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A Big Happy Family

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You’re sick a lot. On a regular basis, you’re exhausted, woozy, and nauseous, probably because Snufkins have general poor constitution and no intelligence, which your papa tells you can lead to poor health. You’re also prone to bouts that Bendy calls your ‘sillies,’ which is when you seize on the ground, laughing and crying at once. It’s a very bizarre sort of thing that you can’t much control, but it amuses Bendy - sometimes he laughs with you; sometimes he holds you down so the Joxter can give you the appropriate treatment, which is of course sex. Sex is the cure for a lot of illness you get, like Night Terrors and Anxiety Attacks. It’s more effective when it hurts more, which you think is good because it always hurts when the Joxter penetrates you.

Because of your constant sickness and inconveniences, you hardly think anything of the fact you spend three mornings in early spring vomiting, even though you hadn’t eaten much (or anything, in one case). You’re only upset for being such a handful, especially since on this last morning, your papa was disgusted with you for your behavior.

“Dear, I don’t want to have to wash vomit off my dick,” he explains to you lovingly. “But I want to use your mouth. Why must you be this way?”

You cry, because you’re so inconvenient. You tell him you will try to do better.

“You’re not coming down with something, are you?” He asks.

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry papa…”

“Oh, it’s okay.” He ruffles your hair. “Your cunt is perfectly acceptable, I suppose.” He lays you back very gently in the canoe, and pets you very softly even though you don’t deserve it for being so hideous. He shoves into you, and it hurts worse than usual, as if you’re all swollen and tender. Sometimes you are.

The next few days, you don’t vomit in the mornings at all, only feel faint nausea, and you’re happy when your papa uses your mouth. It seems sex cured you. You think nothing of it, for many days and nights.

Then, as you’re laying cuddled next to the Joxter in the canoe, and he’s drifting his calloused hands over your scarred skin, he remarks softly, “why, you’ve gotten round around the middle, Happy.”

Bendy cackles, kicking his feet over the canoe’s edge. “He’s fat! Just say it like it is, Jox.”

Your papa hums, a deep furrow in his brow. “You had noticed too?”

“Sure. We were playin’ tag before, an’ it’s pretty easy t’notice he’s not such a beanpole when I tackled him.”

Your papa looks at you, deep and thoughtfully, long enough for you to giggle and look away nervously, heart hammering. You wonder if he plans on hurting you for being fat.

“Are you sneaking snacks, love?” He asks.

You shake your head, horrified. You’d never!

“Are you feeding him more?” Your papa directs to Bendy.

The devil tilts his head to the side. “I dunno. Don’t think I fed him yesterday?”

“Huuum.” The Joxter’s fingers drift to your stomach, sliding under your shirt to stroke your bare skin.

“Am I feedin’ him too much?” Bendy asks worriedly.

“No, I think not,” the Joxter replies. “I think you ought to give him more.”

“More?” Bendy crosses his arms. “Why more if he’s already a whale!”

“Now that’s an exaggeration,” the Joxter chides, while you hug your chest and giggle nervously. “He’s only a little bigger. Trust me, Bendy, this is one of those strange Mumrik things.”

Bendy makes an effort to feed you more. At first, you throw most of it up, and Bendy complains that you surely don’t need so much if you can’t even keep it down. The Joxter explains that Snufkin bodies that have been starved often can’t take a lot of food all the sudden, and Bendy mutters that you’re impractical and stupid while he shoves mushrooms in your mouth.

A week or so later, the Joxter slips a hand under your shirt again, and feels your belly. A small smile spreads across his lips. That evening, he tells Bendy,

“Take things easier on Happy, darling. Just for a time.”

Bendy abruptly stops chewing on his favorite pan, a sour look on his face. “Why? I already gotta be gentle, ‘cause he’s so fragile!”

You hug your knees to your chest, feeling inconvenient. You wish that the demon could do whatever he wanted to you without restraint.

“Because Happy is pregnant,” the Joxter declares.

You blink. You’re really bad at processing shock, you know this - Snufkins are too dumb to properly process events and situations. So instead you laugh. It can’t be true. You can’t be pregnant. Why would he say that?

“Pregnant?” Bendy curls his tail around himself, frowning. “Is that another made-up thing like sickness?”

“No, no, it’s very real. Pregnancy is the means by which new Snufkins come into this world to be hurt and loved.”

