#Farmer Violence

[inamindfarfaraway]

So in the Bible, the first ever murder of a human was committed against a family member out of hatred and envy, and afterward the killer denied responsibility for it and asked, "Am I [the victim]'s keeper?" And in Hazbin Hotel, the first ever murder of an angel was committed to protect family members out of love, and afterward the killer denied responsibility for it to keep the family they were defending safe, calling themselves their "keeper". Hmm.

[propertyofwhitney67]

It’s halloweeeeeenie season!!

LIs as serial killers. What’s their preferred method of murder? Torture or no? Preferred weapon? Mask or no and, if so, what kind? Preference for Stealthy and precise or messy and brutal kills? Do they like to make a show out of their existence to the town by leaving traces of their crimes around, or do they keep hidden?

Bonus: reactions to a detective!PC on the case. Ex. Kidnap or no? Mess with or no? Fear/worry about or no?

Fuck! I forgot about this one

Whitney does it for fun and doesn't disguise himself, he uses his looks/charms to lead you away. He probably tortures and weapons vary with his mood. He likes it to be messy and brutal. He loves to leave the bodies in places people can find them.

Will mess with you and eventually kidnap you. He's not all that worried

Kylar just can't help himself and is a sneaky fuck who disguises himself. He doesn't torture but he is very brutal, lots of blood and gore. He uses his favorite knife and only that knife. Kylar tries his best to stay hidden but there are slip ups.

He doesn't mess with you and will kidnap you almost immediately. He's worried

Robin gets urges sometimes and has to kill. He disguises himself and probably drugs you or waits till you're along. He doesn't torture, he's mostly quick with it. That doesn't mean he doesn't take his time to savor it though. He usually strangles and doesn't leave the body out in the open, mostly in alleys or slightly hidden.

He doesn't mess with you and it takes him a little while to take you

P!Sydney needs to do this and goes the sacrifice route. He leads you away and is very precise, he drugs you so you don't fight back. It's a simple cut to the throat. He doesn't disguise himself, doesn't torture, and uses a sacrificial dagger. He keeps things hidden out god knows where in the woods.

Not worried and will take his time before taking you, you will be his final sacrifice

C!Sydney does it for fun really. He doesn't disguise himself and uses a variety of weapons, depends on how he wants the scene to look. He likes to make a big show out of it, the scene is always perfectly staged.

He loves to play with you and waits a while to take you. He's not worried

Alex goes to bars and offers people jobs then he brings them back to the farm where he kills them. He tortures from a day to a week, it depends on how he's feeling. He goes the dispose of them in the pig pen route.

He's a bit worried and keeps an eyes on the case. He will kidnap you if you get too close.

Avery uses his "charms" and looks to lull you into a false sense of security, then take you back to his place where he tortures you. He kills you after a few days, probably with a gun but I'm not sure. He keeps things hidden and easily gets rid of your body.

Has too much of an ego to be worried, he will kidnap you after a little bit and will torture you

Eden only kills people that wander off or out too far in the woods, it's a weird territorial thing but also a preying thing. Sometimes he plays with them, letting them go then chasing them back down. It depends on his mood if he'll torture or not. He of course uses his shot gun when he kills. He's messy and keeps things well hidden.

He's not worried, hell he doesn't even know till he goes out for supplies. He only takes you if you come looking for him in the woods.

[lesinquietes]

Bandit!All Smite is a hulking, muscular man. His biceps are the size of a human skull, and his physical force in combat is spoken of vastly across the land — he is wanted for murder, after all. Hearsay dictates that thick blonde tresses remain slicked back on his head at all times. He bears a sly grin that seldom falters. He can be identified from miles away, yet he’s confident he’ll never be caught. Factually, there isn’t a jailhouse in the country that can secure him. He’s been running rampant for decades.

When he isn’t spending time dodging the authorities he has a favourite bar. He doesn’t go there too often, but he steps in whenever he can. It’s a rundown little shithole, offering drinks that taste like piss and girls with smeared makeup. But it has something he’s had his evil eyes on for a while, now: a woman like you. He’s been lonely; to alleviate that ache, he’s willing to sacrifice a bit of hard earned cash and dignity.

You’re a harlot. He doesn’t know what circumstances brought this sorry life upon you, though it’s evident you’ve grown used to your profession. You do your work with a simper. Your pimp — the grimy bar owner — calls you and the rest of his flock ladies of the night. There are a host of rooms upstairs that customers can rent, provided they buy one of his fallen angels for the evening. Bandit!All Smite is happy to choose you every single time. The precise moment he laid eyes on you, he knew he was going to get hooked.

It’s good to see you, my beautiful girl… come here.

You’re incredibly obedient. He asks you to take everything slow. When you open your mouth wide, to pop the shell of his cock past your glossy lips, you do so at a gradual pace. It makes him harder when he finally feels your soft tongue against his shaft, hugging him with a passion that’s rooted in financial gain. He tips extra if you cause him to bust a nut more than three times in a night. You don’t fail to earn your dollars.

For months, he keeps biweekly contact with you. Nothing much changes, save for the pining in his chest when you’re absent. It’s strange; you’re nothing more than a whore, and still, he finds himself wanting you all to himself. He denies his attachment. He denies, and denies, and denies; until finally, his possessiveness is exemplified when he enters your establishment and asks for you. Your pimp says you’re entertaining another man. Worse yet, it’s the fucking sheriff. He laughs humorlessly.

You’ll be lucky if I don’t shoot you, too.

He kicks in the door of your bedroom and catches you, about to strip for the bastard waiting on your soiled mattress. Your bra is already in a mess at your heeled feet. The villain grits his teeth, ruled by a vicious form of jealousy. He doesn’t waste a second. He draws his pistol and shoots. The bullet makes contact with the officer’s forehead, puncturing through his brain. Blood covers your face and torso. A scream rips from your throat, as he yanks you into his grasp and flings you over his shoulder. You’re kicking and crying and cursing at him to let you go. He snickers in retort. You’re adorable when you’re upset. He’ll let your tantrum run its course for the time being. He knows how uncomfortable it is to be filthy with blood. He’ll ensure he gets you back to his hideout so you can shower, pronto.

Shhh… quiet down, sweetheart.

The other girls — your former colleagues — scurry around and stumble out of his path. No one tries to stop him from leaving the bar. Your pimp cowers in horror behind the counter, peeping over the taps to get a glimpse of the villain making off with one of his money makers. You were the hidden treasure of this cesspool of dirt. Bandit!All Smite is glad he found you before someone else could taint you.

He pats your bare ass as he carries you towards his horse. All you’re wearing is a skimpy bra and thong. He mounts the steed with some effort, keeping your exhausted figure secure. With a devious smirk, he shifts your panties to the side and dips two of his meaty fingers into your damp hole. You gasp and wriggle, complaining about his intrusion. Ah, pretending you’re scared of him when you’re truly wet and aroused — that’s a silly game he won’t tolerate from a grown woman.

He keeps his digits screwed inside you as he embarks on the lengthy excursion to his hideout. Every jerk and bump of the horse causes his fingers to rub and caress parts of you that make your cunt pulse. Your eyes roll back. This probably has something to do with that aphrodisiac your pimp slipped into your water this morning, in prep for a busy day of clients. He only told you afterwards, when you had no say in the matter; now, his exploitation is coming to back bite you. Regardless of the source of your arousal, it makes Bandit!All Smite pleased with the image of slamming you down on his bed and claiming you once and for all. His grin — dark and sinister in the twisted throes of his lust — noticeably widens.

