#cw animal sacrifice

[tarabyte3]

🍁🕯️🎃 Happy Halfoween! 🎃🕯️🍁

To celebrate it being both halfway to my favorite day of the year AND National Poetry Month, here is my last poetry post: Horror Edition!

(Please mind the content warning tags! Also there are more collages below the cut to really get you in the mood)

The Harvest

When the night falls

and the harvest comes

we huddle in our beds,

covers pulled tight

to our trembling chins,

and wait. Every creak

or moan of wood

catches our breath.

A struggle for silence. A hope

our blood-soaked offerings

and fires were enough

to satiate their endless

ancient hunger.

Our rituals used to be joyous

occasions of mead and meat

and congregation,

before the things came

and then by morning light

we found splintered doors,

gore splattered beds,

and trails of ichor

winding into the forest.

In those first few years

we dared not look out

our curtains for fear

of catching their eye,

but some saw upright shadows

pass their windows

with a shambling gait

and spindly limbs.

Not beasts, but worse

than men. No weapons,

no charm or barricade,

no prayers to God

could save our souls,

and we dreaded the dying

light—their coming.

We left the pigs out first,

tied to posts in the town square,

huddled and confused.

It helped. Lessened the hunt,

but didn't end it.

Not by half.

Then we tried the cows

as well, and still we heard

the screams and pleas

and grinding growls.

We had no choice

except to choose.

The harvesters were coming

and it was better to prepare,

to know how the night

would go than to leave

our loved to slaughter. A mercy

to die by the blade

before the tearing started.

Our rituals now are solemn,

lotteries and funerals,

towering pyres, sacrifice

and chanting to appease

these old gods of the long dark

and death. We are our own

shepherds and farmers,

our own flock and crops,

and so we must tend our own.

Every night I awaken—

before dawn with the notion

that I am not alone.

There is a shadow with me.

Its eyes peek from

a dark corner crack,

beckoning with a wispy

curl of a finger.

Yet it is not temptation

I feel, but terror,

bone itching

and bile roiling

with a ringing in my ears

like the scream

of a tea kettle

This blackness creeps

ever closer.

Yesterday it brushed

the fringe of my rug.

Tonight it's reached

my curtains.

I know it hunts me,

ever patient,

to blanket me in nothing.

I would run,

you see,

If I didn't know

this shroud is a distraction.

A dare to rouse me

to my feet.

For in my full length mirror

by the hall door,

fading in the moonlight,

I see the face under my bed

and how it smiles.

Not a Tree

There is a branch outside

my window where no tree

grows. Yet its twig fingers

scrape and probe the screen

for a weakness,

an opening

to pry ajar

like an oyster.

Inside I am meat.

I am prey

to this ash, this bark

crusted limb

that covets skin—

seeks to know

my bare limbed flesh

and crush my bones.

It creaks. It yearns, aches,

to slip its muddied roots

throughout my ribcage,

twine its way between

my fingers and toes.

To feel how I writhe

beneath it as my

sinews decompose.

It cannot help

but consume me

to feel alive and grow

from my absence.

It must be a tree

that knocks, that sways

palm shaped shadows

upon my bedroom wall.

What else can reach

a second story window?

That is not the question

that lashes through my mind,

but rather: did I remember

to turn the lock?

[cicicolorao]

I AM CRINGE BUT I AM FREE I AM CRINGE BUT I AM FREE

BEHOLD, WHEN YOU LISTEN TO AN OLD ASS VOCALOID SONG ON LOOP! Ya gotta mix it in with your hyperfixation

This took me days :)))

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

Round 5 (main finals): Chara Dreemurr (Undertale) vs. Amane Momose (MILGRAM)

Propaganda below the cut

Chara Dreemurr (?):

They were constantly blamed for killing all of monster kind in the no mercy route, despite players choosing to go that route. People ignored that they sacrificed themselves to attempt to free the monsters from the underground.

----

everyone wants to blame their own actions (genocide route) on chara, who is a literal child. i don’t know how to tell you this but you are the one playing the game. it’s about YOUR CHOICES. chara is there is punish you for that, you killed the only family that ever loved them! how could they not be upset at that! also if you don’t mind, here’s a good video essay on the subject 

Amane Momose (12):

Amane was voted guilty in the first trial so that she would acknowledge her guilt. It backfired, and now she’s considered a threat. Well, everyone is a threat, but nobody’s threat level has been as heavily discussed and debated as hers. Consider the next prisoner in line, Mikoto. He’s objectively more dangerous and cannot be restrained. He beat up the guard in trial 1, and he was able to hold his own when the other guilty prisoners were attacked. But a good incentive to forgive him is so that he will calm down. You know what? That’s a good incentive to forgive Amane too! But she *can* be restrained, so a good portion of the discussion went into how she should be voted guilty so she *will* be restrained and not a threat. Since her vote was a near 50/50, of course a good chunk of the voters expressed dissatisfaction with her forgiven verdict. Some are already planning to vote her guilty for trial 3, calling her a “lost cause”. She hasn’t even done any concrete harm yet. Hold the pitchforks until she actually causes harm, please? And what if she *was* voted guilty in trial 2? We’ve been warned that she will continue to deny our judgement. A second guilty verdict won’t make her better either, and then what? She’d be called a “lost cause” as well. There is no winning with her.

----

Where do I even start? So first of all she’s an cult child who was physically and mentally abused and tortured by her parents and then (presumably) murdered her mother after her mother killed a cat that she took care of.

Now everyone in Milgram is a murderer but when Amane came and her MV showed her murder and circumstance in an admittedly highly fictionalized depiction of it the audience decided to…repeat the cycle of abuse!

She was voted guilty for the main reason of “teaching her” and helping her “realize that she was abused.” I would like to note that this tough love approach is something her parents utilized against her. “We are only doing this to help you.”

So the audience replicates Amane’s abusers and repeats the cycle of abuse and that’s pretty shitty but it isn’t exactly “Fuck Em Kids” level.

And then Trial 2 happened. Cause Amane is bitter and angry and horrifically traumatized so she acts aggressive and hostile. Especially towards another prisoner.

Now, again, everyone here is a fucking murderer (of atleast could be constructed as one) These people being able to Harm is a core concept of this series.

Yet for some reason it feels like people treat Amane as a “delusional creepy kid who wants to kill people” which completly takes away the nuance of her character. She does have the capacity to harm! Everyone here does! She’s not Uniquly Dangerous! She just has a Reason to be Dangerous. A Reason we GAVE HER by REPEATING THE CYCLE OF ABUSE.

In short: In a series full of Murderers I’m honestly a bit pissed that the 12 year old abuse victim is the one who’s treated like the guy from American Pyscho.

----

TL;DR: "We metavoted this abused, indoctrinated child guilty in trial 1, but it didn't work. Now she is a threat to three grown adults: one who is fully free and two whom she has been shown to get along with. Please metavote her guilty again so she will be restrained and unable to attack them, even though that means subjecting her to further psychological torture." Amane Momose is the youngest of ten murderers, prisoners of Milgram who are to be judged innocent (forgiven) or guilty (unforgiven). In the first interrogation (voice drama), she said that what she did was in line with her religion's doctrines. If we judged her the "wrong way", she said she will just deny the verdict. Combining the voice drama and music video, you could piece together that she was raised in a cult and abused, even though she is cheerful and downplays her pain. She never shows *who* she killed, only *why* she did. After the first day of her vote, she was 81% innocent, but this wouldn't last the whole three months. Many people voted her guilty so she would "see her sins", part of the practice commonly known as "metavoting". Her innocent percentage rapidly decreased, and she hit guilty in the last 15 days, finishing at 51% guilty. At the end of the first trial, Jackalope (who is something like a host) went over all the prisoners' verdicts and commented on the general reasoning. When he got to Amane, he *laughed* at the audience for voting that way to make her realize her sins. Trial 2 rolled around, and it was revealed that Amane's victim was her abuser. On day one, she was at 74% innocent. Seems like a cut-and-dry case now, right? Well... in the intermission, two of the prisoners (Fuuta and Mahiru) were badly beaten up and became reliant on the care of Shidou, a doctor. Amane became hostile to Shidou because what he was doing was against her beliefs. She visited all three of them on their birthdays to convince them to change their ways. She seems to be especially close to Fuuta, who is now murmuring about salvation. Guilty prisoners are psychologically tortured, forced to listen to voices that reject their beliefs. Fuuta and Mahiru both say that the mental strain is worse than their physical injuries. But Amane, who also looks worse for wear, was thrown under the bus because she isn't injured and is considered a physical threat to them (never mind that she gets along with them). She's considered a threat to Shidou, a grown man who is twice her size and fully free, while she is partially restricted by the long sleeves in her trial 2 uniform. She might indoctrinate Fuuta even though, in a prison of ten people and one guard, she's the only voice of her cult. Fortunately, she got a break. Her vote was falling at a similar rate to the first trial. But this time, it stabilized at 51% innocent, 12 days before the end of her vote. But there's no way this is over.