No. No you can’t be pregnant.

Bendy tilts his head to the side. “And… Happy does pregnancy?” 

“Well, many Snufkins can. It’s a bit rarer, I will admit - Mymbles are much more prone to pregnancy. But it seems Happy here is equipped with what he needs.” Your papa purrs, and leans close to you, as you quietly hyperventilate. “He’ll have beautiful kitties… gifted by me, and brought into this world by him. It’s lovely, Bendy. I had a son, once, but lost him. Perhaps this time I’ll have more luck.”

“I-I don’t wanna be pregnant,” you chirp pointlessly.

“Aw.” The Joxter caresses your cheek. “This is what nature has decided for you, dear. You’d best accept it.”

“I’m sorry,” interjected Bendy flatly, “But what? Happy’s going to - to make cats? Is he a machine?

“If it makes sense to think of him that way,” your papa says. “Though they won’t be cats: they will be little Snufkins, which are called kitties.” Then, after a moment of thought, “or at least I always called them that.”

“I don’t want kitties,” you mutter hoarsely. At first you thought the Joxter couldn't possibly be right - the thought of child-bearing and you just didn’t mix at all. You didn’t want kids. You don’t want to look after them; you don’t want to give birth to them; you don’t want anything to do with them! But now he’s speaking like it’s a fact, and you swear you can feel little creatures swimming around in your belly, kicking and shoving and demanding out.

You wrap your arms around your stomach, queasy.

“Think of it like this,” the Joxter says, leaning close. “You’re going to bring me a whole collection of sons to enjoy.”

“I want to be your son. Your only son.” You look to Bendy desperately for support. “Bendy, I’m enough, aren’t I? I’m a good enough son?”

Bendy shrugs. “Yeah, Jox, I dunno if we need tiny Snufkins. I like Happy well enough on his own. If we ever need any more Snufkins, we can just go huntin’ for some. Way better sport than just producin’ our own.”

“Well, it’s too late at this point; the kitties are already in there.”

“Do they have to be?”

The Joxter looked offended. “Of course, Bendy. It’s impolite to suggest killing my own offspring, before they have a chance to be welcomed into the world by their father.”

“I’m just suggestin’ we terminate the whole machine’s process ‘fore it gets to the whole kid stage,” Bendy mutters.

You begin to cry, and the Joxter turns his attention to you. “There, there,” he says. “I’ll make sure you carry them to term, never fear, love.”

That isn’t the problem, but there’s no point in saying the problem. You’re being selfish and rude. He put his seed in you, and it made life. The least you can do is bear that life until it’s ready to be part of the world, and then you can gift that life to him, however he wants it. He cradles you while you cry.




A few days later has you sitting next to Bendy, knotting together flowers to put into a new flower crown, and the idea strikes you to make a flower crown for your kitties. You don’t know how many you will have. You don’t have very much knowledge about pregnancy - in fact, you don’t know how you know about it at all. Someone must have told you, in a past life you only vaguely remember. 

You were something before you became your papa and Bendy’s pet, but you remember so little of that time (something tells you it’s better not to remember). It must have been an awful time.

Normally you make flower crowns only for yourself, Bendy, or your papa, though, so you’re not sure about making them for anyone else.

“Bendy,” you start softly, “is it okay if I make flower crowns for the kitties?”

He looks at you sharply. “All right, it was funny at first, Happy, but it ain’t funny anymore.”

You blink. You’ve upset him somehow. You’re awful for doing that. “I’m so sorry,” you plead. “I won’t. I’ll just make some for you, okay? As many as you like.”

“Just one is nice,” he says, looking happier. “But put a lot of flowers in it!”

You nod eagerly and set to the task, kitties forgotten.




Your belly keeps getting bigger and bigger; your papa is enthusiastic about the change, often talking about the sons he will have, while you keep feeling uneasier about it. Bendy mostly ignores it, but he looks at you like he’s not quite sure what to make of you. He does go gentler on you, and for the first time in years, your body gets no new injuries, scratches, bites, or scars. You hate the kitties even more now, because Bendy’s frequent care to you had meant something really meaningful. You’d been useful to him, and now - now you feel ugly and wrong and useless. Bendy doesn’t love you as much any more, you fear. You’re eager for them to be out. 