Next l

𝔉𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔲

[legendsgalore]

Danger in the Deep

The farmer gets injured and collapses in the mine, who rescues them...? 6k words.

“Ah fuck fuck fuck.” You called out, too breathless to even shout, just a stream of consciousness falling from your lips at this point.

You twist in midair, trying to aim so you could come down with a sword stab on the attacking monsters, but you over judged the distance when you jumped and now are too far away. Instead you let yourself land on your feet, close to the edge of one of the water pools around you.

As you catch your balance, waving your arms a little to do so, you feel something hard *cRaCk* into your back and you gasp out in pain. It startles you enough that you topple forward and fall into the water.

“Fuc-” Splash! In you go. Instincts kick in and you fight for the surface, spluttering water as you push above.

But as you’re inhaling air, another *cRaCk* and you cry out in pain.

“Ahh! I swear, to whatever deity out there, Caldarus, or that ghost priestess lady, I will make you regret, ever, being, born!” A little breathy, but you hoped that the trio of iron ore covered rocks currently spitting more rocks at you got the idea.

They just spat more rocks at you and you dove to the side to avoid them, and hurriedly pulled yourself over the bank on the other side of the pool. You’re unsteady on your feet, barely any health left, and stumble once and nearly fall back into the water. On your feet now, you twist to dodge another rock barrage, and then turn back to look at the water, and eye the distance between the two banks.

With one nod to yourself, more for self reassurance, you hold your iron sword out to the side, run and leap over the distance. In midair you twist your shoulder to bring your sword over your head, and your other hand finds a grip on the weapon’s handle.

Just before you land in the middle of the three rocks, you release a battle cry and twist once more so that all your body weight and momentum is behind the sword, who’s point is facing downwards.

You land with an audible crunching noise into the ground, and the shockwave of force knocks all three iron rock monsters back, stunning them. Taking advantage of their momentary distraction you yank your sword out of the ground and start going to town on the nearest one.

It doesn’t even get a chance to recover from being stunned before its existence is forcibly removed by you, and you get to work on the second just as it finishes recovering.

You continue swiping your sword, even as the monster shoots another trio of rocks at you in defense, *cRaCk*, and your stubbornness wins out and it too, perishes.

Just as you catch your breath, something hard slams into your back *cRaCk* and your vision goes black for a moment in pain.

“Gah!” You can’t help but cry out, that hurt so bad.

Whirling around, you see the third monster you had somehow forgotten about. It was already gearing up to launch another barrage of rocks, those three pronged attacks that always hit you no matter how you dodged, thanks to your unfamiliarity with the pattern.

Forcing your feet to move, even when they feel so heavy like your boots were made of pure iron, you push forward and start attacking the last enemy. Once again you ignore dodging attacks in favor of just, killing it already!

You hack and swipe and stab your sword, ignoring the *cRaCk* *cRaCk* *cRaCk* as two attacks graze you, and on the third, you stab the rock into oblivion, but its last attack still nails you in the chest, causing you to stumble and fall. Your head hits the ground, and the rocks, hard.

“Ahgh!” You cry out in pain, again. You swore you might have heard something crack in you that time. Head injuries are no joke you know, but your head is so fuzzy that you can barely even think that.

You lie there for who knows how long, nausea washing up and away like the beach tide, as you breathe into the silence, wavering between holding back your whimpers and being unable to.

The Upper Mines were nothing compared to this. You were so unprepared, no armor, nothing. Three of those rock enemies who all take so many hits and just, keep, attacking.

Finally, your thoughts collect themselves enough that you realize you should probably sit up. The realization that you were so out of it that it didn’t even occur to you before scares you. You sway a lot, but you stay sitting up so you count it as a victory.

Tenderly you reach and push against your sternum where the last attack hit, and the pain is so intense it almost makes you black out.

It’s all you can do to remain sitting up for another stretch of time, but eventually your awareness comes back to you and you feel in control again. Even though you’re not pushing on your likely cracked sternum, your vision wavers and is fuzzy on the edges.

Looking around you, you note that the cavern you’re in is now empty, but the elevator is on the other side of that pool you crossed earlier.

You breathe out deeply, and wince at the fresh wave of pain that causes. Your whimper echoes in the cavern, and you shut your eyes tightly for a moment.

Gathering your willpower, you move your leaden feet again, feeling your leg muscles tremble as you stand up. Giving yourself a moment to adjust to the wave of black spots that rush your vision from the action, you eventually move to the edge of the water pool.

At the edge of the water, you debate internally whether to jump or swim, and you decide that you don’t want to risk being unable to climb back up the bank, so it’s jumping for you.

Pushing down your whimpers, you would shake your head if it didn’t hurt so much, and just force your body to move.

Taking a few steps back, you forcefully push your muscles into action, feeling strength course through your limps and pump out a few powerful steps before leaping over the water. You can’t help but smile in pride for yourself being able to do that much, and that all you need to do is head back down that hallway and then you’ll be right next to the elevator and will just be able to ride it up and out of the mines - until your vision just outright blacks out midair and your jump turns into a crashing leap.

You can’t even twist to try to land on your back, and your legs throb as you land badly, and then they go out from underneath you and you collapse in an awkward pile of limps and, again, your head hits the ground, hard.

____________________________________________________________________________

Balor is very casually leaned against the entrance of the Mines, holding a Snowdrop Anemone in his hand. He turns it over, examining the rare flora.

You had passed by him early this morning and had just simply handed him this very desirable flower. He didn’t understand you. You hadn’t put it in the shipping bin, you had apparently just found it and gave it to him because, he was there?

Your words had been “Just because you deserve it!” And that didn’t make things any clearer.

So here he was, back where he saw you that morning, pondering the meaning behind your actions. He was hoping to catch you as you came out of the Mines, no one in town had seen you since you went in and it was nearing dark, so you were bound to come out any moment.

All of a sudden, despite the summer weather, Balor felt a chill reach up his spine, as if something was permeating his body. It reached his head and before Balor could panic about the feeling he heard something on the breeze.

‘Help….mines….deepest…’

There was no way. But Balor felt that earlier chill seize his muscles and spurn him into action and before he knew it he was by the elevator inside the Mines.

“Hello! Are you there!!” Balor called out your name but there was no response.

Logic told him you should be fine, you had gone into the Mines literally everyday this past week, but that chill lingered in his bones and Balor couldn’t ignore it.

But he didn’t have a weapon and if you really were hurt, him being unarmed wouldn’t help the situation so he turned and ran out of the Mines. He needed to get a weapon.

His chest was heaving by the time he ran up to the Blacksmith’s, where he could see Olric helping March cool down the anvil and forge for the night, it was that late. They turned to look at him, and he watched as their curious but mild expressions immediately morphed into concern when they saw how hurried he was.

“Balor what’s-” Olric began but Balor spoke over him.

“Sell me a weapon now.”

March crossed his arms and frowned, stepping forward. “What for and why do you need it so desperately?”

Balor tolerated March’s prickliness because everyone knew how much he cared but the merchant felt frustration bubble up anyways, he had no time for that right now.

“The farmer is hurt in the mines and I need to go down and help her.”

The brothers’ eyes widened and they looked at each other. For a second no one said anything before they burst into action, Olric running inside shouting over his shoulder; “Gonna fetch the kit!” And March reached into the pile next to the still-cooling anvil and pulled out two swords.

His frown turns into a scowl and he thrusts the weapon at Balor, who takes it and turns to make his way to the Mines.

“Wait the fuck up, Olric is getting the first aid kit.” March calls out, his voice rough.