[quiche-draws]

Now if Christ is preached, that He has been raised from the dead, how do some among you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, not even Christ has been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is vain, your faith also is vain. Moreover we are even found to be false witnesses of God, because we testified against God that He raised Christ, whom He did not raise, if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If we have hoped in Christ in this life only, we are of all men most to be pitied. But now Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who are asleep. For since by a man came death, by a man also came the resurrection of the dead. - 1 Corinthians 15:12-21 (NASB)

Have a hardcore Resurrection Sunday, everyone!

Bible Project: Resurrection of Jesus https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vb24Lk1Oh5M

[veneror]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 : 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 by 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐍

↪ lyric starter for @xluciifer ( currently : accepting )

THERE  IS  A  BOY  IN  HIS  MIND  that lived ages ago  ;  he is constructed of bruised legs and bare feet and calloused, bleeding palms, a cocophany of childish color.  in  another  life,  those young hands would not have been stained with blood that was not his own.  the  CULT  he once remembered acted as a fog around his childhood memories.  all that he remembered was stained in a thick layer of dark  /   that goddamn forest was so intent on ruining every moment he could possibly remember. 

(  you still hear the hymms in your sleep at night, after all of these years have passed and you have not sung praises to your lord in a millennia’s time. you remember the last time you heard the choir.  [  𝐆𝐎𝐃  𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒  𝐘𝐎𝐔,  𝐁𝐔𝐓  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄  𝐘𝐎𝐔.  ]   when you skinned your knee at twelve you were patched up by father terrance, and you remembered his voice from the way he told you  HE WOULD  HEAL  YOUR  SIN.   you remember birthdays surrounded by desolate forest.  you are the founder’s son, and god will forever love you like his own, as long as you stay quiet.  )

BUT  YOU  REMEMBER  HIM   /   HE  DOES  NOT  APPEAR  STAINED  IN  YOUR  MEMORY  /  THE UNTAINTED ARCHANGEL !

the memory plays in vox’s mind like a rerun.  (  blonde haired loverboy with a sharp - toothed grin and six ethereal wings.  he is summoned at the slaughter of the sacrificial lamb given to you by your father, the lamb you were meant to drag into the outskirts of the commune and smear its blood across the trees.  [  but you hadn’t, had you?  ]   you were nineteen and you were  EXHAUSTED  and when you pulled open its body you  CRIED.  do you remember it?  you had blood on your hands and you sank your teeth into your lip to stifle the sounds only the forest might hear.  and when he appeared it was as if your life had ended and begun.  )

;     he says :  you must be the one who summoned me. what is it you’re asking ? a favor ? wanna sell your soul to the big guy himself ? ;     he says :  what, did you not expect it to work ? you’ve got the lamb and everything. ;     he says :  what’s your name, anyway? ;     you say :  james.    ( and your voice shakes as you say it, like you’re not certain if it’s the truth. )

of  course  vox  remembers  him.  it would be foolish not to. he’s there at the gala at the pride ring, and despite being  SURROUNDED  by high - class sinners of pride, bodies decorated in the finest silks, speaking of their accomplishments and their plans for the upcoming decade,  VOX  CAN  ONLY  GLANCE  OVER  AT  THE  KING  OF  HELL  HIMSELF.  he looks the same, just touched  by  time.  worn around the edges  ⸺  once  ETHEREAL  EYES  now stained with dark circles. how much had changed between them that neither of them had the time to speak of?  

(   but  he  is  still  the  man  you  thought  of  when  you  washed  the  lamb’s  blood  off  your  hands.  he is still the boy you thought of while silently and tearfully confessing to a sky that felt empty to you at the time. was lucifer not always known as the harbinger of sin and temptation?  what had you expected?  you keep picking at a wound you won’t let heal.  [  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄  ��𝐓  𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐒,  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒  𝐈𝐓  𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐒.  ]   )

vox’s claws sink into the wood of the bar beside him as the two’s eyes meet. they dig heavy into the material, four lines of nostalgia. a part of him almost hoped he wasn’t recognized. he’d rather leave his life in the dirt of a desolate woods.   [   𝐈  𝐂𝐀𝐍  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐆𝐎  𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊  𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄.  ]    but he cannot stop himself from staring, from catching glances across a sea of sinners, eyeing lucifer in an almost suspicious manner. in a horrible, horrible world, lucifer would know exactly what had crossed vox’s young mind every single time he smeared blood over a summoning circle days after the first unknowing ritual.  YOU  WEREN’T  SUPPOSED  TO  LOOK  FORWARD  TO  SEEING  THE  ONE  WHO  DAMNED  ETERNITY  TO  SIN.

;          𝐍𝐎  𝐎𝐍𝐄  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄  𝐌𝐄  /  𝐒𝐎  𝐈  𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓  𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃  /  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐈  𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏  𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆.

(  and the king is just as beautiful as he had been the first night vox had ever summoned him. and the feeling of acknowledging that feels like a dagger burrowing itself into the bottom of his stomach. to love was his original sin.  )

[aplaceinthedark]

CONSUMED by the DARK

(a TOWERING MAN story)

Word Count: 2.9k+

CW: supernatural themes, religious sacrifice, body horror, animal cruelty, being buried alive

Pain. Fear. That’s all Noah could feel right now.

He clutched at his side, trying to staunch the blood flowing from the stab wound. Whatever cultists that stabbed him had thankfully not stabbed him deep enough. They had been aiming for the heart, but he twisted just in time.

“Noooo-ahhh!”

He whimpered at the sound of his name being called. He couldn't tell what direction it had come from. Whatever freaks they had out here were searching for him, and they were using his loved ones' voices. Some of them he hadn’t heard in years. Those he could care less about, but when he heard his best friends’ voice, crying out in pain for him, he wanted to curl up and wait until they found him, finishing him off for good.

That's when Noah stumbled face first into another tree, adding more blood to his body. He had entered the woods with a flashlight, but it was gone now. He was stumbling blindly, with no moon to guide him. Why did the gods decide to coincide the summer solstice with the new moon? Whose great idea was that?

Where was the end? How far into the woods was he?

“Noooo-AAAHH!”

God, they had to be close. He could barely run anymore. His fingers were ice cold despite the warm blood slipping between them. His foot caught a loose root, and he fell face down in the dirt. His cry of pain surely would alert them to his location.

Indeed, a low glow lit up the back of his eyelids as he lifted his head. Through bleary eyes, he could make out the dull red glow. Except it wasn’t a cultist standing before him.

Its pelt was black; blacker than the darkness surrounding the two. Noah was certain he would’ve been able to track it in complete darkness. The dull red glow, though, lit up the hollow, and he could see that it came from its antlers. He couldn’t count how many points the stag had, mainly because they seemed to twist and turn in on themselves. Like oak branches, he thought. 

