Serugiuli

💛I'm just a silly bean who draws when I have time 💛A bunch of Oc x canon 💛Otome game, Visual novel and other games

[serugiuli]

I don't really know how to do introductions

You can call me Giu

I love posting about otome games and sometimes other games too. But I talk more about otome games.

I have an OC/Self insert for most of the games I like. I cannot resist. Is fun.

You can talk with me about anything and we can be friends if you want. Just be respectful.

Sometimes I reblog nsfw work or suggestive stuff.

I don't like drama. Fiction is fiction.

[other-lxxahazel]

How about Reader falling asleep on Alastor while he’s talking, and instead of waking her, he just smiles and lets her stay there, gently fixing her hair while humming some creepy jazz tune. Aweeee, PLEASE

UwU don't worry Anon UwU

╰┈➤ A quite night in hell

[Alastor x Fem!Reader]

You, a soul much like many others, found yourself unexpectedly trapped in the vibrant, chaotic, and frankly, quite terrifying landscape of Hell. Unlike most denizens, you weren't particularly loud or prone to grand displays of power. Instead, you possessed a quiet, observant demeanor, a keen wit hidden beneath calm eyes, and a remarkable ability to see beyond the monstrous veneers that most assumed in the Inferno. You'd met Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, in the most mundane of circumstances within the Hazbin Hotel – a shared observation of a particularly poorly executed demonic brawl in the lobby. He'd been pontificating, as was his wont, about the lack of theatricality, and you, with a quiet chuckle, had simply offered, "Perhaps they're just having a bad day, Alastor."

That simple, almost innocent remark, devoid of fear or fawning, had caught his ear. He'd turned, his smile widening, his eyes sharp with an almost predatory curiosity. His first impression? He was initially dismissive, viewing you as just another lost soul, but your composure and unexpected response intrigued him. His mind, ever the opportunist, immediately went to: "Hmm, interesting. I wonder if I can make a deal with her. Such an unflappable spirit might fetch a rather exquisite price."

What blossomed between you was as strange and unexpected as a rose in the depths of Cannibal Town. You weren't easily swayed by his charm or manipulation, skills he wielded like deadly weapons. You'd often listen to his monologues with an unblinking gaze, your quiet presence a stark contrast to his boisterous theatricality. When he'd try to steer a conversation with subtle psychological tricks, you'd simply listen, offer a grounded observation, or sometimes, a remarkably insightful, yet humorous, counterpoint that left him momentarily speechless – a rare feat. You were a good friend, a steady presence, and surprisingly, a comforting one, though you wouldn't tolerate being a people-pleaser. If you disagreed, you said so, calmly and without malice, but with an unwavering certainty that he found… fascinating.

He found he genuinely appreciated your understanding of personal space. Unlike many, you never crowded him, never invaded his aura. You'd simply be there, a silent anchor in his often-frantic existence. Sometimes, you’d even surprise him by anticipating his needs, asking quietly, "Do you need a moment, Alastor?" or "Would you like some tea?" as if he were just a normal, eccentric gentleman, not a powerful overlord of Hell. This simple, unburdened treatment was new, refreshing, and utterly disarming.

Then came the discovery of shared interests. Your quiet room, away from the hotel's constant din, often hummed with the rich, warm static of an old radio, playing jazz and slow, melancholic tunes. When he first heard it, a genuine, non-performative delight sparked within him. Soon after, a beautifully restored, antique radio, gleaming with polished brass and dark wood, appeared in your room, a silent gift from him. And dad jokes! Oh, the sheer, unadulterated joy he felt when he discovered you not only tolerated his notoriously awful dad jokes but genuinely liked them, often responding with a wry smile or even, on rare occasions, one of your own. Your lack of recoil at his darker, more macabre humor also threw him. He simply didn't know how to feel about a soul who wasn't unnerved by his macabre wit; it was both perplexing and immensely gratifying.