“Are you..coming?” Balor asks.

March scoffs, “Yeah of course we are. Olric literally worked down there he knows how to deal with all manners of problems. And I’m not just giving that to you, I want it back.”

The blacksmith nods at the weapon in Balor’s hands and he nods in return. Fair enough. But then…

“Why are you coming?”

March scowls even further somehow and holds up the sword in his hands. “Better two than one. Besides, I need to see what she’s gotten herself into this time and if she’s…”

The blacksmith’s face reddens and he makes a “tch” sound and looks to the door of the building. Balor narrows his eyes appraisingly at the redhead. Does he…?

Before the merchant can follow that train of thought Olric bursts out of the Blacksmith’s with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Sorry! It wasn’t where it was supposed to be!” The retired Mines worker calls out.

“It’s fine let’s just go!” March falls in step with his brother as they, without pause, begin running to the Mines and Balor startles and has to catch up to the two.

It’s dark out, enough that fireflies scatter away from the trio as they run to the Mines. Balor is now convinced something is wrong because you’re usually out of the Mines by this point and you always first stop by the Blacksmith’s to make some bars out of the ore you find.

Looking at March and Olric’s faces, Balor knows the same thoughts are racing through their heads.

Heading into the ground floor of the Mines, the men stop by the elevator, and the brothers turn to look at Balor.

“What floor is she on?” March demands.

Realizing that he didn’t know for sure, Balor pauses, before remembering the chill from earlier and that message he heard. “Help…mines…deepest…”

He grips his sword harder and tells them, “She’s on the lowest floor this goes.”

March nods, and turns to his brother, “You know how to work this right? Get us down there.”

Olric hefts his backpack onto his back and says, “All right! Let’s go then!” And is the first to step onto the elevator.

Balor and March join him, and Olric remembers how to lower them so they begin heading into the darkness.

Balor hasn’t been into the Mines before, was content to just let you go and get those precious gems and such for him, and the rickety, old, wooden elevator doesn’t make him feel any better about this trip.

He catches glimpses of floors every so often, every five according to the number counter on the elevator, and they look dreary and dusty, and there are definitely plenty of monsters on them. Balor swears internally.

He on some level knew the danger the Mines posed to you, but to be confronted with it like this almost makes him feel bad for just letting you go by yourself with nothing but a “Good luck!” call.

He would try to deny caring for you as he always does, but by this point he doesn't think he can really do that. You’re his…precious business partner after all. A valued supplier.

March doesn’t swear internally though, his voice isn’t loud enough to echo but it’s still a startling departure from the silence that had only been broken by the creaking of the elevator.

“Fuck. I didn’t realize there were this many monsters down here. Olric, is this typical?” The blacksmith looks to his brother, who shakes his head.

“No, they stayed away from us, ‘cause I think there were so many of us. And we all got given weapons by Errol so even if one did show up we could handle it as a group.”

March swears again, “So that means the monsters are worse thanks to the Mines getting shut down, and she’s been by herself, against multiple enemies. Fucking-I should have said something!”

The blacksmith’s hand is white-knuckled around his sword and he shakes it once, as if he wanted to hit a table to let out his frustration but hitting the rickety elevator is not an option.

The intensity of March’s upset takes Balor aback. Of course anyone would be worried about the new farmer that has captured the heart of the town, but March has also been quite standoffish to them. The merchant’s instincts fire up inside him, something is up here.

And once more, before Balor can follow that train of thought, Olric calls out to them.

“We’re here!” Just before the elevator jerks to a halt.

The stop is sudden enough that Balor has to catch his footing before he stumbles off the shaking platform. Olric is fine, used to it, and surprisingly, March is fine too, glaring into the blueish-toned darkness as if it personally offended him.

Before the elevator stops swaying, March has leapt off the platform and stomped into the darkness. Olric joins after waiting for the platform to stabilize more, and Balor takes a glance at the floor number before following suit.

Floor 35…

From the elevator it’s a long and narrow hallway, where March takes the lead, with Olric close behind him. Balor realizes that at some point, the charge for this rescue mission was taken from him by the blacksmith, and that further piques his instincts that something is up. But this isn’t the time to wonder.

The two brothers are at ease in the caverns, Olric of course being familiar with the Mines, though perhaps not this deep, and somehow March has a confident grip on his weapon. Though he could be masking his uncertainty. Not that Balor could say anything about being out of his depth here.

He’s used a sword of course, but he hasn’t faced any real danger in a long time, not since before the earthquake when he was doing more traveling. But, he thinks back to the Snowdrop Anemone in his pocket, he would do a lot to make sure that you were safe.

The thought scares him, it crept up on him. You did in fact, somehow, despite his efforts to keep people at an arm’s length away, you had wiggled into the small group of people he cared about (aka the town of Mistria).

Perhaps that was what March was thinking through right now too. Balor peers at the blacksmith’s expression, but it’s too dark and he’s too far ahead to get a good read on him. He turns instead to Olric, who looks determined and mildly perplexed?

“Did you ever go this deep?” He asks curiously.

Olric shakes his head. “No, I didn't even, uh, know the Mines went this deep. We only mined copper ore on the upper floors, but uh, I thought the Mines ended at floor 20? I remember there being a sealed door or something…”

He trails off and Balor and his brother turn to stare at him with a weirded-out expression.

“What do you mean they didn’t go this deep? The elevator goes this far at the least and she’s down here.” March demands.

Olric furrows his eyebrows, “Yeah but the elevator stopped on the floor with the door, it was broken and didn’t go further..”

He pauses, opens his mouth, and closes it, and they all turn to stare down the hallway at where the elevator was hidden in the darkness.

“You mean she’s the one who fixed the elevator?! How would she know how, how would she know how to do it safely?! Did Errol and Eiland not consider this?!” March’s voice gets louder as the sentence goes on.

Olric looks stricken, and Balor shakes his head and puts a hand on the blacksmith’s shoulder.

“We can ask these questions later, for now I see some light up ahead.” He points down the hallway and indeed, there is a faint blue glow illuminating a turn in the path.

Breathing out deeply, March turns to continue down the path, and Balor and Olric follow. As they get to the bend, March pauses, and then cries out.

“Fuck!”

And starts running, disappearing from sight.

Balor goes to call after the blacksmith, but then he sees what caused the redhead to run. You’re on the ground, unmoving, and there is a puddle of slime around you, caused by a slime monster that is currently on top of your unconscious body.

March is already there, swinging with the sword, knocking the slime monster off. It lands a few feet away, near the edge of the water and gurgles out some sort of cry. From the water, two more monsters come up.

“Balor!” March calls out, but Balor is already in action, stabbing forward with his sword at one of the creatures.

He trusts that Olric will protect you and focuses on getting rid of these creatures.

One of them jumps a surprisingly large distance and he twists minimally to the side enough to dodge it and slashes down with his blade as it lands, the extra force causing it to bounce on the ground.

As it lays stunned, Balor stabs it a number of times until its slime form melts into the surrounding puddles.

He turns to see March do a well-executed wide slash that hits both remaining slime monsters, one of them melting like Balor’s, and the other bouncing near him. Repeating his bait-and-attack strategy from earlier, the creature is dead within no time.

Looking back at you, your head and shoulders are now rested on Olric’s knees, the man having kneeled down on the cavern floor, and he is digging in his backpack for something. March is already by your side, holding his hand out to your wrist.

“She’s got a heart rate.” March breathes out, his shoulders releasing some of their tension.

Olric nods, “Yeah! That’s good, but, look at her ankle.” He has taken off one of your boots.

