice so cold that it sounded adult:

- You touched her for the last time.

It was fast.

Silent.

Surgical.

Alastor's first death was an act of love.

And of hate.

And at that moment, something inside him broke - or freed himself.

Because when he held his mother in his arms, he felt her body getting cold...

He smiled for the first time the way he would smile forever:

Bitter, empty, polite and terrifying.

—————————————————————————

YEARS PASSED - ALASTOR BECAME A MAN

—New Orleans in the 1920s was vibrant, alive, dirty, cruel.

And in her grew an elegant man, with a mesmerizing voice and a constant smile.

• impeccable suits

• perfect posture

• engaging diction

• natural charm

• a smile that no one could decipher

His voice crossed radios and hearts:

- Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is Alastor... bringing deliciously peculiar stories to your dawn.

He spoke like someone who caresses and cuts at the same time.

And people loved it.

But no one knew that, behind the smile...

He was alone.

HER ABSENCE - THE EMPTINESS THAT NEVER CLOSED

Bunny had been:

• the light of his childhood

• the only reference of joy

• the only person who really sawe it

• the first love

• the first "safe haven"

• the only one that really made him laugh

And now...

She was dead.

Or so he believed.

And that turned him into an adult...

Extremely functional,

Extremely charming,

And extremely dead inside.

———————

HIS LIFE WITHOUT HER

1. He cooked the recipes he learned from his mother and Bunny.

I ate alone.

I set the table for two.

But only one place was filled.

2. He kept an empty chair in the studio.

Her chair.

Where she sat when she visited his mother and stopped by to greet him.

3. He imagined what life would be like if she were alive.

And that... that was what hurt the most.

He imagined:

She entering the studio with those cute ears

The two presenting a program together

The shared coffee during the break

Her voice next to his, soft and vibrant

And on very lonely nights... I even imagined marriage

A small house.

Laughter.

Maybe children.

A normal life, impossible for someone like him.

And at the end of this daydream, he always came back to reality.

To the void.

And smile.

The same smile that everyone on the radio knew.

But there, alone... it was a sad smile.

"If she were here, I would be better off.

I would be whole."

But he knew it was a lie.

He knew what he became -

The hidden predator that hunted dangerous men at night

The charming broadcaster during the day —

There was no cure.

Even she couldn't fix it.

But he still... imagined.

I always imagined.

—————————————————————————

The father's death was not the last.

He became a silent avenger.

Violent men.

Predators.

Aggressors.

Men who reminded them of the father.

Men who reminded me of those who killed Bunny.

He tracked.

He watched.

He expected.

And then...

He shut them up.

Every death, he said to himself:

"For those who took you away from me."

He never admitted out loud,

But part of him believed that, if he saved other women,

Maybe I was saving "her" again.

Even though I knew it was too late.

He never surpassed Bunny.

Not even for a second.

—————————————————————————

Little did he know that his own death would take you someday into her arms again.....

The light went out as fast as it came.

His death was not silent - nothing in Alastor's life had been silent - but it was fast. A snap, a sudden chill in the chest, then a darkness so dense that it looked like a wet veil covering his eyes.

He opened his eyes...

And it was no longer in the world.

I was in a red place.

Deep.

Pulsating.

Where the air smelled of sulfur and violence... but also of something familiar:

Power.

The boy who heard his first crush die live on the radio...

The young man who learned to imitate voices, manipulate people, and hunt like someone who breathes...

Now it was just soul.

And strong souls don't enter Hell like others.

They tear the way.

He fell on his feet.

As if I already knew where I was.

The warm floor under your shoes.

And the silence - a silence so deep that it echoed

He smiled.

- So this is the final stage... How charming.

Inferior demons, small and deformed, began to approach, sniffing his energy.

Fresh energy.

Long live.

Violent.

One of them growled:

- New human... it will be fun to break you.

Alastor tilted his head.

That same smooth, polite, deadly calculated movement.

- My dear... if you want to play with me... - he raised a finger, like someone who gives a gentle sermon - don't get so close.

And then...

His shadow stretched.

Deformed.

He grew up like a living beast.

The demon exploded in static and distorted noises - just like Y/n's radio that Easter afternoon.