Initially, he'd been annoyed by your quiet resistance, your refusal to be easily impressed or manipulated. But slowly, imperceptibly even to himself, he softened. The annoyance morphed into a curious respect, then a genuine fondness, and finally, a deep, unsettling possessiveness. He'd show it in his own unique, mocking way. If he saw you engaged in conversation with another resident, say, Angel Dust, perhaps leaning a little too close, Alastor would materialize between you in a burst of static, his smile unnervingly wide. He'd subtly, almost imperceptibly, nudge or "shove" the other demon away with his staff or even just his body, leaning in innocently close to you. "Ah, there you are!" he'd purr, his voice a low hum against your ear. "I was looking for you, dear! Come, I have a most amusing anecdote to share." The other demon would invariably scuttle away, unnerved, while you would just raise an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Just days prior, the internal discord grew so pronounced that even the Radio Demon, in his infinite self-sufficiency, found himself seeking counsel. There was only one soul in Hell he considered remotely capable of offering a perspective on the absurdities of mortal emotions, particularly those involving companionship, without dissolving into sycophancy or fear: Rosie, the charmingly macabre overlord of Cannibal Town.

He found her in her emporium, meticulously arranging a display of particularly gruesome taxidermy. He explained, with as much detached clinical precision as he could muster, the strange sensations. The contentment, the possessive urge that wasn't quite ownership, the infuriating peace. He spoke of how he found himself tolerating quiet, of how he actually preferred your company to the usual cacophony, of the inexplicable warmth that settled in his chest.

Rosie listened, head tilted, a genuine smile spreading across her face. When he finished, she clapped her hands together. "Why, Alastor, darling!" she exclaimed, her voice ringing with the most absurd delight he had ever heard from her. "It's simply marvelous! Oh, I thought I'd never see the day! You're in love, darling! Madly, utterly, delightfully in love!"

The word hit him with the force of an angelic smite. Love. His grin stiffened, the radio static around him flaring violently. Love was… weakness. It was a human construct, a vulnerability that led to deals, to betrayal, to the very damnation he exploited. It was a sentimental folly, a fragile emotion that made one susceptible to pain, to loss, to becoming utterly pathetic. He, Alastor, the unfeeling, unlovable Radio Demon, could not, would not, be ensnared by such a paltry, dangerous thing. The very idea was a direct assault on his core being, his carefully constructed persona of detached amusement and unyielding power.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It was late, the hour unholy even for Hell. Alastor had cornered you in the hotel's dimly lit library, a place you often retreated to for quiet. He was regaling you with a particularly lengthy, yet admittedly fascinating, tale of his early days as an overlord, punctuated by his usual dramatic flair and a crackle of static that was either intentional or simply a byproduct of his enthusiasm. He gestured about his conquests, the foolishness of his victims, and the sublime art of suffering, his voice a rich, velvety baritone that flowed like dark molasses.

You, seated comfortably in a plush armchair, had been listening intently, your head tilted slightly, a thoughtful expression on your face. The day had been long, filled with the usual hotel shenanigans, and a certain warmth from the fireplace combined with the hypnotic rhythm of Alastor’s voice had begun to work its magic. Your eyelids grew heavy, your breathing deepened, and before you truly registered it, your head had lolled gently, finding a soft, surprisingly comfortable resting place on Alastor’s shoulder.

He paused mid-sentence, the static around him briefly sputtering. He stopped, his narrative abruptly cut short. For a moment, his smile faltered, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He looked down, his gaze fixed on the quiet rise and fall of your chest, the gentle curve of your cheek against his tweed jacket. You were utterly, peacefully asleep.

A slow, genuine smile, one devoid of his usual theatricality or the sharp edges of his public persona, began to spread across his face. It was soft, almost tender, a rare sight. He lifted a hand, his long, slender fingers hovering over your hair, then gently, ever so gently, he began to smooth a stray lock away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The movement was incredibly delicate for a demon who could tear souls asunder with a thought. A low, soft hum, something vaguely melodic and undeniably creepy, yet still jazz-infused, rumbled in his chest, a tune only you could feel as you rested against him.