Balor gasps as he sees the swollen ankle. It’s nearly twice the size it should be, red splotches littering the skin, though, nothing seems to be poking out that shouldn’t be at the least.

“So you’re going to stabilize the ankle before we move her?” He asks Olric, who for all his general goofiness, is competent in field (mines) first aid.

Olric nods, but March cuts in, “Why isn’t she waking up if that’s the worst of it?” His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks like a mixture of about-to-cry and pissed-beyond-hell.

Olric frowns, his mouth tugging to one side as he laces back up your boots, but tighter, so that they help stabilize your ankle. “Well, we don’t know if that’s the worst of it.”

March pauses where he’s holding your wrist. “What do you mean.”

“What Olric isn’t saying is that she could be bleeding internally, or even that she hit her head when falling, plus who knows how long that slime was leeching off of her.” Balor supplies, folding his arms and holding his chin in his hands.

Olric nods “Yeah! So that’s why we need to move her as soon as I can be sure it won’t make her worse! We were always told to be careful of head injuries and anything puncturing the lungs on the inside!”

March blanches, and immediately sets his head on your sternum, with his ear pressed against it, between your breasts. Balor’s eyes widened at the blacksmith’s actions, but he sees Olric’s lack of reaction, and considers his instincts earlier. He comes to the conclusion that he is probably missing some information and also that in this situation someone was probably going to have to listen to your breathing anyways.

“It’s raspy, and almost bubbling, is that normal?” March’s voice is level, too level, and shaking.

Olric frowns, and Balor feels that chill from earlier return and settle on his shoulders, as if someone else was watching.

No one says anything for a second. March swears.

“Fuck okay we’re going.” He doesn’t say anything else and slides his hands under your unconscious form. He lifts you bridal-style, your head flopping into the nook between his shoulder and neck.

“Ah wait Olric said we shouldn’t move her until we’re sure-” Balor starts, but March cuts him off.

“I don’t care, her breathing shouldn’t sound like that and I’m not going to wait any longer to get her to Valen.”

He heads back down the hallway to the elevator, and Balor looks at Olric, who’s already started after his brother.

“You’re good with this?”

Olric shrugs as they follow March and you. “I only know basic first aid. I can’t tell anything else wrong with her, so I’m gonna follow March here.”

They are moving faster than when they came down the hallway, and make it to the elevator in no time. Wordlessly they pile on and Olric starts it up again. The ricketyness of the elevator feels worse now, feeling that every shake makes your condition worse.

March cradles your body close to his, head leaned down close to your face. He’s murmuring something Balor can’t make out. Despite carrying you for several minutes straight, March isn’t struggling in the slightest with the weight. His legs are bent so that his muscles take the brunt of the shaking, and he’s still holding you with ease.

Despite being muscled and curved from hard labor all day, you look so small curled up in the blacksmith’s arms, and Balor feels some ugly emotion curl up in his chest. He raises a hand to push on his chest with his knuckles where he feels it.

Your presence is such an enigma. You go about your day doing your own thing, but you always stop to do small talk, and often have gifts perfect for everyone out and about. Bees for Luc, handmade Lattes for Nora, an endless supply of Tulips for Adeline despite it being summer, and, gemstones for him of course.

Balor looks at the blacksmith, and wonders what you give him.

Olric is also looking at his brother, an indescribable emotion painting his face. He raises one hand and puts it on his brother’s shoulder.

“She’ll be fine March.”

“You can’t know that, her breathing…”

Olric’s hand is unmoving.

“She’s going to be fine.”

March looks up at his brother, his eyes shining. His eyes flick briefly to meet Balor’s, and then his face flushes and he looks down and to the side.

“...okay. I trust you.”

Swallowing hard, Balor looks to Olric, who is now looking at him. The older man smiles.

“I mean it, Balor. She’s going to be fine. She’s tough and Valen is a good doctor with good medicine!”

Balor feels his own face light up with heat and now it’s his turn to be looking anywhere besides Olric’s warm and confident gaze.

“Yeah, she will.” He agrees.

The rest of the ride is silent. And after reaching the ground floor, the trio head to the Clinic swiftly and wordlessly. It’s late at night, no one is out to see them and your injured state. Balor thinks you probably would want it that way.

Considering how you didn’t tell anyone the dangers of the Mines, just took them as they came, you probably wouldn’t want them to know.

He doesn’t know how he feels about that, but, looking at the two brothers, the merchant realizes that they had at least some idea of the dangers, but were like him and left mainly out of the loop. That ugly feeling seems to root itself further into his chest. He massages the area again.

Valen is, of course, not in the clinic when they walk in. No one locks their doors at night, which Balor thinks is so painfully Mistria.

March yells out when they come in, “VALEN! WE NEED YOU, IT’S AN EMERGENCY!”

There’s a thud and a yelp from upstairs, and after a minute where the only thing Balor can hear is the sound of his elevated heart-rate, Valen appears from up the stairs, clad in a tank top and comfortable pants.

“March did you burn yoursel-Oh no.” Valen’s demeanor transforms once she sees the state of you in March’s arms, going from annoyed into Doctor Mode.

“Lay her down here please.” She instructs March, gesturing to a bed in the corner.

He seems to hesitate, unwilling to let you out of his arms, but after a moment he concedes, setting you down with an amount of tenderness that, before tonight, Balor would never expect to see from the blacksmith.

Valen immediately sets to work, bringing out tools to examine your state.

“Anything I should know about?”

Olric helpfully supplies, “She’s been unconscious for as long as we have found her, her ankle is messed up, I used her boot to try to secure it, and March said her breathing was raspy and bubbling when he listened!”

Valen pauses, “Her breathing? And in the position you found her, do you think it’s likely she hit her head?”

March nods leaning against the window, in what would be a casual pose if every line of his body wasn’t screaming with tension.

“Yes.”

Valen listens to your chest with her stethoscope. She looks up quickly at Olric and Balor feels the chill weigh heavier at the steel in her expression.

“Go get Juniper, Olric.”

Without question Olric runs out of the clinic. Valen continues examining you, carefully undoing the tight laces on the boot.

“Why Juniper?” Balor asks.

“She makes a lot of my tonics.” Is all Valen gives him, and the clinic falls back into silence.

Olric comes back, not quite slamming the door open, and an irate Juniper is right behind him.

“This better be important Valen beca-Oh my!” She stops in the middle of the room once she sees you, unconscious on the bed. She looks at Balor, then at March, and at Valen.

Her demeanor hardens. “What do you need?”

Valen nods “I’ll need some of that potion you tested last week, and a strong Restorative Syrup.”

Juniper frowns, “The syrup is fine, but the potion is barely tested.”

“If it works it’ll be the best thing we can give her, as all of her injuries are internal and I can’t fix those easily. She also has a bad concussion.”

Juniper wrinkles her nose but turns and heads out the clinic without argument, she calls out, “Olric come help me!” And off they go.

A beat of silence and March asks, “What are those going to do?”

Valen looks at him, as if she is mildly piqued they are still here, but tells him, “The Restorative Syrup will stimulate her natural healing to work faster, which is good in case there are any broken bones.”

Balor asks “Why not a full Healing Syrup then?”

“Because it works so fast it may heal the bones wrong.” Valen rebukes patiently.

Balor blanches, and feels the chill from earlier curl tighter around his spine.

“What about that other potion, Juniper didn’t seem confident about it.” March quizzes Valen.