Noah could only imagine what he looked like: covered in blood and dirt, leaves and sticks caught in his shoulder- length hair as well as his clothes. Despite the circumstances, he felt like he wasn’t worthy to be caught in the thing's presence. The stag dug at the ground with one of its massive hooves. Noah was tall, but this beast had to be more than twice his size.

Before Noah could contemplate any further, it spoke, not aloud, but in his mind:

CHILD OF THE VALLEY, WHY HAVE YOU COME TO MY COURT?

Noah flinched at the harsh tone. It was guttural, like a scream that came from the gut rather than the throat. He sputtered, unsure of how he even managed to get to that spot. He told the stag so, through chattering teeth as the coldness of the hollow finally caught up to him. 

The stag tilted its head, the glow of its antlers moving as if filled with liquid. Like blood. The movement almost seemed… human-like. It unsettled Noah even more.

I THINK YOU KNOW WHERE YOU TRULY ARE, NOAH SEBASTIAN DAVIS. YOUR KIND HAVE TOLD THE TALES OF THE WATCHER OF THE WOODS FOR A LONG, LONG TIME.

Noah flinched again at those words that sounded like a parent coldly scolding their child. To be honest, until recently, he never had believed in those tales of darkness roaming the Shenandoah Valley. Then, when what happened with the Folio kid happened, he started to believe it more and more.

“Please… please help me. I-I’ll do anything,” he pleaded, feeling a fresh spurt of blood despite his numb fingers. It wouldn’t be long now.

THERE WILL BE A PRICE.

“I… I don’t care. I- I’ll do any… thing.” He didn’t want to die here, alone in the woods. 

GIVE YOURSELF TO ME. BECOME THE INSTRUMENT OF MY WILL, AND I WILL FREE YOU FROM THE PAIN OF YOUR HUMANITY.

Noah could barely speak at that point, so he merely nodded. The Watcher made a sound, and the world went black. With one last steady breath, Noah spoke his final words:

“I think I've had enough… enough now.”

And that was how the young human, Noah Davis, died and became the Towering Man. 

The search parties were few. That didn’t surprise him. Ever since he and Nicholas were made to be the boys who cried wolf, the people in town were quick to make excuses for his disappearance. 

"He was a troubled boy.”

“He probably just ran away."

“Kids these days. He’s probably lying face down in a drain in the city right now.”

If he could feel anger, it would be at the woman who had claimed to love him. The woman who had turned out to be just like the rest of them. She was the reason for the state that he was in. She was the reason why he had died and sold his soul. After that, she only fueled the rumors that he had run away. Even with Nicholas trying his best to combat the rumors, it was only him against a town of five thousand.

Nicholas tried his best to keep the search parties going, but when you live in a town that values old superstitions over the life of a 21-year-old, it’s hard to do anything. Noah wanted to tell his friend that it was okay, to ease Nicholas’ pain and anxiety, but he was forced to watch as Nicholas continued to put up missing flyers and stay up late at night to wait for Noah to come home.

But after a few months, even Nicholas seemed to give up. His family convinced him to move to Richmond, and for a while Noah would only see Nicholas every once and while, when he would visit Granny. And Noah was forced to do nothing but watch from the treeline.

During the day, he would root himself near Granny Ruffilo’s home. He tried to resist the Watcher’s pull, even at night when he was demanded to collect the offerings left by the cult: mostly blood and wine. Except on the nights when the moon was darkest, then he couldn’t resist the voice inside his head.

Noah wanted to scream out whenever he would see Nicholas through one of the windows; scream at him that he was right there, outside of that window, just past the treeline. Except Nicholas wouldn’t be able to hear him, even if he could use his voice.

And Noah’s heart - or whatever counted as his heart now - turned black.

He watched Nicholas move on. Seasons passed, and so did Noah’s feelings. By the time June came back around, he had pretty much given himself over to the Watcher’s will. He accepted the fact that his best friend would no longer be saving him. 

The night before the summer solstice, Noah was summoned to the Watcher’s Grove. Some would joke that it could be a courtroom, except the Black Stag was too proud of itself to share its power. All it needed was its minions, which it was surrounded with now. 

THE TIME HAS COME, CHILD OF THE VALLEY. YOUR GOD DEMANDS ONE LAST THING OF YOU.

Noah thought he was being rewarded, being given his human body back. Like some kind of horrific Cinderella, he just needed to explain to Nicholas everything that had happened; that he had made a deal with the devil that he couldn’t take back. The Watcher knew that the first thing Noah would do was run to Nicholas, and he planned accordingly.

Noah should’ve realized his mistake. When he called for Nicholas, he should’ve realized it when he felt his bones shift in response. He should’ve realized it when he felt his body stretch and grown when Nicholas came out into the woods. It wasn’t until Nicholas’ face twisted in fear did Noah realize the Watcher’s plan.

Nicholas was to be the Watcher’s next Vessel, and Noah was to bring him to the Watcher.

Except the Watcher had underestimated Nicholas. See, it turned out Nicholas was a part of an old bloodline of Practitioners. Usually, it passed down onto the women, skipping a generation if need be. For some reason, instead of picking his sister, the practice chose him. It did so not long before this incident, so Nicholas was still learning the extent of what he could and could not do.

So when Noah reached out for him with a thorny hand, Nicholas accidentally blew him apart. But Noah had died in the Shenandoah Valley, where dead things don’t stay dead.

Nicholas crafted a body made of sticks, leaves and mud, and bound Noah to it. It nearly killed both of them. It wasn’t the best; Nicholas had just learned how to manage his practice, after all. Noah had a body again, and this one wasn’t under the control of the Watcher’s will.

And he would use it to his advantage.

“I’m gonna fuck up that deer god.”

Their plan wasn’t perfect at all. Nicholas was going to pretend to be captured, the perfect Vessel to be sacrificed. That way, hopefully they would have the element of surprise.

Which of course, wasn’t how it happened. Leave it to him to underestimate how good the Watcher was at reading minds.

YOU THINK YOU CAN STAND AGAINST A GOD?

the Watcher of the Woods asked. The cultists stood around them in a circle, not getting too close, but ready to jump in at a moment’s notice.

YOU, A SCARED LITTLE BOY AND HIS LITTLE WITCH, AGAINST SOMETHING OLDER THAN THE DIRT YOU STAND UPON? OLDER THAN THE STICKS IN YOUR BODIES THAT YOU CALL BONES?

Was Noah scared? Absolutely, even though he couldn’t really feel it. But for once, he didn’t let his fear show, like he did when he faced the Watcher the first time,  a year and a day ago in this same grove.

This time he was ready.

With Nicholas helping him, his concentration divided between bolding off the Cultists with a warding barrier and aiding Noah, Noah found he was evenly matched with the Black Stag. He had learned the deity's tricks over the past year, and could counteract them easily. Noah acted as an almost perfect counterbalance to the darkness: whenever the Watcher would throw decayed dirt edged with frost that was colder than the universe, Noah would ruin it with life and nature and warmth.

The Watcher of the Woods even tried to take Nicholas out of the equation with a malediction, but Noah wouldn't let it. With a roar that could shake mountains, Noah charged forward and grabbed onto the Stag's twisted antlers. Under his grip, they were bitterly cold, almost turning his fingers instantly blue. The stag tried to rear back to shake off Noah, but he only tightened his grip until his knuckles cracked.

“After all that you've put me through? After all the hell you created for these hollow souls? After all the lives you've torn apart for your sick enjoyment? You think for one second, I'll let you destroy one more? You think that this makes you a god?”

Noah's eyes flared green, lighting up the darkness in his eyes, as with a loud growl, he spoke: 

IF THERE'S A GOD, IT'S FUCKING ME!

And with a twist, Noah tore off the crown of bloody bones with a mighty crack. At first, he thought the sound had come from his body, but when the red in his vision faded, he saw the head of the Black Stay on the ground, separated from its body.