Love, the thought suddenly sliced through his newfound tranquility, sharp and unwelcome. The word, spoken with such infuriating certainty by Rosie just days ago, echoed in his mind. He hated it. He hated the word, hated the concept, and most of all, he hated that it now attached itself, with infuriating persistence, to this feeling. To you. Love was a weakness, a sentimental folly, a fragile emotion that made one susceptible to pain, to loss, to becoming utterly pathetic. He, Alastor, the unfeeling, unlovable Radio Demon, could not, would not, be ensnared by such a paltry, dangerous thing.

Yet, here you were, a warm, soft weight against him, and the annoying, persistent contentment persisted. His thoughts twisted, a knot of confusion and denial. He despised the idea of love, seeing it as the ultimate vulnerability, a flaw in the grand design of existence. But the feeling blooming within him, so unlike the hunger for power or the thrill of chaos, felt… undeniably pleasant. He couldn't reconcile the two. He hated this feeling of being unable to categorize or control an emotion. It was a glitch in his carefully constructed persona, a dissonant chord in his internal symphony. It was driving him utterly mad, this quiet, insistent pull that defied all his logic and established principles.

Still, his smile remained, a strange blend of his usual predatory charm and this new, unsettling tenderness. He allowed himself to simply be, basking in the unexpected warmth of your presence. He savored the quiet, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. If anyone else were to walk in and witness this… this intimate tableau… a low, guttural growl, more static than sound, vibrated deep in his chest. Mine, the thought echoed, sharp and clear, cutting through the confusion. Not in the way he owned souls, like chattel or property, but in a far more complex, unsettling, and ultimately, more cherished way.

He wanted you to be his. Only his. A fierce, undeniable urge to claim settled deep within his demonic core. This quiet soul, who saw through his performative smiles and treated him with an unsettling normalcy, this unique individual who actually liked his dreadful dad jokes and understood his personal space – she was meant for him. This wasn't about deals or power plays; it was about an instinctive, consuming possessiveness that went beyond mere utility. He didn't like the feeling of being out of control, of being susceptible, but he wanted you to be solely and irrevocably his.

The jazz hum continued, a private melody for you alone as you slept soundly against his shoulder. Alastor remained perfectly still, grappling with the disorienting rush of his own thoughts – the confusing pull of not-love, the maddening insistence of mine. He savored this moment of inexplicable peace, yet the thought of staying perfectly still for the rest of the night, rooted in a library armchair, was simply not his style. A more practical, though no less possessive, urge began to stir.

With a soft, almost imperceptible huff of static, he moved. Not to wake you, never to wake you, but to shift his position. Gently, carefully, he scooped you into his arms, bridal style. Your head rested against his shoulder, your quiet breaths puffing against his microphone-like jaw. The contact was more direct now, your full weight in his arms, your form pressed softly against his suit. His smile, though still wide, held a new, unreadable quality. This was… heavier. More real. More yours.

He moved through the dimly lit corridors of the hotel with an unnatural grace, his usual click-clack of hooves silenced to mere whispers against the plush carpets. Not a single floorboard groaned under his weight, not a single shadow dared to twitch in his presence. His focus was entirely on you, his precious, sleeping burden. Other hotel residents, he was certain, were already deep in their own private chambers; no one would see such an uncharacteristic action from the Radio Demon.

He reached your room, the door clicking open with a silent twist of his will. The air was calm, smelling faintly of old books and something uniquely you. He crossed to your bed, its covers turned down as if awaiting your return. With utmost care, as if you were made of the most delicate glass, he settled you onto the mattress. Your head sank into the pillow, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

It was in that moment, as his hands still hovered over you, lingering for a fraction too long, that he froze. He had never been this close to you, not truly. Not without the barrier of your clothes, or the polite distance of a conversation, or the half-conscious awareness of your waking mind. Now, under the soft glow of a small lamp, your face was utterly vulnerable, exposed.