The first sound Alastor produced in Hell...

It was a radio interference.

The birth of Radio Demon.

—————————————————————————

When he realized the power he had acquired - the ability to make the sound, the world and even the souls TREMBLE with his voice - the first thing that came to his mind was not conquest.

It was Y/n.

- S. Bunny... if you could hear that...

He touched a twisted metal pole.

The pole CHIOU alive.

The static formed words:

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen..."

The phrase that Y/n said every day on the radio.

The fraction of innocence that remained in him... died there.

Now it was voice, sound, noise, power.

Now he mastered what one day hurt him.

Demons saw.

Demons heard.

And demons shut up.

Because he didn't arrive as an ordinary sinner.

Not like a confused or lost spirit.

He arrived cutting frequencies.

Crossing dimensions within Hell itself.

Speaking with a voice that seemed like several at the same time - a distorted choir of traumas, laughter and controlled insanity.

He didn't need weapons.

He was the weapon.

And Hell loves a predator.

In a few weeks, his name echoed through the circles:

"The Devil's Radio Broadcaster."

"The Monster of Statics."

"The Radio Demon."

But no one knew that the sound that accompanied him the most was what he tried to forget.

The shots.

The fall.

The silence.

The day he lost the only person who lit up his world.

—————————

Alastor built his first studio in Hell using:

• wires torn from talking demons

• molded metal with hot blood

• antennas made of bones too long to be human

His first broadcast...

It wasn't welcome.

Not even a threat.

It was the same phrase that Y/n said to him when he came home with his radiant voice:

"Ally, I'm on the air... listening to me there, dear?"

He said that to the microphone.

In silence.

Just for her.

Only for S. Bunny

His voice trembled.

Just once.

And never again.

—————————————————————————

THAT'S HOW HELL WON HIS MOST DANGEROUS DEMON

Not because he was cruel.

Not because it was strong.

But because it was emotionally broken in a way that no punishment could repair.

Nothing could hurt him more than the loss of Y/n.

And a being who cannot be hurt...

It's a being that the whole Hell learns to fear.

He became the Radio Demon

Because listening to her death on the radio

It was the first time he understood the true meaning of sound:

Sound can kill.

Sound can destroy.

Sound can turn someone into a monster.

And he chose never to be a victim of sound again.

He would own it.

The master of all frequencies.

And the whole Hell would be your audience.

—————————————————————————

Polar Opposites

you both were so different from one another, him being a literal nfl player, and well you...? you were in the library studying for your upcoming exam. the thing is, he had always noticed you.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

pairing: yuji itadori x fem!reader

tw: fem reader, aged up characters, alcohol, swearing, sexual jokes, suggestive at most, angst, strangers?to friends to lovers, fluff, weed, smoking, may be ooc, arguments, warning may vary in each chapter...

status: ongoing - taglist: opened main m.list

yn style guide | yuji style guide | moodboard | playlist

written portions will be indicated with a 🏈

introductions: group project | prison in hell

match 1: who is he? 🏈

match 2: is it love at first sight?

match 3: it definetly is

match 4: tbd...

...

...

*if you want to be added to the taglist, just send an ask or comment!

A gift ♡

''Wait… Who Was That?!"

THSISISI SO CUTIEEE ----------

The stream had been live for almost two hours.

The soft clack of mechanical keys filled the background as Giyuu focused intently on his game, lit by the soft, moody hues of his custom LED setup—deep ocean blues and muted purples that mirrored his calm vibe. His camera was propped at a slight angle, framing just his sharp features, dark tousled hair, and the familiar serious expression his fans adored.

He wore a simple black hoodie and a headset, mic tilted just close enough to pick up his low voice.

"Rotate left," he said to his team, eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the map. "Don’t push mid alone. You’ll get picked off."

His tone was flat but assertive, cool under pressure. Exactly the way his viewers liked it.

A small smirk flickered across Giyuu’s face. Barely there. He didn’t say anything, but he saw the comments.

"You’re overextending," he said in a quieter tone, then tilted his head slightly. "Fall back. Let them peek first."