But the doctor doesn’t look bothered by his tone, and just responds, “Juniper is just a perfectionist. The potion is fine, and it’s one that should boost our farmer’s natural healing factor. The Restorative Syrup only makes her healing work faster, what would take a week will take two hours, but this new potion will boost it, so that it will take only an hour.”

That’s…kind of incredible said out loud. Why has he not realized Juniper was sitting on a landmine of cash with those products here?

“But I still need to set the splint so that her ankle heals properly, and she’ll be quite unstable for a few days. No farming for sure, and definitely no wandering around for her. She’s going to need to stay in bed.”

Valen stops talking there, and Balor tilts his head, waiting for her to say more, before he realizes she’s looking between him and March. March looks like he’s in the same boat, his frown small and quirked to the side, eyebrows raised.

Valen raises her own eyebrow, and drawls out the question, “Well? Which one of you two boys is going to make sure she stays in bed? She has animals to feed and crops to tend, someone is going to have to do it for her.”

Balor meets March’s dark-colored eyes, and as he opens his mouth March is faster, saying,

“I’ll do it.”

“You have the forge, and orders to do.” The ugly feeling from earlier nestles next to the chill.

“Olric can handle them for a few days, and it’s not like I’ll be down there all day. You have to go to the neighboring city for a supply trip tomorrow, remember?”

Frowning, Balor realizes March is right. He does need to go get more supplies. Looking to Valen, who, if he didn’t know any better, would say has an amused smirk on her face, the merchant sighs.

“You’re right. March will watch her.” The last part was directed to the doctor, who merely “hmms” in response, focused on wrapping your foot.

The silence feels heavier somehow, March is looking at him strangely. Balor can feel the younger man’s inquisitive stare, but just continues looking at your unconscious face. You look so peaceful. Maybe he can leave some books on your doorstep so you’re not bored while you recover.

Juniper and Olric come back through into the clinic just then. The bathkeeper strides across the room and hands Valen two bottles. She has a self-satisfied expression on her face.

“These are good.”

Valen looks into her purple eyes and holds them for a second. Then nods.

“I know, thank you. I’ll pay you later for them, at a more reasonable hour.”

Juniper seems taken aback, and even though she is standing over Valen it’s like the doctor’s presence is looming over the younger woman.

“W-well, that is..you don’t need to. Just keeping our local farmer alive after all. No payment needed, the…renown is good enough.” She’s visibly flustered, and Balor can see faint traces of amusement in the doctor’s stoney expression.

“I’m going back to bed if that’s all you need?” Juniper looks back at Valen, and given a nod, does so.

The three men watch as Valen examines the tonics, then shifts you so you’re sitting upright with one of her steady hands behind your head. She first administers a purple one, and then a familiar green one down your throat.

Everyone stares at you for a few minutes.

Balor startles as Valen calmly reaches for her stethoscope and listens to your breathing once more. March’s eyes follow her every movement.

The doctor nods once, her expression smoothing out.

“She’ll be fine. Her breathing is clearing up.”

Balor breathed out heavily, feeling the ever-present chill finally fade away. Olric and March similarly look relieved, the former smiling, and the latter’s eyebrows having unfurrowed.

“Thanks doctor! That’s a relief!” Olric says, giving Valen a pat on the back.

She raises an eyebrow at him, but is also smiling. “You did a good job with the laces on the boot. Smarter than trying to do a splint.”

Olric looks bashful, “Ahh well, you know! It’s Errol’s doing with his first aid stuff he used to teach us!”

He looks at his younger brother, who’s still staring at you. Olric’s expression melts slightly, and Balor can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he then says,

“March I’m heading back first. I’ll set something out for you so you eat, okay?”

“..’kay.”

“Thanks doc, thanks Balor! Good night!” Balor blinks at being addressed, still in a daze of relief, mutters a goodbye, and Olric heads out, the door swinging shut behind him.

Valen addresses him and March at the same time as she says, “I will also be heading back to bed. If you remain in the clinic, be quiet, please.”

She turns to head back upstairs but March calls out, looking panicked at the thought of the doctor leaving, “Wait! Are you just going to leave her here? It’s only been a few minutes since the potions were administered!”

The older woman meets March’s heated expression. “She’ll be fine, March, I guarantee it.”

They stare at each other, before March nods. Valen smiles at him reassuringly, and the blacksmith blushes and looks down at you.

Valen turns and heads back up the stairs. Balor stares after her, licks his dry lips, and looks back at March. The blacksmith has already taken Valen’s place in the chair next to you, and the most tender-yet-conflicted expression Balor has seen is painted on his face.

His fist finds its way to his sternum again, Balor frowns at the feeling. The panic is over, can this feeling in his chest just go away please?

March reaches out, and pushes one of the locks of your hair off your face, curling it around your ear. Okay.

“I’m going to get going too, March.”

Balor waits for a response, and then turns to leave after a beat of silence. Just as he touches the door handle he hears behind him.

“Thanks, Balor.”

He meets March’s eyes. “For what.”

Something flickers over the blacksmith’s face, but he responds, “For getting someone, us, to help. For helping.”

Balor felt like he was more of an observer than anything this whole time, but he just accepts the thanks.

“It’s nothing March, just…gotta take care of one of my key suppliers, right?”

It sounds weak to him, and he doesn’t meet the blacksmith’s prying gaze.

“I’m heading out early in the morning, so I will be gone before she wakes. Take care of her for me, okay?”

Balor forces himself to smile and wink at March, who just stares at him with a neutral frown.

The night air is cool, and calming after the events. It’s different from the chill that had gripped him all night.

As Balor heads down to the inn, he ponders setting some Tesserae on the counter and just grabbing one of the beers to help him go to sleep.

[fungus-no69]

hope lovecraft is rolling in his grave as I write this. I hope more people write about eldritch horrors being gay and shit. lovecraftian gay sex… (i do not write smut)

Context: it is a beautiful day in rapechestershire and you are a horrible monstrosity

Content: Body horror I guess, reader is a little petty (deserved), dol typical bullying, brief and non graphic gore in Kylar’s, mentioned animal death in Remy’s (you are Eating The Cows), some spoilers for Ivory Wraith’s lore

Remembering to oxidise your body is a burden, making your heart beat is a chore, remembering to move the rest of your vessel with your expressions is tiring. What do animals even need these rigid pieces of flesh for?

…though you quickly realised the value of muscles when your meat began to droop around your faux bones which is something you’re fairly certain does not happen to mortals.

Of course, you can’t maintain a full rest while above water in this fashion. You’ve come to learn that humans do not particularly enjoy a mass of greasy limbs, mottled flesh and gunky mucus spread on the floor. 'Sleeping' is nice though, as limited as your opportunities are. Humans are fickle creatures and that also applies to their sleeping habits.

Nonetheless. You need to practise your human-form-making skills. And what better way to learn about appearing more human than to attend the industry of learning itself?

Whitney:

Why this blonde mortal took an interest in you? You're not sure.

One day they were there and they never left

They’re always poking at your vessel. Rude…

Thanks to them and their lackeys you had to learn how to fake falling over when punched because apparently it’s strange to just stand there and take a hit without flinching.

They know somethings wrong with you but they can’t put their finger on it, this leads to even more bullying

Most of their harassment is about how you look and act apart from the straight up sexual assault.

They once saw you slip up on your transformation because it was a particularly irritating day and you briefly reintroduced your habit of scaring off others by posturing.

Not your finest moment, I say. They passed out because your mutilated structure was too much for their poor human mind to handle.

Thankfully you can help them forget the incident or write it off as some weird drug induced hallucination. (by distracting them with something inconvenient when they wake up. Like an ice cube in their mouth. Or a cut to their gums.)