He found himself staring, utterly captivated. He saw the faint, almost invisible freckles dusting the bridge of your nose, the soft curve of your lips relaxed in sleep, the delicate flutter of your eyelids. Your beauty wasn't the flamboyant, attention-demanding kind he often encountered in Hell. It was quiet, subtle, an inherent grace that resonated with your calm spirit. He traced the line of your jaw with his eyes, taking in every minute detail. He felt a strange tightening in his chest, a sensation both unfamiliar and intensely compelling.

Then, a low, rasping chuckle escaped him, a sound filled with both self-derision and a perplexing delight. "Starting to stare, are we, Alastor?" his internal monologue sneered with mocking amusement. The realization of his unabashed examination, of this utterly unprofessional lapse in his usual detached observation, was both annoying and, somehow, deeply satisfying.

He pulled his hands away, though with a distinct reluctance. But before he fully retreated, his fingers, almost instinctively, reached out once more. He gently brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your forehead, tucking them behind your ear, his touch feather-light. His smile, still present, softened further, an almost wistful expression settling upon him.

He lingered for just another moment, absorbing your peaceful presence, imprinting the image of your sleeping face into his mind. Then, with a final, almost reluctant hum of static, he turned and dissolved into the shadows, leaving you to your dreams, and himself to the bewildering, conflicting, and utterly his feelings.

[alastorsart]

I can’t bear the fact he’s always so alone…But Niffty always saves the day 🥹🥰

[veryberrybad]

i can’t wait for more alastor and niffty scenes in season 2, their dynamic is precious!!!

also can’t wait to see niffty and baxter’s relationship !! and for alastor to become their number 1 hater

[elsa-fogen]

World Radio Day

YES IT'S FUCKING ANGST. NO I DIDN'T KISS THE BRICK BEFORE THROWING IT.

Also, reminding you about the difference between speech bubbles i make: square, colored text on black background - Alastor's voice with radio filter. Round, black/white text on colored background - normal voice.

Alastor doesn't know about world radio day because it was established in 2011

btw flower is camellia.

AUGHH FINE, FINE, I'M GOING TO MAKE A CONTINUATION, TO SOFTEN THIS A LITTLE BIT.

[artofelanor]

His little darling~

[thisisharmony07]

NARANCIAAAAA

[kakyoin-daily]

Fun Kak fact: in the game JoJo's bizzare adventure heritage for the future, kakyoin in the most broken character in the game being top tier and banned from tournaments.

The main reason comes from his moveset and combo potential being extremely overtuned where he excels at any range and having very little counter Play.

I love my son who has the power of nuclear bomb 🩷

[red-room-studi0]

NEW SCAM ALERT!!!

If you get mentioned under ANY blog that says they're Tumblr staff. DON'T FALL FOR IT!!!!!!

Reblogging this would help spread awareness to prevent ppl from getting their accounts hacked and such.

[miseryequation]

Just handed in my 32 page thesis, weee— I live. And to celebrate, I've brought you the Seraphim as dogs

🦴🍎🦷 (Bon appetit)

(not their final versions btw, might delete later)

[marcomie12]

Happy pride from The Seven‼️🏳️‍⚧️

Yazzy is a trans woman, jasper is nonbinary and intersex and Robb is a trans man😼

[what-in-hell-is-a-librarian]

Okay time for some rent-lowering gunshots.

• WHB is a gooner game. There are going to be sex scenes. That is the whole point of the game. It has plot too, but the plot is secondary. Gooner games have gooner content in them. Okay?

• MC is the main character of the gooner game. As such, they are going to be involved in the sex scenes. This is unavoidable, because the game was made specifically with the sex scenes as the focus.

• The alternative to MC enjoying it too much or being too shameless is for them to resist and dislike the sex they're having. They will be having sex with these demons either way, because that is the point of the game. If rape happens to be your preference, that's what the angel cards are for.