There were numerous cries of disbelief around him. Some might have tried to attack him, but with one look, they stopped. Noah held up the antlers that were still in his hands.

DON'T EVER COME BACK, YOU HEAR ME? IF I FIND OUT YOU EVEN TRY TO START THIS SHIT AGAIN, I WILL COME AFTER ALL OF YOU! YOUR FAMILIES TOO, IF I HAVE TO!

And they scattered like roaches.

Noah and Nicholas stood in the grove, alone and quiet. The corpse of the Black Stag had decayed fast; even the bones and antlers had rotted away. Noah shook his hands until the decay was gone. All that was left was the skin of his palms had been burned black. 

“Now what?" Nicholas said, breaking the silence.

“I don't know. I don't feel any–”

There was a sudden shifting beneath Noah. He looked down in surprise to see that the ground had swallowed his feet. He was sinking.

And with one last raspy chuckle, he heard the Black Stag mutter in his mind:

THERE MUST ALWAYS BE SOMETHING TO WATCH OVER THE WOODS.

Nicholas tried to pull him free, but when Noah was up to his waist in the ground, he pushed Nicholas away. “But I just found you!” Nicholas cried.

“Don't worry, I'll be back. Just listen for your name.”

And the earth swallowed Noah up, and darkness claimed him once again. 

He felt the suffocating weight of the ground pressing on him from all sides, the darkness so absolute he didn't know which way was up or down. A weird feeling spread through him, like a panic attack but… absent. Like he should be having one, but it wouldn't come. 

That's when he realized his eyes were closed, but when he opened them, he was faced with something much worse. 

Something fell into his eyes, and when he opened his mouth to scream, it fell in there too. The taste gave him his answer to where he was.

Dirt. He was buried underground.

Still, he didn't feel panic. He struggled against the dirt, trying to claw his way free, but his limbs were numb and weak from disuse. There was no way he was going to get out of this without some help.

Naturally, he called for the person who would help him without question.

NICHOLAS.

He felt ridiculous. How was Nicholas gonna hear him? How did he even get buried in the first place? 

There was no time for questions or memories. He had to dig himself out somehow.

He willed his arms to move, his legs to kick. Either he was so weak, or buried so deep, he couldn't move a muscle. He tried to remember what he was taught about being buried alive. Don't use a lighter; breathe short little gasps to prolong the air. That was if he was buried in a box, though, and he didn't need to worry about breathing. He hadn't needed to for a long time. 

He didn’t know how long he was there, buried deep beneath, barely moving despite his mind shouting at his limbs to just move already! He had almost given up when he felt the earth shift somewhere near his head. Were those voices?

It sounded like great amounts of dirt were being thrown around, like when a dog digs for a bone. It stopped for a moment, a new voice joining whoever was above. Then the digging continued, but with the rhythm of what might be a shovel.

When the weight got lighter, Noah used the last of his strength to move his arm. Without the weight of the dirt pressing down on him, his hand burst up from the ground. There was a shout, and suddenly two pairs of hands grabbed onto his arm and pulled him free.

“I came as soon as I heard your call. In my head,” Nicholas said.

The other two, Joakim and Nick, had heard it too. If there were others like them, they didn’t show. But Noah didn’t care. These were his friends now.

This was the Circle of Omens and Thorns.

And that’s how Noah Sebastian became the new Watcher of the Woods, the King of the Shenandoah Valley.

Something was wrong with the woods, and it was driving Noah crazy.

As he peers over the top of the mountains from his perch on Stony Man Mountain, he feels the Appalachian Spring air sweep through the trees, barely ruffling his long hair. He mindlessly twirls a braid around his finger, thumb rolling a bead around as an anxious tic. A chill runs down his spine, and he knows it’s not because of the wind. The Spring season up here is a lot like a joke; he’s seen wildflowers poking through big heaps of snow before. That wasn’t stopping him from shedding his shirt, like now.

He likes to come up here, despite it being a popular stop on a hiking trail. At night, no one will bother him; not even Folio. He knows that when Noah goes up Stony Man, he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

Except he’s still disturbed, just in a different way.

He lays back on the ground and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he curls his fingers through the dirt and grass. He grounds himself to expand his consciousness through the Valley.

He can feel the way the trees seem to curl in on themselves, like an old man wrapping his coat tighter around him as he trudged on through the bustling air. His skin crawls as he feels roots wind their way through the soil, touching something so foul it fills his throat with black mud and he gags, but can’t move. The black mud chokes him, whispering in a familiar voice that promises nothing but venom and sweet lies. 

He wrenches from his reverie, coughing and spitting despite nothing is in his mouth other than cold air and saliva. 

Something has returned to the Valley. Something dark, and something… black.

[assorted-candy]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Vlad Masters, Maddie Fenton Additional Tags: Ectober Month 2023, Ectoberhaunt 2023, 2023 Science, Cat, Mention of Animal Sacrifice, mention of animal abuse, No Animals Harmed, The trio find a cat, Cat adoption Summary:

Ectoberhaunt Day 3: Black Cat CW: Mention of animal abuse/sacrifice

The trio find a black cat in the woods. Danny gets stuck trying to take care of him.

[midnightcrustcat]

i drew an oc i haven't drawn for ages. i made her like in 2015-2016 probably??(maybe earlier i don't exactly know). BUT LOOK AT THIS BEAST. she and her quadrants scythe. u go girl im rooting for u 24/7!!! ily!!! do edgy shit or whatever go wild!!!

also old art of her ↓↓↓

[galaxicalsart]

I’m not sure what this is, really ghdhcjhwjdjshdh

but uhm

(Please don’t repost, but do reblog!)

@emmettnet

[red-dead-simp]

Sacrifice 🐐

[babsvibes]

Rather than inkwells for Tina or cakes for Gene, a hare sprang free. Breathing rapidly with wild eyes, the animal froze in its new surroundings.

“I seek the aid of Louise, god of fortune, strategy, and chaos.”

Prompt - Spitfire

[offwilds]

There is a story among the people of Gors Velen where Lady Morgante says she comes, about a girl who went down to the shore and saw a man drowning, there in the DEEP water. She was a great swimmer and so she shed her clothing and came out to him with strong, sure strokes. Yet he was DESPERATE and flailing and would not heed her, and in his panic he dragged her down with him, into the dark water. Her lungs were not so deep as his. She DROWNED. this is a lesson, Mother tells her one moonless night before she leaves her on the shores of the lake.  sometimes, to be strong and good-hearted is not enough to save yourself. Sometimes you need MORE. To indulge in kindness is to indulge in DELUSION… I will not let you come home with me tonight. Stay here. Don’t make a sound; DON’T cry. ( Other, times, when she leaves her in the depths of the woods under the moon with only Chaos at her side, she says: If anyone comes, you know what to do. If you do not, then you are WASTING my time and you shall prove worthy of whatever wickedness befalls you.) she fiercely grabs at her chin and forces Nereinne to look her in the eye, her gaze flashing, bright and terrible. If you shed a tear, I WILL KNOW. If you cry, I will leave HERE and never come back for you. Do not be PATHETIC. I’ll be back before the dawn. She walks away - but always comes back.

The little girl finds the lady Morgante looking at her sometimes. Sidelong and not often, but enough, her eyes pale in the light of the hut. Nereinne doesn’t like scrutiny, and from the Lady Morgante, it’s unsettling. She feels very SMALL, beneath that gaze; a pitiful, pathetic weakling, no better than a rat, when mother is FIRE-BRIGHT and radiant, flaming with unnatural BEAUTY and such everflowing, ancient power, it makes Nereinne cold with fear she does not know what to do with but BURY. Something you need from me, Mother? she asks, one night when she’s too short on sleep and testy, over-eager to be away from the confines of the hut and her- always HER, watching, demanding, spitting her venom, her cruelty, her harshness. No one could ever need any thing from you. Morgante says, cool and POISED, as she always is. And you will speak when you are spoken to, child. Off with you now. To your studies.