You can’t let something like that happen again

Sydney:

You don't know why they're looking at you weirdly. You have the correct amount of teeth this time. You checked.

They help you out when people ask you stupid questions like 'are you a ventriloquist?' 'how can you bend that far?' and 'hey where'd your elbows go?'

It’s always awkward to dismiss yourself during those encounters, considering your ‘schoolmates’ don’t tend to let things go and are rather fixated on following their more malicious instincts towards you than letting you leave. So Sydney’s help is appreciated.

You leave little gifts for them in the library. A book you found in the lake and dried, the foot of a rabbit (humans find that lucky right?), little shiny objects you discover while walking around.

You’re far from weak or incapable but Sydney’s interventions make keeping up the act more bearable.

Over time they find that they become enamoured with you and that’s terrifying to them. One, because they’ve never felt like this before and two, Jordan seems to disapprove of you in some way? They don’t explain why but they warn Sydney about you. Which raises some issues which you don't completely understand for all of your infinite (old) wisdom.

As they become more corrupted, they get a bit more pushy with their ‘subtle’ questions about you- thankfully they never nag for too long.

You fear that Sydney, loyal and kind Sydney, will leave you when they find your true nature. That they will find you repulsive like many before them.

Thus, you will hide your true nature from them. No matter how often they ask or the fact that they know something is off- you can never let them confirm those suspicions.

Kylar:

You see the way the shadows loom over this mortal- they are more connected to the other worlds than they realise.

This draws you to them in a way, having someone who is more connected to your home than everyone around you. And them to you, though you suspect this may have happened regardless of your identity.

Kylar is another anomaly in a sea of others who look different but are fundamentally indiscernible. If you were to cut open a human and pry open their ribcage, you would find the same thing in each one. But not yours. And perhaps not Kylar’s.

They seem to feel a strange compulsion to protect you. You’ve seen this type of behaviour with Sydney and maybe Whitney to an extent, but never to the intensity that a knife was procured.

You understand that the utensil is sharp but you're a little bit confused to why the students run away when they see it? Stabbing someone requires strength and you're fairly certain Kylar is not very strong.

Surprisingly, they were the first one to ask about why you speak the way you do. When asked what they meant they told you that you speak in a very formal manner. Your expression must have made a change in some way because they quickly apologise profusely for offending you. It doesn't.

If you sulk about it a little then that's nobody's business other than your own.

Harper:

You get sent to the asylum for your silly behaviour (crimes and general strangeness that does not pass for mentally healthy) and Harper tries to gaslight you "there are no tentacles they aren't real" explain this.

You don’t have a firm grasp on human behaviour yet, especially when it comes to being polite but c'mon. Even you know this guy is a weirdo.

They will inevitably learn about your true nature regardless of how hard you conceal it.

Hypnotism doesn’t work on you, your blood is too dark and thin to resemble a human’s, sometimes you forget to make your heart beat etc.

They’re not as freaked out as you thought they’d be but they do want to run some tests on you

You say no thank you because even if it’s just for ‘personal research’ you don’t want your inhumanity on record (and Harper’s a creep)

They attempt to blackmail you in a sense but you stand strong on your opinion. Who would they tell and even then, who would believe them? And then there’s the fact that there is no human nor invention that can contain or incapacitate you.

You may meet them on your vacation to Remy’s farm, they’re initially confused to see you there but just as easily accept it. As much as they want to understand you- you’re not exactly human, so they don’t expect you to act by the rules of humans.

It would almost be nice if they didn’t finish their little spiel by dragging you to a stage. Stares make your epidermis feel like there’s little bugs underneath it and you feel the urge to peel it off to escape the unpleasant sensation. You don’t, because that would reveal you.

You end your holiday by trashing their office.

Remy:

You originally came across their farm because you were hungry. Remy, of course, noticed the dwindling population of their cows and went to investigate. Lo and behold- they found you.

They don’t know for sure if you’re involved in the missing cows but they suspect you’ve stolen them or something. Not that you ate them.

You allow yourself to be captured, you could annihilate these puny humans if you wanted to but something tells you this place will grant you rest and food.

The fact they stole your clothes was mildly irritating but you can easily get some when you return 'home'. What do humans call it? The five finger discount? You're not sure what having five fingers has to do with saving currency but you appreciate it regardless.

You don’t develop transformations. You lack the biology to do so, but seeing other cattle develop their features tips you off to the fact you’re supposed to be gaining ears and such so you try to replicate them…

The farmhand who opens your stable in the morning almost shits their pants

You don’t try again after that.

Remy is wondering why their cattle are STILL disappearing.

Ivory Wraith:

They are much similar to yourself, tethered to this mortal realm through an object. Though their emotions are a bit more… uncontrollable than yours.

But perhaps that came with being human. Formerly, you suppose. Not that you would know what it’s like to be human.

They know your existence is eternal, will last for much longer than their own given their own circumstances.

Inevitably, they belong to this world and you do not.

Nonetheless you understand each other to a point, with both of you being non human and somewhat incorporeal.

They vaguely recognise you from long ago, a painting or two within the temple depicting a monster. They had never really examined it, being too unsettled to do so.

They also remember that during the schism, they felt the presence of something much larger than themself. They suspect it may be you, though they’re not certain.

No matter, you're here now.

…

It is the first time you have felt desire for something other than rest in centuries.

You have never been one to want. You do not experience emotion as deeply as mortals (or former mortals) do, somehow simultaneously deeper but so shallowly. You do not feel affection, and even if you have, it has surely been so long since then that you have forgotten. And yet…

You think this strange feeling in your fleshy midsection is the closest to love you can get.

[ladder-ghost]

They’re in love I promise

[crimeronan]

there are literally incalculable meta posts i could make about the silt verses (it’s one of those stories where i have thoughts about Every Damn Line) but tonight i’m thinking about how..... DELICIOUSLY it sets up and then subverts your worldbuilding expectations.

if you haven’t listened yet. consider this mini essay my pitch. (or rather one of many pitches.)

because you start with this narrative episode about two members of an outlawed religion seeking other members of their faith, and they’re both compelling and sympathetic and layered narrators, but also. one is describing a childhood built on drowning and torturing people to death and the other is delighted by sacrificial corpses and horrific apparitions of eldritch nonsense and you’re like, “okay, yeah, this is a horror podcast. i can pretty damn well see why your religion is outlawed jesus FUCK you guys how is there THIS MUCH MURDER involved in your religious rites-”

and one of the narrators tells you that society is hypocritical because the legal religions Also cause harm. and if you’re anything like me, you go okay, girl, whatever you need to tell yourself to justify your current crusade. your god is a special kind of fucked up but it’s all good

then of course there are hints of social worldbuilding that challenge this assumption, but it’s not until paige’s introduction ep that you’re smacked Full In The Face with like. All Of It. 

because paige is a law-abiding citizen high up on the corporate food chain, and she works a mundane job at a branding company. 

and the company’s margins are bad. 

and the company’s industry is shrinking. 

and the company needs to cut costs and reinvigorate its own brand. 

and of course this is a difficult time for everyone but flexibility is necessary to stay competitive in a cutthroat world.

and now the company is torturing its low-performing employees to death in front of everyone as a corporate ritual. viscerally described. 

and paige, who JUST watched her closest work friend die in the most horrific way imaginable, is playing her part as someone high up on the corporate food chain.

she is being upbeat and being cheerful and encouraging her surviving coworkers to “look lively” and pretending that nothing happened. 