Then one day you collapse just outside of the canoe, eyes round. Something is moving. The kitties want out.

“Happy?” The Joxter calls. “Is everything all right, dear? You look awfully pale.” He looks like he might know.

“I-…” You very abruptly are overcome with the thought I don’t want to do this. You don’t want any part of this. You don’t want to be pregnant, or to have kitties -

But you're far past that point.

Another wave of agony washes over you, and you gasp. “Papa. Papa, it hurts-“

“Ah, dear.”

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” Bendy says loudly.

“No, of course - Happy’s giving birth.”

“Givin’ birth? Who’s he givin’ it to?”

The Joxter scuttles close to you and squeezes your shoulder. “It’s a phrase, Bendy. He’s delivering his kitties.”

“He’s - what- what?”

The Joxter collects an array of objects - sun-warmed and washed cloths from dead Snufkins, a bucket of water from the river, while Bendy watches everything with a look of absolute confusion.

“I-I kinda thought you were kiddin’-“ Bendy says nervously while the pain mounts.  

“No, I was trying to tell you - oh, here comes the first! Do push, Happy, you can’t just sit there whining, don’t you know anything?”

Bendy screams, which is something you've never heard before, and it makes you scream in surprise too.

“A little alien is crawlin’ outta Happy!” Bendy yowls, clutching his horns.

“I’m sorry!” You cry out, in tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to-“

“They’re kitties, darling, please stay calm.”

“Oh my God, it’s disgusting, is it gonna kill him? Jox, you know I wanted to be the one t’kill him!” 

“No, he’s not going to - ah, how beautiful!”

You don’t feel any attachment to this ugly bloody thing that has just emerged from you. It disgusts you to look at.

“Wonderful!” The Joxter crows.

“It’s hideous,” Bendy says.

“I don’t like it,” you whimper. You don’t like it at all, but your belly clenches and you think there’s another one coming.

“You don’ have to like it,” The Joxter tells you, as he scoops up the ugly creature and begins to towel it down.

You groan, and the process begins again.





When it’s all said and done, there are six little kitties tumbling over each other, like Snufkins only miniature size, perhaps six inches tall and fumbling on tiny fragile legs. They all have tufts of hair on their head, except one who is absolutely bald. Some of their hair is dark like yours, some light like your papa’s. 

You’re exhausted, and unhappy, and cry for no particular reason. It feels weird to look at them. To imagine they came from you. You don’t feel any affiliation to them whatsoever; you wish they weren’t yours.

“What shall you name them?” The Joxter inquires, wiggling his finger in front of one’s face - it giggles and tries to catch his finger.

“I-I don’t wanna name them,” you whine. You’re being troublesome, you know, but you’re still in a lot of pain, and feel all wrong about these things.

“Oh, but you must,” the Joxter says. “That’s how it goes.”

Bendy slinks closer to you. He still looks uncertain about the kitties, too, and you’re glad someone else shares your uneasy. Gratefully you settle your hands on his back when he curls up in your lap; he begins to lick your thighs where the blood’s stained you. “Name ‘em after flowers?” He suggests, muffled by your flesh.

“You do love flowers,” the Joxter agrees. 

You do. You sniffle pitifully and look at the kitties again. The more you look at them, the more you see little differences - one of them even looks like a little you, with a similar face shape, the same dark dark eyes, and dark hair. He’s already toddling away from the rest, and clambering up onto the campfire rocks.

“No no,” your papa chides, depositing him back with the others.

“I guess that one can be Orchid,” you say mopily.

“Orchid. A beautiful name,” the Joxter purrs. “To go with a beautiful face.” He tugs his glove off one hand, and caresses the backs of his fingers over Orchid’s cheek. “So soft.”

“Still got five of em,” Bendy adds grumpily. You feel bad, because it seems like the demon isn’t pleased about the additions to the nest. You shouldn't have gotten pregnant - you don’t like them, either. At least your papa does… Rubbing between Bendy’s horns, you do your best to perk up. Your papa wants you to name them, so you must.

“That one can be Tulip,” you say, pointing to the bald one with dark eye. 

One of them is toddling nearer to you, tiny fingers grabby and a giggle emerging from his throat. He’s got the thickest patch of hair, all dark like yours. “And um, Daisy,” you say, pointing.

Daisy stops by your side so sharply that he nearly tumbles into your lap on top of Bendy - the demon hisses and goes tense.  