Run, little girl. RUN and scream for their help. If they do not follow SOMETHING else WILL. Do you UNDERSTAND me? Run and scream. Mother hisses, her voice a dark, low growl in her ear. She is not yet ten, naught more than a child; but when the hour grows late, and the hunters come for them, hot on her trail, she sets her loose in the forest: a little girl to scream and run and lure witch hunters and templars deeper into the Deadwight wilds and to their doom. A little girl naught more than live BAIT, luring them deep into the dark pathless woods. She runs and runs until her legs ache for it; she runs and runs, and never stops. (Has never stopped.)

Pathetic. She has been in silence ( banished to her room where she spends her days and nights, from morn to dusk, from dawn to twilight, channeling her Chaos- for Chaos is all she ever has- Chaos is there for her before she can speak; before she learns the world around her; the lady Morgante makes sure of it) for so long that the sudden whispering of that voice, that voice which said only wrong, this is WRONG, startles the breath from her chest. Her hand shakes over the grimoire, Chaos flowing from her fingertips as she summons forth her magic; again. you KNOW what to do. Come. Show me. she demands with that slow, taunting curl of her lips. And she does.

They fast for a forthnight; little water and no food passes her lips until she feels FAINT with weakness- but when the night comes and the sky grows dark with shadows, mother drags her to the altar where the black goat she had made her raise from babe to yearling, stands, anointed with oils infused with ginatia and hellebore petals, a wreath of verbena and silk on its head. Green fires lit on the soil of the earth blaze around them, and as Morgante passes her a knife, Nereinne feels her blood curdle, feels it turn to ice; turn to STONE. She watches Morgante reach for another knife and furiously slice it through the softness of her palm, watches her make a circle inside of the fires with coal and her own blood, and as she howls and chants ancient, arcane incantantions, her spells a harsh growl in her throat, and as she casts her dark eyes upon her, calling her forth to plunge the blade into her goat, she can no longer hold within her all that deep, dark fear she has buried; she cuts the ropes that bind the animal, and RUNS.

The men do not come for her this time. SOMETHING else does. The lady Morgante did always PROMISE, after all.

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

Grand Finals: Chara Dreemurr (Undertale) vs. Amane Momose (MILGRAM)

Propaganda below the cut

Chara Dreemurr (?):

They were constantly blamed for killing all of monster kind in the no mercy route, despite players choosing to go that route. People ignored that they sacrificed themselves to attempt to free the monsters from the underground.

----

everyone wants to blame their own actions (genocide route) on chara, who is a literal child. i don’t know how to tell you this but you are the one playing the game. it’s about YOUR CHOICES. chara is there is punish you for that, you killed the only family that ever loved them! how could they not be upset at that! also if you don’t mind, here’s a good video essay on the subject 

Amane Momose (12):

Amane was voted guilty in the first trial so that she would acknowledge her guilt. It backfired, and now she’s considered a threat. Well, everyone is a threat, but nobody’s threat level has been as heavily discussed and debated as hers. Consider the next prisoner in line, Mikoto. He’s objectively more dangerous and cannot be restrained. He beat up the guard in trial 1, and he was able to hold his own when the other guilty prisoners were attacked. But a good incentive to forgive him is so that he will calm down. You know what? That’s a good incentive to forgive Amane too! But she *can* be restrained, so a good portion of the discussion went into how she should be voted guilty so she *will* be restrained and not a threat. Since her vote was a near 50/50, of course a good chunk of the voters expressed dissatisfaction with her forgiven verdict. Some are already planning to vote her guilty for trial 3, calling her a “lost cause”. She hasn’t even done any concrete harm yet. Hold the pitchforks until she actually causes harm, please? And what if she *was* voted guilty in trial 2? We’ve been warned that she will continue to deny our judgement. A second guilty verdict won’t make her better either, and then what? She’d be called a “lost cause” as well. There is no winning with her.

----

Where do I even start? So first of all she’s an cult child who was physically and mentally abused and tortured by her parents and then (presumably) murdered her mother after her mother killed a cat that she took care of.

Now everyone in Milgram is a murderer but when Amane came and her MV showed her murder and circumstance in an admittedly highly fictionalized depiction of it the audience decided to…repeat the cycle of abuse!

She was voted guilty for the main reason of “teaching her” and helping her “realize that she was abused.” I would like to note that this tough love approach is something her parents utilized against her. “We are only doing this to help you.”

So the audience replicates Amane’s abusers and repeats the cycle of abuse and that’s pretty shitty but it isn’t exactly “Fuck Em Kids” level.

And then Trial 2 happened. Cause Amane is bitter and angry and horrifically traumatized so she acts aggressive and hostile. Especially towards another prisoner.

Now, again, everyone here is a fucking murderer (of atleast could be constructed as one) These people being able to Harm is a core concept of this series.

Yet for some reason it feels like people treat Amane as a “delusional creepy kid who wants to kill people” which completly takes away the nuance of her character. She does have the capacity to harm! Everyone here does! She’s not Uniquly Dangerous! She just has a Reason to be Dangerous. A Reason we GAVE HER by REPEATING THE CYCLE OF ABUSE.

In short: In a series full of Murderers I’m honestly a bit pissed that the 12 year old abuse victim is the one who’s treated like the guy from American Pyscho.

----

TL;DR: "We metavoted this abused, indoctrinated child guilty in trial 1, but it didn't work. Now she is a threat to three grown adults: one who is fully free and two whom she has been shown to get along with. Please metavote her guilty again so she will be restrained and unable to attack them, even though that means subjecting her to further psychological torture." Amane Momose is the youngest of ten murderers, prisoners of Milgram who are to be judged innocent (forgiven) or guilty (unforgiven). In the first interrogation (voice drama), she said that what she did was in line with her religion's doctrines. If we judged her the "wrong way", she said she will just deny the verdict. Combining the voice drama and music video, you could piece together that she was raised in a cult and abused, even though she is cheerful and downplays her pain. She never shows *who* she killed, only *why* she did. After the first day of her vote, she was 81% innocent, but this wouldn't last the whole three months. Many people voted her guilty so she would "see her sins", part of the practice commonly known as "metavoting". Her innocent percentage rapidly decreased, and she hit guilty in the last 15 days, finishing at 51% guilty. At the end of the first trial, Jackalope (who is something like a host) went over all the prisoners' verdicts and commented on the general reasoning. When he got to Amane, he *laughed* at the audience for voting that way to make her realize her sins. Trial 2 rolled around, and it was revealed that Amane's victim was her abuser. On day one, she was at 74% innocent. Seems like a cut-and-dry case now, right? Well... in the intermission, two of the prisoners (Fuuta and Mahiru) were badly beaten up and became reliant on the care of Shidou, a doctor. Amane became hostile to Shidou because what he was doing was against her beliefs. She visited all three of them on their birthdays to convince them to change their ways. She seems to be especially close to Fuuta, who is now murmuring about salvation. Guilty prisoners are psychologically tortured, forced to listen to voices that reject their beliefs. Fuuta and Mahiru both say that the mental strain is worse than their physical injuries. But Amane, who also looks worse for wear, was thrown under the bus because she isn't injured and is considered a physical threat to them (never mind that she gets along with them). She's considered a threat to Shidou, a grown man who is twice her size and fully free, while she is partially restricted by the long sleeves in her trial 2 uniform. She might indoctrinate Fuuta even though, in a prison of ten people and one guard, she's the only voice of her cult. Fortunately, she got a break. Her vote was falling at a similar rate to the first trial. But this time, it stabilized at 51% innocent, 12 days before the end of her vote. But there's no way this is over.

[orphanbasement]

Was looking for a certain reupload of a video this terrible history Youtuber made but instead I stumbled across a video titled "Did Joseph Smith engage in Animal Sacrifice?" so instead of hating I'm going to watch that instead

[aplaceinthedark]

chapter eight: DIE YOUNG than DIE ALONE

Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch and the Watcher.