and not a single person protests. and no one shrieks in horror and everyone shifts back into their worksona and the day passes without any particular note because this is a social norm and layoff-sacrifices are too commonplace to report and it is legal and it is accepted and it is a good way to boost the flagging numbers for the giant capitalist machine.

and you have this realization that. 

this Really Is how the world is. 

there really ISN’T anything separating the outlaw narrators’ rituals from those of the corporate and city-based gods.

and then the follow-up question becomes, “wait, then why is THEIR god banned?? if it’s not the murder and the horror then why is their god banned???? what’s the fucking difference????”

and the answer is that their outlawed god draws people away from the cities and the factories and the oil rigs and the pollution and the mineshafts. and their outlawed god does not contribute anything to the state. 

and it’s not about what people worship or what the gods want or what the rituals require or what the hallowed bodies look like.

it’s just about how The State (TM) and Capitalism (TM) are both systems that have weaponized the law to kill every god that doesn’t contribute to their money and power and exploitation and culture and control.

and then it’s.... it’s not about the horror anymore.

it’s not a story of two deeply flawed protagonists from a sick and twisted cult who are reasonably forced into the shadows of a largely normal world because They Are In A Horror Story, And Are Doing What Horror Protagonists Do (Being Fucking Crazy).

it’s a story about our world. the one we live in. we the listener. here in our modern-ass non-supernatural late-stage-capitalism world. it’s about all the structures we’ve built and burned and all the destruction at the center of that goddamn world.

the eldritch gods and terrors are just set dressing.

[digenerate-trash]

Bailey loaning you to Remy cause he thinks it'll help him get over his feelings but then demanding you beck and discovering that Remy has branded you.

Bailey and Remy should fight until one of them dies. That's just my personal opinion

AMAB Bailey | AMAB Remy | GN PC

Bailey doesn't know how he got into this situation and he thinks that Remy is equally as surprised but it doesn't stop him from punching Remy again this time splattering the barn fence in his blood. Bailey shakes out his fist a bit his face twisted in a snarl

"It's been two days! You couldn't control yourself for Two fucking days?!" Bailey shouts as he stands over Remy.

Remy swipes his sleeve over his broken nose attempting to stop the bleeding. "You said it was mine! I figured that meant I could keep it!"

"So you branded them?! You touched my ward with a hot iron?!" Bailey was gearing up to punch Remy again but he backed up moving out of Bailey's range.

"You gave me a defective product. It's how we deal with the animals." Remy explains. "Plus you've never wanted one back before. Why does this one matter?"

Bailey seethes with anger as he looks at Remy but he can't let this asshole know why he cares. He can't hope to explain that for days Bailey hadn't been able to eat, sleep, work, or jerk off without you around. He's been so consistent with his reputation. He has to think of a lie. Something good.

"I sold them to Briar."

Bad lie. Remy would be able to figure that out. It's not like they never talked.

"Tell that asshole I got to them first!" Remy shouts "And if this is just a matter of money you don't have to punch me- Jesus Bailey."

Bailey growls a bit before he shoves Remy aside grabbing you by the new cowbell around your neck and dragging you from the pen.

Remy looks pissed but doesn't make a move to stop Bailey as he drags you over to the car and shoves you into the passenger side.

"I'm gonna take this shit up with Briar! You can't let him poach my stuff anymore Bailey!" Remy shouts before he wipes up the remaining blood from his face and turns back to the barn.

Bailey ignores him getting back into his car his knuckles turn white as he grips the wheel. He's made a mess that he'll have to clean up later. But at least you're back k where you belong.

The brand on your thigh will have to be treated And covered up. But Bailey decides the cowbell can stay…

[vilochkaaa]

‼️//tw, cw: blood, vile descriptions(??)‼️

...

...

yep, Willow is silly and cute, buuut..

once in Skull Cavern, when all food were running low, he had to resort to devouring the raw meat of the first monster he saw

imagine - you're walking through the deserted dark corridors of the cavern, and you come upon a lean and deathly pale torso shaking over the carcass of a huge serpent, and seeing the light, he turns around, and you see Willow, who is like a ravenous mad animal, tearing out bloody chunks of flesh, swallowing it hungrily and painfully. his pupil trembles and reflexively narrows from the sharp beam of the flashlight, and he stares at you fearfully, holding a torn piece of meat with blood still dripping down it..

[ant1quarian]

Thinking about my story, "Bone-a-fied Criminals"

It's only got one chapter so far but these guys are so goofy silly.

Dust, who is forced to wear a magic-nullifier way above the grade he should be getting because if he did wear the one he was legally given, he would still be able to use magic.

Killer, whose a gremlin and keeps finding ways to escape the prison, annoying the guards to no end. But they never find out how, and he never leaves. He can't without Dust and Farmer.

Farmer, who by far has committed the most murders and morally scuffed things, but gets off incredibly easy because 1) they couldn't find all of the bodies, and 2) he's still a likable guy. They suspect he's killed more than the 15 people recorded (as in, up in the hundreds) but they couldn't find the proof. Him getting sloppy is the only reason he got caught.

These guys are so silly I swear.

[gins-stim-emporium]

49 - red marker stimboard !

tomatoes / toilet / angry cat

slime / 😡 / fluffy slime

punching tv / patrick / bayberries

[ratcandy]

random tangent here but god i wish there was more stuff of the npcs in general. in both the fandom and in game

they are in fact my Favorite part of the game ever i love them so much more than the main cast of the game. EVEN if they are interesting and whatnot, and have cool lore, i love the npcs so much.

one of my favorites ive stated before was helob. and there isnt enough fan content for him. i love that walking talking red flag of a spider, he's great. like i know he just sort of exists to sell you followers and thats it but STILL. look at him. he's so,, unnerving in his dialogue and mannerisms and i love that. spooky man-eating spider y'know.

and theres even less for the others too. like look at rakshasa, HE'S RAINBOW. i love his sort of no-nonsense expression he has. we got forneus!! cat mom! of course she gets a little more attention because of her sons but still. not enough to satisfy. i also wish there was more of monch, i think monch is cool. i like moths. theres barely anything about monch. big sad. and plimbo is a really goofy character, i like his mother-in-law jokes.

i love their designs and the small snippets of dialogue we have for them, they are so funky and colorful and weird.

I KNOW It. Drives me bonkers. But the problem is that. With canon touching on them so barely, fandom has little to go off of. Especially in the case of someone like Monch, who I ALSO really like, because Monch has exactly TWO lines of dialogue !! and he's such a random chance encounter I didn't even know he existed until I was well through the game!!

and IT SUCKS!!!! BECAUSE I ALSO REALLY LIKE THE NPCS!!!!! There's so much character in what little we DO get, and it just leaves me longing for more interactions that the devs are denying me. And that subsequently fandom is also denying me, because (and reasonably enough) fandom is too focused on the Lamb and the Bishops.

I realize I am saying this immediately after Kallamar posting but LOOK, I can appreciate both the Main Guys and the NPCs sdhgKSDJGH

But honestly even in cases like Sozo, an NPC who gets a lot more content than the others, fandom do be neglecting him too. Not nearly to the extent of ones like Monch or Rakshasa of course, but I am sTARVING OVER HERE.

If devs aren't giving us the npc content we crave why don't We start doing that more. C'mon guys. Pleas.