He wasn’t one for constant chatter, but his community had learned to read his moods through the smallest expressions—a twitch of his lip, a faint eyebrow raise, the subtle sigh he made when chat got out of pocket.

Then came a break between matches, and he leaned back in his chair, reaching off-camera for a bottle of water. Chat immediately flooded with commentary:

He glanced at the comments and exhaled slowly, the closest thing he’d give to a laugh.

“No gym stream,” he said plainly. “You’d behave even worse.”

He queued up another match. “Alright. One more. Then I’m logging.”

As the game loaded, he reached over to adjust the camera slightly—just a small tilt. His hoodie sleeve slipped a bit, revealing a faint mark on his collarbone before he tugged it back up.

He ignored it—mostly because he couldn’t explain it without opening the floodgates. And besides, you had asked to keep things private. For now.

But that’s when it happened.

Mid-match, mid-concentration, mid-killing-streak… the door opened.

You had no idea he was still live.

Wearing his hoodie (which looked massive on you) and nothing else but a pair of fluffy socks, you stepped in, holding your phone, completely unaware of the camera pointed right past Giyuu’s shoulder.

“Hey, babe,” you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep, “have you seen—oh.”

You froze.

He froze.

Chat EXPLODED.

You looked like a deer caught in headlights, realizing what you just walked into. “You’re still streaming?”

Giyuu cleared his throat, scrambling to mute his mic and hit the “BRB” screen. His movement was calm, but his ears were bright red.

“I—yeah. I forgot to lock the door,” he said softly.

You buried your face in the sleeves of his hoodie. “I just walked in front of your whole chat. Wearing this. Looking like this.”

"You look fine." He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. "Are you okay?"

“I just ruined your secret streamer aesthetic,” you muttered.

He shook his head. “They were already suspicious. You didn’t ruin anything.”

You glanced toward the monitor, where the chat was still flying even though the stream was paused.

"You wanna just tell them?" you asked quietly.

His eyes searched yours for a moment. "Only if you’re okay with that."

You nodded, heart racing—but honestly, it felt like a relief. Hiding had been fun at first, thrilling even, but exhausting. And now it was out. Might as well own it.

He unmuted. Switched the camera back on.

And then, with zero drama and full Giyuu energy, he said:

“That was my girlfriend.”

Giyuu’s gaze stayed on the camera, his tone calm but serious.

“We’ve been together for a while. We kept it private because… it’s ours. But I don’t want people speculating or harassing her, so now you know.”

You peeked into frame, cheeks hot, but smiled and gave a little wave.

Giyuu gave your hand a light squeeze, then looked back at chat.

"Behave," he warned gently. “She reads comments.”

And just like that, the vibes shifted from chaos to full-on adoration. Fan art popped up within hours. Clips of the moment flooded TikTok with captions like "Giyuu caught in 1080p being soft" and "This is how stoic men love". People started calling you “stream mom” in chat. Someone even made a mod for the game he played where the main character wore your hoodie.

He blinked at the chat, then tilted his head slightly, as if debating something.

Then, totally deadpan—voice as casual as if he were reading patch notes again—he added:

“Oh. And we’re getting married in July.”

You turned sharply toward him, mouth slightly open.

“Giyuu.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What? They wanted lore.”

You covered your face with both hands, groaning. “You’re ridiculous.”

But he was smiling now—subtly, softly—as he glanced at you.

“Ridiculous,” he echoed, “but honest.”

He leaned back slightly, hands still laced with yours under the desk. "That's all you're getting for now," he said, voice low, calm. “Thanks for watching. Be nice.”

Then, just before he ended stream, he looked over at you, barely a breath of amusement in his eyes.

“...You’re not mad, are you?”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh. “No. Just—warn me next time before you drop a whole engagement bomb on chat.”

He shrugged. “They asked.”

Stream ended.

The internet lost its mind.

Female Reader x Mohawk Mark

Male Reader x No Goggles Mark

Mohawk Mark has grown on me but No Goggles Mark was my favorite, he was just so sadistic and mocking when he was fighting the Guardians, it was great wish he survived 😔

Female and Male Readers will probably change, a good plan which makes me work on character design lol, if anyone has a characteristics they’d wanna see lemme know, no guarantee