CW: supernatural themes, mention of death, mentions of religious sacrifice, body horror, graphic violence, religious trauma, drowning, animal cruelty, angst

Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously I don't know all the little nuances of the members or their family members.

A/N: Some things are color-coded. If any of you are colorblind lemme know. 

I gave Noah a look, the small seed of fear crushed the second he said that line in my head. "That's the dumbest fucking thing I've heard."

As Folio howled a laugh, Nick turned to me. "What did he–"

"Shut up," Noah scowled.

With the introductions out of the way, Nick dug into a backpack and started handing me food. "Breakfast," was all he said when I gave him a quizzical look. I was grateful for the thermos of hot coffee though.

"When did you make all this?" I asked.

"When you were knocked out. I guess I owe you some groceries," he said.

"How about some more explanations, and I'll call it even?" Even though using my food was less than enough for what he did to take care of me.

"Deal." He smiled, catching me a little off guard with how it scrunched up his whole face. It was endearing and… cute. It made my insides flutter and I felt my cheeks heat up.

Was I imagining things?

Thankfully, we all sat down so I could eat, because my feet were dying. “So what do you want to know?” Folio asked.

My mind went through all the possible things I could ask. Instead, all I said was, “I guess… start at the beginning. How did you all get involved in this… mess?”

“Well, it all started with a cult,” Folio said.

“A cult?” I blurted out.

“Should we start with the cult?” Jolly asked.

“It makes the most sense.” Folio shrugged.

“Then we would have to explain the first Watcher of the Woods,” Jolly said.

“Just… I don’t care what you start with,” I sighed. The four all shared a look, but it was Noah who sighed.

“They called themselves the Children of the Revered Father,” he said. “They consisted of a lot of the citizens of New Hope, and a few people from nearby. They made it sound like they were a Christian church, but they worshiped something far darker.

“The first Watcher was also called the Black Stag, one of many epithets. Once a year, the Black Stag required a Hollowed Vessel, or what was really a sacrifice. The Children were not picky about who they would sacrifice, though they said it was due to ‘divine means’ Of picking out who would be a vessel. Folio here was the first to be sacrificed in these parts of the woods.” Folio growled at the mention of his name, and that’s when I saw his teeth. When he snarled, his lips curled up, and I could see that his teeth formed long, jagged points. Like fangs.

“Jolly was drowned at one point between me and Folio dying,” Noah said.

“So how did you guys come into contact with the cult?” I asked Jolly and Folio.

“We were members, in a sense,” Jolly said.

“In the loosest of terms,” Folio interjected when he saw how shocked I looked. “We were barely considered to be called that.”

“I thought that’s what I was about to become,” Jolly said. “They said to become a member, I had to be baptized. Really, they just held me down until I drowned.”

“I was shipped out to what my family thought was a reformation camp for ‘misguided youths.’ Then I became a ‘runaway’ after I was killed,” Folio said.

“Nick and I were out in the woods with friends, sneaking out to smoke weed and drink beer, when we saw Folio getting gutted,” Noah said. “And then when we went to the police, they dismissed us and told everyone that we made it all up.”

“They were a part of the cult, too,” Nick said, leaning towards me. He then pulled a cigarette out and lit it.

“So we were just expected to believe that everything was just fine out in the woods, told to stay out. while people were just being killed,” Noah said, nodding towards Jolly. “And I wasn’t going to sit down and let it happen.”

“And that’s when you decided to just… Go out into the woods? For answers?” I asked.

Noah’s eyes flashed. “Yes, but not like how the article painted me,” he snarled. “I wasn’t some obsessed conspiracy theorist. I wasn’t crazy like my ex set me up as.”

“Did you… did you get your answers?” I asked, bringing my knees up to my chest.

Noah paused, staring into my face. I kept my gaze steady, not looking away. If he was looking for something in my head, he didn’t show it if he found it. He slowly nodded.

“I found them, alright, but in the form of a knife to my stomach. They wanted to sacrifice me, but I managed to get away. That’s when the Black Stag found me.”

“You’ve mentioned that before. What is it?”

“It has a lot of names; The Watcher of the Woods, That Which Came From The Mountain, The Black Stag of the Below…” Jolly trailed off. “His real name can’t be spoken, so we just called him what we could.”

“The Black Stag was the reason why no one was allowed out after dark,” Nick said. “If you were out in the woods after dark, The Watcher would snatch you and eat you. And if he wasn’t fed regularly, he would come looking.”

“So the offerings…” I trailed off.

“The offerings used to be for the Black Stag,” Nick said. “He wanted human sacrifices. Noah here just happens to be easy to please.”

“Beer. Pizza. Tacos. But your apples are fine, I guess.” Noah shrugged. I was so close to slapping him into the river.

Instead, I turned to Nick and quietly asked, “Granny said that she left offerings. Is she—?” I didn’t want to voice the part where she said that Nick was supposed to secede her.

“She wasn’t a member. The Children were a perversion of our practice. We worshiped the King in Green, the benevolent version of the Watcher. The Children worshiped his darker face, The Black Stag.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest.

”So what happened to the original Watcher? This ‘Black Stag’?” I asked.

“I killed him,” said Noah.

My jaw dropped. “Y…You killed him?” I asked. Noah nodded. “How?!”

Noah mimed grabbing onto something. “Grabbed him by the horns and just—“ He mimed twisting. I flinched as if I could hear the bones break.

"There's a bit more to it than that," Nick said, rolling his eyes.

"What happened to the cult?" I asked.

"Gone. Once their god was dead, they moved to other towns. Those were the smart ones,” Jolly said.

“The ones that stayed… well, they didn't last long," Folio smirked, baring his fangs.

"What does that mean?"

"We killed them," Noah said bluntly. "A few got scared and ran off when they saw us, but the really stubborn ones tried to do stupid stuff, like restart the cult or come after me."

"And you just… killed them?" I asked.

Noah gave me a look, the answer was unspoken. “You can call us monsters. They did. So we acted the part.”

“Not gonna lie, it felt good killing the people who killed me,” Folio said, shrugging.

“And if we didn’t do something, more people would’ve died. Other kids would’ve,” Noah said. “So this is our job now. Call us haints, monsters, whatever—“

“I don’t think you’re monsters,” I whispered. Noah heard it and shut up.

I meant it. Something in my gut was telling me that they weren’t telling me everything like I asked for; that there was definitely more to the story. How did they become what they were now? If Noah killed the original Watcher, how is he the Watcher now?

On one hand, I felt like I was owed an explanation for everything. I had been practically dragged unwillingly into their circle of weirdness, so I should know the whole truth. But on the other hand, they had told me so much already in just one day. If I was going to stay, I would have the time to learn.

If I stayed.

I couldn’t go back to Newport, where everything used to be familiar and safe, but now tainted. Too many bad memories. I came here for a fresh start, and I guess I was getting it. I also couldn’t afford to move again, let alone back to Newport.

And… I didn't want to leave. Despite all this and maybe almost dying, I didn't want to run away. I wanted to stay.

This place felt like home.

"So that's why I think he's the hardest boss in all the Dark Souls games," Nick told Noah.

We were heading back to my house, Noah tagging along to "make sure we got back safe and sound" as he put it. I had been silent since we left, leaving the two men to fill the void. Once or twice I would catch Nick glancing at me, but we would both look away quickly.

WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND, LITTLE RABBIT?

I winced at the sudden intrusion. Don't call me that. And get out of my head.

ANSWER THE QUESTION.

I bristled at the authoritative tone his voice took. You're not the boss of me, and you don't scare me.

LITTLE RABBIT, YOU SHOULD BE SCARED OF ME. YOU'RE NOT THINKING ABOUT RUNNING OFF, ARE YOU?

I glared up at Noah, who had been talking to Nick this whole time. Why do you care? You've done nothing but be mean to me.