Anyway I think Rakshasa and Helob should interact they're literally in the same room across from each other for the entire game and say nothing about each other. I want them to have a standoff because they've just had to stare at each other from across the way for ages and say nothing while Helob's gaze is Incredibly Unsettling and Rakshasa's just like. 👁_👁 try me bitch

ALSO I WAS JUST LOOKING IN THE WIKI TO CHEKC SOMETHIN GI DIDN'T KNOW RAKSHASA FUCKING ATTACKS YOU IF YOU HIT HIS WIFE?!?!? HELP??????? he's like I don't give a fuck if you're a cult leader you come after my wife you're DONE FOR!!!!!

[lesinquietes]

Bandit!All Smite is possessive. Interestingly, that doesn't stop him from making you dance for profit. After all, what can he do to earn a consistent income — go and work a modest job? He's done too much. He's too recognizable. If they apprehend him, he'll probably be executed for his crimes. Due to his decisions, the only cash he can get is from robbing any poor rich bastard he comes across on the open road... or mercenary work. But he can't do much of the latter without leaving you alone for an extended period of time, can he? You're not trained enough for his liking yet. Maybe in a few months, when you've accepted your new lifestyle. For now, you'll have to be the breadwinner of this family.

The blonde hulk watches you strip from a bra and panty down to your naked flesh, baring it for everyone to see. He can tell you're embarrassed. It widens his picturesque grin to see you squirm. Your job is simple, no? Flaunt your natural assets and collect money from entranced patrons. Not a soul touches you but him; that's why he's always present. The last occasion in which someone tried to violate that rule, they had their arm snapped in three places. Genuinely, they're fortunate he didn't kill them. You pleaded for him to stop, just as he was about to break their neck. You’re the only person he’s willing to heed.

Happy wife, happy life, right?

Heh.

He pockets all of your income from dancing. He calls it your expense for being such a princess. If by princess he means a normal woman who was kidnapped from her workplace to be the personal sex slave of a criminal, then he's correct. You still haven't come around.

He uses the evenings after your performances to vent out his frustration. Although he denies it, you can tell he’s jealous. In a perfect world, no one would lay their filthy eyes on your beautiful body. Implicitly, he fucks you roughly because he needs to show you — and himself — that you’re his. It’s the same fever he used after he brought you back to his base, after killing your client and kidnapping you the first time. The imprint he left on your form was emotional as much as was physical.

Miraculously, he never cums inside you. He’s careful with his seed. He says he doesn’t want to get you pregnant. That’s one thing you’re grateful about in this twisted arrangement — he doesn’t want kids. If that ever changes, you're in a load more trouble. But right now, without a baby weighing you down, the stage is set for you to escape when the opportunity arises. And it will arise. He can't stay on the run forever; especially not with you in tow.

Someone's bound to notice eventually.

Previous l

𝔉𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔲

[obsessiveagony2point0]

⚠️ - Trigger Warnings

[ under the "Keep Reading" line is the rest of the fictlet that contains bruises, cuts, blood, and implied r*ape as well as a drawing of cow!Hob beaten]

Original Post Date: February 26th 2024

Twitter/X•AO3•Pillowfort •Linktree•Bluesky•Ko-fi

"Inhumane"

Dream’s blue eyes widened in surprise and horror. “You were…stolen?”

Hob nodded, ears low and honey brown eyes trained on the hay scattered ground. 

“How…? When?”

“It was about 7 or 8 years ago now.” Hob replied, not looking up at the pale man beside him. “It was late at night and I heard the barn door creak and woke up immediately to see 4 men heading towards my mother’s stall.” His ears flattened tight against his head. “I could smell that none of those men were the farmer or any of his sons and bellowed loudly at them, trying to get them away from her.” His long tail flicked against his calves. “I didn’t know they had cattle prods and sedatives…”

The cow sighed. “The next thing I know…I’m waking up in a livestock trailer with 4 other cows, heavy chains around my wrists, ankles, and neck.” He brought a hand up and rubbed his neck as if he could still feel the weight. “The other cows told me they had heard we were heading to some fighting farm, which didn’t make sense to me at the time. We were all dairy cows, not bulls. We didn’t fight unless we were protecting ourselves.”

Hob clenched his fists tight, his knuckles turning white. “Which is exactly what we had to do.”

He finally looked Dream in the eye, his normally bright, happy brown eyes now dark and haunted. “We were used for sick, twisted entertainment. They would throw us into a ring with 4 bulls that  had been given…something. Something that made them irritated and…sexually driven.”

Dream swallowed, his stomach twisting into a knot. “Hob….”

“We fought our hardest…” Hob whispered, his voice hoarse. “We ran and dodged and fought…but it never mattered. It was a game made so that we would always lose. Whether by being beaten, by death, or…or by being forced to mate.” 

That knot in Dream’s stomach turned acidic. “You…you were…”

Hob cast his eyes back to the ground and nodded. “I was in that hell for about 2 or 3 years. I know it had to have been about that long because they would come file down my horns every 4 months so I couldn’t actually stab the bulls and they did that about 8 or 9 times.”

“How…did you get out of there?”

“I had just been put back into the darkness after…after my time in the ring.” Hob replied, taking in a shaky breath. “My wrists and ankles had been tied with rope so I couldn’t move much and I would be weaker in the ring. I was trying to get some sleep when the door suddenly flew open and light hit me and I cried out, terrified it was already somehow time for me to go back in with the bulls.”

He closed his eyes. “I never went back to that ring after that. People had come to arrest and shut down what was happening and take us cows and the bulls away. We were finally safe…” Hob sighed. “After that…we all went to a rescue farm to recover and heal.” He smiled crookedly at Dream. “And that’s where you found me. I’d been at Johanna’s rescue farm for 4 years when you saw me and bought me.”

Dream was silent, but his eyes showed fury and pain and sadness. “How are you still so kind and gentle…” Dream asked when he found his voice again. “After all that…how…?”

Hob couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. “I’m not that kind and gentle and you know it. I still get triggered…still have flashes of those memories that take over everything and cause me to lash out.”

“I know, and I do not blame you for lashing out.” Dream replied, eyeing the old, white scars on the cows arms. “But despite that you are still so…trusting of humans. I would have expected you to have been wary of me that first day…but you were not.”

“Because I know not all humans are like the ones that took me.” Hob responded, gazing warmly at Dream. “There are humans like the old farmer who took care of me and my mother, humans like the ones who rescued us from that farm, humans like Johanna who treated my wounds and just let me heal and find myself again.” Hob leaned in, pressing his forehead against Dream’s shoulder. “And there’s humans like you. I knew the moment I saw you that I could trust you…”

Dream cleared his throat, his cheeks dusted with a faint blush as he pushed Hob’s head away. “One can not know they trust someone by a single glance.”

“I did.” Hob smiled, angling his head so he could nuzzle into Dream’s palm. “And you knew from that “single glance” that I would be a good boy for you.”

Dream’s faint blush turned into a bright crimson and Hob’s tail flicked happily at the sight.

Uncropped Version

[rotzaprachim]

a wild flavor of tumblr user is a certain kind of white American self id’d leftist or commie who reblogs and posts things about I just think all liberals and centrists should DIE (*guillotine* meme) and then posts things needing to be nicer to demographics that vote 80% Republican and are very systemically involved in the structural and practical oppression of people of color and the whole US hegemony like brooo I get having a seriously messy relationship with your own cultural background but who are you talking about? Guillotining everyone at mawmaw’s thanksgiving?

[men-need-more-wings]

Poor Baby America

Honestly the more I learn about America the less bad I feel for the colonists. When I was younger I was like aye, this is bullshit about the revolution. But now as a history major I’m like yeah screw Britain but like can we talk about how freedom is right except if you’re a non white or not a male or don’t own property. And your taxes were less than the British?