"when's the last time you tasted blood?"
Punz to Sapnap
“the fucking—what?” sapnap’s voice pitches with his words, eyebrows raising up and off his damn forehead from how high they seem to stretch. he sputters, too, blinking several times as magma pockets fool in his irises—smoothing back into the polished blackstone of how his eyes looked when he isn’t startled out of his mind. the fire demon snorts, thankful he’s tucked somewhere near the wall of punz’s house and not sitting on one of the couches. he’d learned that lesson well enough at this point. “what the fuck did you just ask me?”
it isn’t an angry question—no is he particularly bothered by it. it isn’t uncommon for punz to inquire weird things about his demon blood, and how it works for him in particular. they’d once had a two hour conversation on if he could eat melted metal before, stopped only by the proven fact that he could, in fact, eat metal. not that he’d tell anyone that. last thing he wanted was to be called a fucking goat or something. did they even eat metal?
“dude,” sapnap continues, scratching at the base of his forehead beneath a tall, curved horn. “I don’t think I’ve ever even tasted blood? like, I don’t know. da—bad, bad says I should avoid shit like that. in case I get all weird about it.”