“Can you say mama?” The Joxter prompts with delight. “That’s your mama, Daisy.”  

“Aaam,” Daisy utters wetly.

Your skin flinches. It’s drooling slightly, and smiling up at you.

“What is it doin’?” Bendy mutters, curling his tail closer to his body.

“Mma,” Daisy says, and then his chubby fingers wrap around Bendy’s tail.

“Oh, no, no-“ your papa interjects, but too late - Daisy yanks.

Bendy whips around in a flash, and then there’s teeth and a gaping maw and - blood sprays. Some splatters hot on your cheek. It takes two furious crunching gulps before there isn’t a Daisy anymore. You laugh hoarsely.

“Oh dear,” the Joxter says.

Bendy licks his lips and settles back in your lap, tucking his tail safely under his body. “They are snack sized,” he remarks sharply.

“Indeed, I suppose you can’t be blamed. But please don’t eat the rest of them.”

“That one can be Daisy, then,” you point at one that’s gone and fallen asleep.

“Daisy, Orchid, and Tulip.” Your papa has pulled Tulip into his lap.

“Daffodil,” you decide, pointing. “And uh, Violet.” There. You named them all.

“Parenting is very exciting,” The Joxter says, caressing Tulip, who is blowing little bubbles. “It has been a long time since I had a child so young, but I do remember it being very lovely.”

“They seem like a pain,” Bendy mutters, watching Orchid flop into the fire pit and dig his little hands in the charcoal.

“No, no, dear,” The Joxter sighs again, scooping Orchid out while holding wriggling Tulip under his other arm. “Such an adventurous lot.”

“I still think we should’a turned off this whole kid-makin’ process before we ended up with a thousand of em,” Bendy added.

“Now, now, it’s only six - oh, well, five now - only five kittens. We’ll manage just fine. You feed children like you feed Happy, I’m sure - just some food and watering, and they’ll do wonderful. Don’t you just love this one?” The Joxter snuggled his cheek against Orchid’s.

“He does look like Happy,” Bendy admittedly. “But boy, it’s a little freaky seein’ somethin’ smaller than me.”

“Darling, everything is smaller than you.”

“Not in this form! I’m used t’being the smallest.”

“You’ll manage.”

Bendy grumbled, resuming cleaning your thighs with his tongue.

You doze off with the feeling of his bifurcating tongue lapping between your legs.



You wake up later, exhausted, to find that your papa has started a campfire, and he’s sitting with Tulip, roasting a fish.

“Bendy caught us some food,” he informs you.

Bendy holds up another uncooked fish, flopping its tail this way and that. “Anythin’ t’get away from these nightmares, Happy. Ya ain’t allowed to get pregnancy again, you got it?”

“Pregnant,” the Joxter corrects.

“I’m sorry.” You feel miserable. The nest is overrun by the five kitties, who all seem extremely inquisitive, grabbing various things with their hands, investigating the packs, and so on. Bendy looks very irritated.

“Now, it’s okay,” the Joxter says. “They really are quite sweet.” He tilts up Tulip’s chin and kisses the kitty on his lips lightly. “It drives a mumrik to distraction, for sure.” A hand slips between Tulip’s thighs and toys with the protrusion there - none of them wear clothes, which undoubtedly makes it more intriguing for your papa. You feel a furl of jealous and tuck your chin on your knees angrily. You’re supposed to be always available.

Tulip begins to cry. You hate that noise, too. They’re fussy and obnoxious.

Bendy hisses. “Shut it up, Jox.” 

The Joxter sighs. “I would like to,” he says, caressing, “I just can’t remember how one does such a thing-“

As he speaks, Orchid totters up onto the rocks around the campfire.

“Oh, get him off there,” the Joxter sighs, lifting his head. “He just loves the fire for some rea- oh.”

Orchid overbalances and falls into the fire pit. Flames lick around his little body, consuming, eating. Bendy laughs; you laugh.

“They’re born with no sense,” the Joxter says, while Tulip detangles himself and runs across the nest. “No sense at all.”

Orchid screams and flails, but the fire loves him, too. You clutch your stomach, laughing harder and harder. It takes way longer for a person, even such a small person, to burn to death - much longer than you ever could have imagined. But finally Orchid isn’t screaming anymore, and then he isn’t moving anymore, either. The smell is atrocious. It burns the inside of your nose and sticks there, making you delusionally believe you’ll never get it out.

