Not sure if you've done him before. But can we get some headcannons for Oni and a small s/o can be nsfw if you want
Kazan my beloved <3 NSFW under da cut hehe
Kazan “ The Oni” Yamaoka w/ a Small! S/O
To be fair, almost anyone (and everyone) is quite small compared to this giant of a man. He towers over most, his shoulders broad and chest puffed out, a distinguished presence bleeding into any environment he is. His size demands others to respect him, and if not that, then to fear him.
As such, when you come along and you’re even smaller than the average person, the height difference between the two of you is downright ridiculous. On a good day, you come up to his waist, and that’s when he’s leaning forward slightly, possibly in an attempt to hear you better. The two of you make for an odd sight, not that anyone would ever say that aloud (not if they valued their tongue).
To piggyback off this, any area you enter with him in tow immediately feels different. Had it been just you, most others would treat you normally, and perhaps a few unpleasant ones would treat you not so well, given your height in relation to theirs. Yet, once Kazan begins to trail behind you wherever, this behavior ceases immediately. It’s almost equivalent to having a large, scary guard dog with you, and you sometimes wonder why no one seems to draw closer to you anymore, oblivious to the brooding, imposing man just over your shoulder.
BONUS - (NSFW Drabble)
Kazan presses harder into you, your legs practically pressing against the side of your head, a high-pitched whine escaping through your teeth. In this position, the size difference is impossible to ignore, as the hand wrapped around your calf practically engulfs all of the flesh there, nails digging slightly into the skin.
Outside of this, Kazan doesn’t think too deeply on your smallness; if anything, it’s a annoyance, as things are harder to reach, and most of the time, he’s kneeling next to you just to understand you, hands pressing into his shoulder as you step on your tippy toes to whisper into his ear.
Yet now, as his cock slides in and out of you, the outline of it pressing against your tummy to create a visible (and impossible to ignore) bulge, Kazan revels in the difference, your cries only spurring him on.
actually, the comment is semi true. if plants wanted to absorb as much light as possible, they would be black. as it happens, because of the color of the sun, and make up of our air, plants optimized to green so that they would absorb mostly blue and red tones. :) so yes, they are green because of the color of our sun and sky- just not mixed literally like pigments as the post implies
But it’s not the color of our sky it’s the fact that it’s carbon dioxide and it’s not mixing blue with yellow it’s reflecting green bc it doesn’t absorb green tldr my problem w it was the mixing like pigments part
Prophet is most happy in the arms of a loved one, whether that be them in one of their lovers arms, or a cared for friend, or holding one of their children,,, a small smile will grace their face, even if it hurts the scar over their lips,,,
basically transmed is believing that being transgender is a mental illness, do not consider nb genders as real, only consider western culture viewpoint of gender as the only viewpoint of gender, and heavily reinforces you need to be transition fully to be considered your gender.
Hello! Firstly I love your writing! I’m not too sure how you feel about angst but I wanted to at least throw it out there. Deathslinger, Oni, David king and the nurse being spat back out to where the entity took originally took them, with their S/O nowhere to be seen.
(Squidward Voice) We love angst here, sir.
Escaping the Realms…Without You.
Caleb “The Deathslinger” Quinn
The darkness fades and Caleb’s in his cell, the bars now rusted over, the reddish color coating along what once was silver. He jolts upwards, pain shooting up his leg as he stumbles to his feet, turning around wildly as he takes in his surroundings. It couldn’t have been anywhere else, as the dust below the man is kicked upwards, and he sneezes, bewildered. He strains his ears, eyes, all of his senses, yet the stillness of the prison persists, the building quieter than ever.
Caleb doesn’t know how, doesn’t know why, but the Entity isn’t here, the telltale humming of its enormity long gone from the surrounding area, and it is with this that he realizes he’s back at Hellshire, back where he had been taken. He turns to his side, starts to say something when he stops, his gaze locked onto the air at his shoulder.
Your ever-constant presence isn’t there, isn’t with him, and Caleb panics. He tears through the Penitentiary, tears through each and every cell, each and every room, calling out your name desperately, pleadingly. With each passing moment of silence, he grows more restless, more frantic, and he has turned every room, every nook and cranny upside down when he falls against a bench, his harpoon gun clattering against the floor as he holds his head in his hands, strands of platinum blonde brushing past his shoulders, framing his face like a dimming halo.