Nick faced forward, and Noah slid his eyes to meet mine.

I CARE BECAUSE NICK CARES. YOU'RE THE ONLY FRIEND HE HAS THAT ISN'T BOUND TO THE WOODS. YOU LEAVE, HE ONCE AGAIN HAS NOTHING.

I'm not leaving. So you can breathe easy now.

WOULD IF I COULD.

Smartass.

NO SHIT.

He sighed physically.

BUT IF YOU’RE REALLY GONNA STAY, AND STAY WITH NICK… THEN I GUESS YOU AND I COULD BE FRIENDS, TOO.

Soon we crossed from the woods and onto my lawn. I had shed Nick's jacket soon after we left the hollow as soon as August returned in full force. "I'll see you again tonight?" Nick asked Noah.

"Same time as always," Noah replied. He then turned towards me. "You're always welcome to join, if we didn't scare you away."

"I think I've had enough fun for one day," I said. Noah shrugged.

Noah shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm sure knocking your skull against a—" He stopped when he glanced over at my house.

Nick and I looked in the same direction at the same time. "What? What is it?" I asked as Nick stepped onto my porch. I tried to follow, but Noah grabbed my arm, holding me back. That's when I saw the bright orange paper stuck between my screen door and the doorway. "What is that?"

Nick pulled it out, silently read the front for about a few minutes too long, and then looked up at Noah. He then held it up to us.

"’The Veridiction of the Revered Father’.”

Tysm for reading! Next chapter coming soon!

[gremlingottoosilly]

Horsin' around (Centaurus!Konig x fem!Reader)

Konig is exiled from his people. You are exiled from yours. Together, you make about 6 legs and a perfect pair. Tags and CW: Size kink (duh), Centaurus!Konig(horse cocks), Konig is awkward, slight dub-con, power imbalance, belly bulge, praise kink, monster fucking. Thanks @kneelingshadowsalome for the prompt! AO3| Word count: 3016

Centaurus are not wild animals. You keep repeating it to yourself as you come deeper and deeper into the forest. You keep mumbling it to yourself as you feel the eyes watching you. judging you. Centaurus are not wild animals even if sometimes they behave like one. Not like you’re any different, any better – you’re a human, invading the sacred forests. You’re a human who is dumb enough to go foraging into the depths of their territory. Centaurus are not wild animals, but you don’t feel that repeating the same sentence over and over makes it sound any more convincing. You feel the danger in the air – with each step you take, with each fallen tree you’re stepping over. With every attempt to simply run ending up not working, you know you got lost. Long abandoned the basket you came with – you don’t recognize a single berry that grows here, not a mushroom or even some edible plant pieces to be found. This place is devoid of animals, of flowers – like something just snatched it all away. Ate it all, maybe. You don’t want to think what kind of creature could cause a migration like this. You don’t need to think though. Because the creature finds you first. 

You yelp in a mix of surprise and horror when the arrow flies right in front of you, the skill of the archer is high enough to make the arrow cut down a few bits of hair in front of your eyes. If you were a mere millimeter closer, you’d be dead. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. This much is obvious. You freeze in place, not daring to move an inch when you hear it. Loud, not even bothering to conceal the sound of it – the creature was confident enough that the prey wouldn’t run. Not the creature, you correct yourself immediately. Centaurs are not animals, they are closer to humans than a lot of other monster types – with their strength and warrior culture, you’d say that they are even more humans than citizens of the village who forced you out. 

The centaur doesn’t even bother to hide himself from you, concealing the sounds of heavy hooves on the ground or evading the branches that crunched against his body. This is exactly what made you surprised when you understood that instead of a rough, but mostly handsome face that most centaurus tend to have, you’re met with a black hood which only spared two holes for the icy-blue eyes staring back at you. 

Is he a grim reaper? An executioner for other centaurus? Would that mean you don’t have to worry unless your lower part resembles a horse? 

You take a quick look at your bottom half. Not a horse. 

Centaur reapers the gesture, looking at his bottom half too. Definitely a horse. 

You decide to speak first, hoping to find words that would work just fine to be your last. 

— I am really sorry for intru…

— This is not the sacrifice season yet. 

Ah, well. 

The people from your village believe the centaurs to be sacred – despite them being monsters they knew a lot about, they were still given sacrifices. Food, some farm animals, especially fatty pieces of meat, and fancy jewels along with some weapons. Centaurus kept the worst predators at bay, herding the wolves to be their pets and sometimes driving deer and rabbits away to the village. They kept you protected from werewolves and orcs – with a meager payment of never touching the sacred grounds. 

You just stepped into the deepest, most protected part of the forest. You wonder if you would deserve a peaceful death. 

— It’s not. I…I made a mistake. 

No, you wanted to be here. When the village decided to drive you out, you thought that foraging in the part of the forest, untouched by humans, would be the most profitable thing. Centaurus won’t take berries anyway, right? But they might just take your life. 

— A mistake? 

He tilts his hooded head to the side. It’s such a boyish expression, that you almost let go of a nervous giggle. Perhaps, you were going crazy…but the centaur seemed a bit nervous. As seasoned as he looked – with battle scars covering his body and a bit of silver mixed with his ginger fur on the horse part – he seemed almost awkward standing here. Tapping one of his hooved legs like a nervous child. Squeezing the bow in his hands with vigor that made you scared he will just snap it in half. 

— I just wanted to take some food. 

— Is there a hunger? 

— No. 

— Humans aren’t allowed in these parts. Why would you go if not out of despair? 

You gulp. 

— I…am not allowed back. 

— Why? 

Because you’re a forest witch who will doom them all, according to the village of a horse people worshippers. Because you’re a monster in disguise who keeps straling babies, according to the village that uses the best pieces of food to feed the horse people who can take of themselves just fine, instead of feeding it to the orphaned children. Because you’re a whore who refuses to accept the new type of sacrifices – the virgins of the village as a breeding material for the Centaurus, according to the village filled with people who would gladly push a poor virgin out in the forest once she turned of age, so she could be mauled by horse people. 

— We had…mutual disagreement. 

You stare at the mighty body of the centaur. You fight the urge to get your hands down his torso, play with its short hairs, and…you were always a bit of a horse girl. Wondering if he is strong enough to lift you up and get you somewhere safe, somewhere far far away from here. 

Centaur has this weird, almost boyish tone. Deep and yet, sounds just a bit deranged. Unhinged. Like he is going to maul you any second – and judging by the bow and arrow still in his hands, he might not be wrong. You lick your lips. He stares at them – or at least you think he is. Hood only reveals his eyes and you can already get lost in them. Cold, like the northern sea, Like the snow outside. You thought all mythical creatures were supposed to be warm-blooded. 

— You’re exiled then. 

He isn’t asking. Centaurus are omnipotent and wise, they should know about human affairs more than humans themselves. You made them into sort of gods – you shouldn’t be surprised that this guy knows way more than he should. Somehow, you still feel safer around him than other humans – and maybe, it’s more of a you problem. Maybe, you ended up eating some of the weird berries and it’s just your hallucinations before you die. 

— I am. 

He takes a step back. He is big – all of them are, you suppose, but, somehow, he is bigger than he should be. Giant, muscular torso on top of an already muscular and big horse part – he can pick you up, throw you, and break you with one finger, probably. No, definitely. You don’t want to give him a reason to, so you just stay in place. Hoping he wouldn’t deem your trespassing as a matter worthy of a torturous death. 

— My name is König, human. Repeat, ja? 

The name feels weird on your tongue. Rude, sharp. You don’t want to call him wrong and receive his wrath, so you try your best to repeat this. 

— Ko-nig. Ja? 

You tilt your head to the side, a curious little bird. Centaur – König, König, König – squints his eyes like he is smiling. You made the god smile. The horse god. The horseman. Just…man. If you don’t look down, where you already see something giant and heavy standing between his horse legs, you could forget that he isn’t a man at all. 