• If you don't want to see sexual content, perhaps do not download a gooner game.

• If you absolutely MUST have the game, you have the option to skip past dialogue without having to read it. There's also a button to skip the entire scene if you want.

• The game was created to show a wide variety of kinks. You will not like all of them. Some other people do. Some other people won't like your kinks either. The game will still have these kinks. These people will still have these kinks.

• The game devs do not know you. MC is not somehow based specifically and magically upon you, yourself, reading this post right now. They have never met you. MC is not literally you. You are playing from MC's pov.

• If the characters proportions are wrong, it's usually a pretty solid sign that the artist got the characters proportions wrong. Not everything is indicative of AI. This game has always had janky artwork. Look at the sprites. Look at Mammon. I went into hysterics the first time I saw him. Let's not act like the proportions in this game are flawless. I did not cry real tears of disbelief over his Mr-Potato-Head ass build just to see one of the few games still employing real artists fall to AI witch-hunt over imperfect artwork.

• Asmodeus is not evil or insufferable or abusive because he is a narcissist. He is insufferable and he is also a narcissist. You are being ableist. If the only time you bring up his narcissism is to talk about how bad of a person he is, you are ableist. You can dislike him without pinning all his wrongdoings to his narcissism.

• All of the characters are going to be a bit morally bankrupt. They are demons. We are in hell. It is not supposed to be healthy or a moral lesson, it is supposed to be a steamy fantasy. This is, again, the point of the game.

• If you want to see a change in the game or make a complaint about it, you need to email prettybusy. I cannot stress this enough. They are not going to be scrolling fandom tags. Wanting it hard enough will not make it happen. You have to collectively provide feedback. This goes for bugs, glitches, etc.

• WHB is a gacha game. Gacha games are addictive. It is gambling. Be responsible when you play. This is important.

• Tag your posts. As mentioned previously, this is a kink game. Not everyone will like the same kinks as you. Give other fans the option to filter out what they don't want to see.

• There is nothing stopping you from creating, drawing, writing and/or posting your own version of MC online if you don't like the canon MC. Same goes for literally every other character.

[catchymemes]

everyone: happy pride month 🌈

my brain at 12:00 am on june 1st:

[melverie]

PROJECT RURI TUNES

⸺ PART II: YOUR OCS' TIME TO SHINE ⸺

-> Part I: the Catwalk's New Collection

Denizens of the Devildom, step aside because the true stars of the event have arrived, and they are ready to steal the spotlight in all the three realms and beyond!

Aka an excuse for everyone to show off their OCs* <3 *OCs can include characters that are only mentioned in the games and have no offical appearance. Looking especially at you, Michael stans >:3 **Also thank you @shootingstarrfish for letting me use Sidra here <33

HOW THIS WORKS

draw your OC(s) in the Ruri Tunes art style

come up with one (or multiple!) battle lines for them and create the splash screen;

-> resources and templates for creating that will be provided a little later, so watch out for those

post your creation under #project ruri tunes and/or tag @devildom-fashion-week so it can be reblogged

feel free to add a little summary about your OC so people can learn about them!!

if you feel like it, there's also this little ask game you can attach to the post, hehe >:3

eye shines aren't part of the Ruri Tunes style. Add them anyway if you wanna. They're cute

If you need a few tips and tricks on how to draw in the Ruri Tunes style, here's a quick guide I made some time ago

Also, if you have any more questions or need some pointers, feel free to shoot me a DM or send an ask! I'm happy to give some pointers whenever I can

Happy showing of your OCs, everyone! <3

[daily-diego-seal]

day 642

[yli-is-not-near]

"I asked Chat GPT-" yeah well I asked the internet then got invited to a serial killer discord server and now i have to pretend i murder people even though im a fucking writer

[angelshizuka]

Marberry is a ship I never knew I needed in my life.