You’re not here. Caleb digs his nails into his eyes, into his skin. You’re still there, still stuck.
He’s lost you, and there was no getting back. A lonesome crow caws from above as the man wails, his cries echoing throughout the abandoned halls of Hellshire.
Kazan “The Oni” Yamaoka
It only takes a moment for Kazan to realize he’s somewhere else, somewhere familiar. He rises from his knees, snow crunching beneath him as he surveys the surrounding area. A stone mill looms behind him, forgotten, and he remembers, remembers the farmers. Remembers the pain, the wounds upon wounds they inflicted upon him. How he died on the stone floor, and how he awoke in the Realms.
Kazan spares the mill a passing glance before he turns his attention towards the sleeping town ahead, its streets long abandoned. Had you been at the mill, he would have known, and as such, he surmises that you must be in the town (because, where else could you have been?).
As the demon nears the street, something foreign settles into his stomach and he pauses, the feeling creeping upwards. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to, and he moves forward again, watching the buildings with practiced eyes. You’re going to jump out at him, going to leap upon his back to frighten him. It’s not going to work (it never does), and he continues to brace himself as he continues.
Yet, as he nears the end of the street, Kazan’s strange feeling crawls into his throat, his eyes glazing over behind the mask. He stops at the end, his silhouette alone against the snowfall, and it is then that Kazan realizes he is afraid. You’re not here, you’re not going to jump out at him and into his arms, not going to cling to him as you both make your way home.
Kazan stands still, stands rigid, and the snow continues to fall.
David King
Something hard presses into David’s back and with a groan he opens his eyes, raising a hand to block the incoming light from completely blinding him. Once his eyes have fully adjusted, he looks upwards, the beam from the street lamp a stark contrast against the black night sky. It takes a few seconds, and David’s eyes are closing again, his mind already planning for the next trial ahead–
The street lamp wobbles slightly as David lunges upwards, his fists wrapped tight around the pole as he looks at the object in awe, in disbelief. Surely this is a trick; surely, this is a new realm the Entity has created.
And yet, nothing happens; no killer stalks around the corner, no generators in sight, and no hooks. A strangled sob chokes itself out as David grins, wild and unashamed, as the familiar setting finally clicks, finally settles in. He relishes the moment before dread settles in, before fear crawls upwards.
Something is horribly wrong, and a deep set ache spreads, seeping into the very tips of his fingers.
Where are you? David turns to and fro, analyzing the surrounding area. You’re nowhere to be seen. Bile rises, a wild, primal emotion kicking in as he grows desperate, tearing apart bushes as he searches.
Where are you? Someone rests a hand, someone familiar, yet David can’t see, can’t hear, and the hand grips him tightly, faint cries of his name reaching his ears as he thrashes, animalistic.
The dread finally sinks its claws in, and David’s question is answered. You’re still there, without him. And he’s here, without you.
Something in him snaps and a gross, awful sound tears from his throat as he falls downwards, onto his knees. The hand reaches again and alarmed, David bites hard, spit and blood mixing as screams split the air, both his and someone familiar.
He has to get back. He has to go get you. He can’t do this without you.
Sally “The Nurse” Smithson
Sally blinks her eyes open, a strange, alien floor beneath her as she stirs, rising onto her side. The cold floor of an ambulance greets her finger tips, the steel hard and unforgiving, and she wonders how she fell asleep here, so far from her own realm. Yet, the trees from outside tell a different story, as these are tall and imposing, much like the ones close to her old work.
The realization comes slowly, dream-like, and a sadness washes over the nurse, her form small in the long-abandoned vehicle. She remains there a moment before crawling out, her feet pressing onto the forest floor as she stands. She startles, sinking herself further into the ground as she realizes she is standing, not floating. Elation runs its course and she hops around, digging the soles of her feet into the earth below. Yet, once her joy has sobered, something rises in her, something wrong.
Sally turns around, facing the overturned ambulance. She treads slowly, cautiously, and she presses the palms of her hands against the metal, peeking her head into the vehicle. There is no life, not a sound, and fear leaps up her throat as she rips herself away, her movement erratic and distraught as she howls, your name tearing from her as she begs, cries.