Suddenly, you feel light. Suddenly, you feel your legs dangling in the air as you were picked up and bumped into the broad chest. Suddenly, you feel hands everywhere. On your ass, under it, touching your chest, your stomach, trying to get to the best position so you would stop moving constantly and trying to get out. You don’t want to fight him because you’re already in the air and falling right now could result in a broken neck – but you don’t want to be suspended in the air either. You whimper, pathetic sound escaping your lips as you feel calloused hands pressing on your mound. Traveling down your stomach and touching, squeezing, petting your delicate parts. 

You spend so much time without a gentle hand or a soft touch, you can feel yourself dripping on the fingers of a centaur. Embarrassing, yes – but you know that if he were to proceed, you wouldn’t really resist. 

And oh, he proceeds. 

— They finally send us proper sacrifices. 

He mumbles it into your hair, taking in your smell. You’re nice for a human – not scared of him too much, not trying to ran away or fight. Humans are usually just annoying insects under his hooves, but König can feel your face growing on him. Your body, too. Too weird for other Centaurus, never being able to find a proper mate who could take his lack of social awareness, he found himself mounting a human. His tribe would call him pathetic. His tribe would laugh. 

Then again, he is the first to get such a delicate little gift. Who is laughing now? 

You aren’t crying in his hands, and he is a bit surprised. You smell like a proper mate, like a good bitch in heat just for him – yet, you’re not falling on your knees to present your dripping cunt. You’re just trying to whimper to ask him to be gentler, and he is happy to oblige. Calm enough to listen to you. Ripping your pants apart because this is such a useless piece of clothing – concealing your rich smell from him. 

König doesn’t waste any time when he dips his finger across your swollen folds. Playing with the slick running down his wrist, smiling as you are closing your eyes and pressing your head in his chest. He is strong enough to keep you suspended in the air without a care in the world. Weak human, he would have to spend so much time preparing you for him – taking his cock would be a task no sacrifice ever competed before. 

König stares at your dripping pussy that is already clenching around nothing just because his fingers are pressing on the hood of your little clit, and he knows you’d be the perfect wife for him. Taking him properly as his mate, moaning as his cum fills you up. he can’t wait – knows that he should, preparing you properly. His hooves are beating the ground in impatience as his fingers slide in and out of your pussy. You spread your legs, moaning louder. Such a filthy whore for him. 

— Relax, human. Be a good mate. 

— This isn’t what I wa…

— Quiet. Such a good…good girl, Schatz. Will bring me strong children. 

— We can’t have sex. It’s im…impossible.

You whimper, trying to squeeze your legs, to shut his hand. You only moan louder, knowing that you would accept everything he gives you, and ask for more. 

You don’t want to imagine his cock entering you over and over, forcing its way past your walls and making you round and soft with his children. It’s a foreign concept – centaurus shouldn’t mate with humans, it should be physically impossible. Yet, you almost want to try. A breeding mare, made for one and only. 

König gets you on…something. It isn’t exactly a natural thing – a pile of stones and trees, perfect height for you to lay your back on, with some soft leaves and animal skins to rest comfortably. His hands support you on the perfect height and you immediately know what he construction is. A mating stand. Probably for other centaurus – but you feel almost fine laying on it too. Almost normal. Your muscles sting as you try to rest your legs and then spread them wide enough for König to stay between them. He is a big guy, after all. He turns you around, on your tummy. Ass in the air, you don’t like not seeing him. The heavy musk fills your nostrils, making you suddenly aware of what is about to happen – you’re wet, spread enough on his fingers, calloused fingertips scrubbing your gummy walls from the inside. He is fingering you with ease, but it doesn’t feel like a man with experience – he is touching and probing like he doesn’t know what he is doing and, honestly, you kinda like it. He is exploring your body with his and you moan, not caring that you sound like a whore. Humans have already abandoned you as part of society – you might as well just take it. — I will prepare you. 

— It won’t fit… — It will, Schatzen. You’ll get used to it. — What if I break? 

— I will be careful. Trust me, ja?

Even his fingers are a bit much when he enters your body with a third digit. One, two, three – you are about to burst when he is massaging your G-spot, when he is smiling in your hair and gets you so aroused just on it alone. You’re about to cum when he slowly extracts his fingers, deeming your sloppy cunt as explored enough. Your walls are clenching around nothing, a beautiful display of desire – maybe, it was the right call that humanity abandoned you. König looks at the perfect centraius whore on display and he can’t wait to claim you. To make you his. 

He is exiled from other centaurus. 

You are exiled from humans. 

What a beautiful fucking pair. 

He enters your body slowly deliberately. Regrets it immediately – you are wonderful. Too perfect to be this slow, being soft with you is torture. Your walls accept him with a stretch, like a warm glove around his cock. Slowly shifting, softening, straddling his cock with each inch he buries in the depth of your warm, weeping cunt. He can’t touch you, as unfortunate as this is – dumb horse body is making it impossible, even looking at you is hard enough on his neck. He wants to mount you properly, but you’re simply too fucking small. Wants to touch your hair, to whisper some encouragement that human women would probably love to hear – but he can only breath heavily and enter you, one painful centimeter after the other. 

— T…too much, too much, please, I can’t, it’s… You whimper, you cry, it breaks his damned heart because you don’t deserve this. You need to be treated with care, with softness and yet, he can’t give you that. He wants so much to just put you in his arms and hug you, but that would be impossible. König will give you all the coddling in the world after you’re done. After he is sure that you received all the possible breeding and seed he could gave you. 

— Quiet, human. It would be nice soon. 

— It’s not…

— Touch yourself, please, bitte. I can’t…can’t touch you. But you will feel better. 

Your hand goes between your legs, playing with yourself. Spreading your folds around his cock even more, fingers sliding past your clit. Touching the little button and hoping it would be enough to make you aroused – and it is. Your cunt is a mess of your own juices mixed with König’s pre cum, and you already know that you won’t be walking the next couple days. 

König bottoms with a deep sigh, and you feel him in your stomach. Bulging with his giant cockhead, making the outline of his cock visible – you touch it with shock, not understanding how your organs are even in place. 

He starts moving and you finally feel it – the burning pleasure setting fire in the pit of your stomach. the excess liquid pouring from your damp cunt, moans spreading from your lips. You never felt this way with a human before – then again, no human cock would ever be able to compete with König. He can reach the parts of your body that you never knew existed, and the mix of pheromones and musk is making you dizzy. Light-headed. You don’t even need to touch yourself more to feel the height of your orgasm, building in as rapidly as König’s thrusts. 

In, forcing its way to hit your cervix gently, massaging the sore spots of your tight pussy. 

Out, grazing over your inner walls, touching all the buttons. 

In again, filling you up with his pre-cum. Moaning loud enough for the whole forest to hear. 

Out, dragging you back with him, as you’re still impaled on his cock. 

— S…so perfect for me. Scheisse, so pretty… He can’t touch you and it breaks his heart. König goes to praise you instead – words feel awkward on his tongue, but he knows you need to heart it. He wants you to hear it, wants you to fee wanted, entitled. Soft. He smiles when you whimper and moan, milking him for his orgasm. Your cunt is made for him and he wants to spend every waking moment buried inside of it. Gods, you are a perfect sacrifice. 

He is coming embarrassingly fast, pumping his giant cock even deeper into your pussy. Filling you up with hot cum that can’t even stay inside of your cunt. Leaking everywhere, you two are making a mess – you breath heavily, not understanding what is right and wrong anymore. Only knowing, remembering the shape of his cock. Pushing in and out, forcing its way in. God, you feel full. And ridiculous. And so, so perfect with his cock slowly starting to pump you again. And again. Konig came embarrassingly fast, but only because this is just the first orgasm in a row. Forcing its way inside, you are overstimulated already – but you will take him, of course, obviously. You have to.

König is going to enjoy breeding a new clan out of you.