Just as fast as you started laughing, you start crying, and you rock in place anxiously. Bendy’s still laughing.

“I liked that one,” your papa says sadly. “He looked so much like you, Happy.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp. “I’m sorry, papa, I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I will make due with Violet.” On cue, he seizes Violet’s ankle, dragging him over. “I like this one as well.” This is his simple conclusion before he forces apart Violet’s legs. “They are so dreadfully small, though,” he adds mournfully, as he inserts himself and Violet begins to scream and thrash.

“Shush, love,” the Joxter croons. In the corner of your eyes you see him close his hand around Violet’s mouth to stifle the screaming. Your eyes are glued to the fire and the charred lump that was Orchid.

Bendy cackles. “Smaller’n me and I betcha they don’t stretch so much.” 

“It is a little painful,” the Joxter confesses. “Ah, oh dear. He’s bleeding already.”

“Does the blood make it any easier?”

“I only wish, but it does seem so. Awful, isn’t it?”

“When do they get bigger?”

“I’m hoping he will loosen a little now,” the Joxter says, and rolls his hips. “Perhaps it’s too much to hope for, but patience can be difficult, with those pretty eyes.”

“I could make more room,” Bendy sniggers.

“You’ll kill him, Bendy.”

“Eh, he’d live for a bit-“

“Hmm.” The Joxter contemplates it for a second. “Well, it is only one. We still have four left after this one. Do make him more accommodating, won’t you?”

He slides out and steps aside, while Bendy takes his place. You don’t actually see what happens - you see Bendy raise his hand, and two fingers turn to inky-black claws, long and lethal. Then he lowers his hand between the kitty’s legs, and you miss the rest, but it’s impossible to miss Violet screaming. The kitties scream so much already, you've found, and you clap your palms over your ears angrily. It’s worse now, hitting new pitches.  

“There ya go,” Bendy steps aside, tail waving happily. “Should be all ready for ya.”

The Joxter croons. “Lovely. Just beautiful-“ as he eases in this time, he purrs. He hunches over Violet like some primal cat himself, whiskers twitching and soft moans coming from his lips. He covers Violet’s mouth again. “Thank you, Bendy.”

“Always happy t’help.”

“Bendy,” you say softly, pleading. It can be dangerous to ask things directly of him - better to gently suggest, but you don’t even have the words for that. You don’t even know if you really want the thing you're thinking about, but there is a funny feeling in your chest, like you want to break down and stop existing. Everything is so overwhelming, all the sudden, even though you aren’t sure why.

He lifts his head to you. “Eh, Happy?”

You swallow your fear and spread your legs. “D-do you-“

“What a slut,” Bendy cackles.

“He is a whore, dear,” the Joxter huffs. “May as well use him, if he’s in need of it.”

“I got ya covered, Happy. Boy, I’m takin’ care of everyone today, aren’t I?” With that, Bendy transforms to his enormous four legged self and crouches over you, tail swishing. Your heart leaps in your chest and you have a second to be terrified for your life, before he grabs your thighs and forces you down on his dick. You writhe in agony, tears springing to your eyes. This is good, you tell yourself. Your whimpers and moans mix with your papa’s, mix with multiple wet slapping sounds.

Something touches your side; you jump. Oh. It’s one of the kitties. “Go away, Tulip,” you mutter, shoving him away (your stomach flares with pain as Bendy pushes in deeper).

“That’s Daisy,” the Joxter informs you, glancing over.

You don’t care. You hate them. You want them gone.




Eventually Bendy digs Orchid’s body out of the fire and eats it, because your papa complains about the smell. Violet doesn’t move after your papa uses him; there’s blood spattered across his entire front, and although he’s breathing, it’s weak and shallow. At some point he stops breathing, but Bendy leaves him alone. He gets cold by evening: when you prod his body, it’s stiff and feels unreal.

Feeling ill, you settle into bed on your patch of dirt with Bendy, wrapping around him like a blanket while he curls up tiny and sweet. You’re glad to be alone with him, just a bit, when Daffodil wanders up on unsteady legs.

“Maa,” he says.

Hatred furls in your chest and you curl tighter around Bendy. “I hate them,” you mutter.