You don’t respond. How could you? You can’t even hear her, Sally realizes. Shivering, the nurse collapses to her knees, her arms wrapped around herself as she weeps.
First, Andrew. And now you. She can almost hear the Entity laughing, a deep, faint chortle far away as she wails, alone again.
Henlo it is I, the bitch who requested the killer s/o with a tragic past a while ago- if requests are still open(I think they are), I was hoping to request a third one with Pyramid Head, Eddie(I know he's not from dbd but shhh), Huntress, and David?
everyone salute them right this instant, we've got a legend here fellas 🫡
Killer! S/O with a Tragic Past III
Pyramid Head | The Executioner
Pyramid Head is strange, off putting; something more akin to that of an animal than of a man. As such, many expect him to be almost dumb, blind to the wide spectrum of human emotion. How could he, one who carries out pain, carries out torture ever understand that another may ache?
And yet, who here would understand suffering more than him? This pain is familiar to Pyramid Head; one could say that he is intimate with it both in theory, and in practice. It’s a feeling he has come to know the entirety of his existence, both back at Silent Hill, and here in the Realms; and here, with you, this suffering encapsulating your very being.
A long, pitiful groan reverberates from the inside of his helmet, a high pitch cascading upwards as you lean against him, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. The skin is rough, torn, but it doesn’t matter - the warmth of it seeps into you. Silence surrounds the two of you, the hallways of Midwich Elementary School long empty, devoid of any real, authentic life.
Eddie Gluskin | The Groom
Eddie is extravagant, flamboyant; whatever is inherently, deeply wrong with him, he covers up through presentation, through love. If he were to dwell on what actually happened, on what they did to him, why, he wouldn’t have any time to dote upon you!
Eddie doesn’t cope, doesn’t think about this pain; to him, it simply was a bad dream, a nightmare from some horrible, alternate reality. He dwells in fantasy, in that of a perfect home life, with the perfect ‘Leave it to Beaver’ family. The truth is far, far too ugly, too tragic to come to terms with. As such, upon learning of your upbringing, your suffering is hard for him to swallow; hard for him to understand.
“Darling,” Eddie’s words are sugar, honeyed, his hands splayed across your back. “I can’t stand to see you in such agony. Tell me who I must deal with.” An involuntary shiver crawls up the length of your spine; it’s impossible for him to make, to fulfill this promise. And yet, a little fantasy never hurt anyone, right? You relay the names dutifully, a wide, cruel smile splitting the Groom’s lips.
Anna | The Huntress
Anna, at her very core, is a protector, a trait she had inherited from her own mother, who, in turn, inherited from her mother, and so on. An animalistic, primal instinct to care for her own runs deep within the Huntress; if you were to suffer, surely so would she.
This almost telepathic empathy extends to both physical as well as mental pain; broken bones, nightmares, cracked skulls, memories - Anna knows and feels it all. No matter how small, no matter how unimportant, she will know it, and will always, always leap to protect you, come what may.
A deep set shudder courses along your body, your eyes fluttering shut as you fold into yourself, the painful pop! and flashes of a memory exploding behind your eyelids, the scene unavoidable, and all too familiar. And yet, something warm, something strong surrounds you, a solid surface curling over you, pressing against your back. The memory continues, but Anna shields you from the outside world, and should you will it, from the Entity itself.
David King
Pain is something David is more than familiar with; whether it be the sting of a cut lip, the ugly swelling of a broken nose, or even the fractured shards of memories within his mind, David goes to bed with suffering, with ache more often than not.
Although, despite this intimacy, David is detached, unavailable in terms of emotions, of feelings. He doesn’t like to deal with it, doesn’t like to dwell upon it; would rather shove it down, down so deep that such weakness could never hope to show its face ‘round him ever again. But that’s for him; as for you, it’s still rough, awkward almost, but he tries.
David clenches his jaw as he sways above you, your head hung and fingers gripping tight against your scalp. Nothing is said; the silence is stubbornness on everyone’s part - you, not wanting to show weakness, and him, not knowing what to do. It persists a few moments longer before David slides down next to you, his hand hesitating above your shoulder before it finally falls, a tight squeeze to the skin there. Despite the lack of words, despite the awkwardness, it’s enough that he’s there.