Tulip and Daisy at least are curled with the Joxter in his canoe. Why couldn't he have taken Daffodil too? This one has real pale eyes, paler even than your papa.

“Maa,” Daffodil lays a fat hand on your wrist, scooting nearer. A tiny foot nudges Bendy’s side; the demon emits a low growl.

“Go away,” you snap at the kitty. “I don’t want you. I just want my papa and Bendy.”

Daffodil doesn’t leave. Your rage climbs - which is surprising, because you’re almost never angry, but suddenly, you really, really are. You've had an awful day, and you hate these things and you just want things back to the way they were before - all of it accumulates, and before Daffodil has a chance to annoy Bendy any more, your fingers are wrapping around the kitty’s throat.

You strangle it until it stops moving, and slumps.

“He’s in our bed area,” Bendy whines.

You take the body by the ankle and drag it over near Violet’s body, which is beginning to look unnaturally pale and bloated. You return and curl around Bendy, huffing.

“G’night,” Bendy says, nuzzling into your chest.

“I love you.”




In the middle of the night, you’re wrenched awake by high-pitching crying. It rakes down your spine like nails and you’re immediately trembling in frustration and rage. No. You’re done with these kitties; you hate them, you-

There’s a very wet, very sharp sound that ends in a thud.

“Oh dear,” your papa says. You lift your head. In the half-light of the mood, you see something glinting. “I really didn’t mean to,” the Joxter says. “Alas. I was in the middle of the loveliest dream, and he surprised me, is all.”

Oh. The second Daisy has a knife going straight through his chest and jutting out his back. He’s gurgling blood in the nest. 

“What a mess,” your papa sighs. He pushes Daisy and the knife out of the nest and then curls around Tulip, who has also begun to cry softly. You doze off.




When you wake again, morning light is filtering through the branches. Bendy’s sitting by the embers of the fire, whistles some sort of up-beat song - he’s got a great number of those memorized, and you’re happy to hear he’s feeling better. Your papa, meanwhile, is crouched in the spot where you had placed Violet and Daisy. He’s rutting, and huffing, and moaning.

“They really ah - aren’t terrible - hh, even cold,” he tells Bendy.

Bendy whistles the last few notes, then laughs good-naturedly, “It’s only ‘cause you’re gettin’ used to cold temperatures, screwin’ me an’ all.”

You look about, not at first seeing Tulip, and hoping quietly that something else happened to him in the night. No such luck. You find the kitty with its ankle tied to a tree.

The Joxter’s hips jolt one final time and he moans as he climaxes. Pulling away from Violet’s limp and cold body, he tosses a look towards you. “Ah, yes, he kept wandering off,” the Joxter says, “so I felt it was best to tie him up.”

“Parenting is easier when ya tie up yer kids,” Bendy adds. “Really ain’t so bad now, honestly. And ‘cause we got fewer of ‘em.”

You’re happier too, because the Joxter chooses to use you midday, and Bendy feeds you and gives you attention. By evening you get jealous, because Bendy decides to play patty cake with Tilup, hitting him whenever he gets it wrong, but you go and curl up on the ground and cry quietly so as not to bother him. Later the Joxter kisses all of Tulip’s injuries, and then he kisses Tulip a whole lot, and you feel grumpy. Why does Tulip get all the attention?

You spread your legs again, and Bendy screws you - the pain from that thankfully washes away your ability to think anymore about your jealousy, at least for a time.




The next morning, you wake to find Tulip, still tied to the tree, is not breathing. He’s cold, too. 

“Ah, right. You are supposed to feed them with some regularity, aren’t you?” Your papa sighs.

“So needy,” Bendy complains. “They need t’be fed even more’n Happy, an’ that’s a lot.”

“A real shame.”

You, for one, are glad.

“Well,” the Joxter says. “They were quite fun while they lasted. Let me enjoy Violet one more time, darling, and you can clean up the rest, yes?”

Bendy nods enthusiastically. The Joxter lifts his cloak and settles upon Violet, while Bendy rips Tulip’s body free from the knot - oh wait, no. The knot stayed firm. Tulip’s ankle did not, snapping and twisting until it ripped off entirely.

Curling up like a cat, Bendy began to gnaw on the lifeless kitty’s skull, while the Joxter ruts over Violet.

“He really is beginning to smell,” the Joxter huffs.

You decide to make a flower crown.