#The Butcher and The Rabbit

[julietslament]

The Butcher and The Rabbit Ch. 1

Stone Butch!Huntress x High Femme!Reader

Summery: You lived exactly as you were supposed to. You said your prayers by night. Married the correct man and filled your time as a homemaker. Everything as you were told, yet none of it could prevent the war reaching your doorstep. Forcing you to flee your constructed reality. Straight into the past you left to rot in the woods.

Content Tags/Warnings: DEAD DOVE, Allusions to SA, Slight Gore, Captor/Captive, Eventual Smut, Dubcon, Horror Themes, Childhood Friends to Strangers to lovers

A/N: This will be a very self-indulgent Dark Fic. I will add to the tags as they come.

The sun falls like a guillotine. Its last vestiges of light illuminating your path as you slink through the wood. Pine needles fall onto your shoulders as you push branches out of your way. The red forest was dense, a horrid maw—your only salvation.

Your footfalls are tentative and unsteady. In your haste to escape you had shoved on your husband's hunting boots. The laces are still undone, and the soles twice your size. Paired with the fact you weren’t even a runner on your best day these boots were life threatening. If you were thinking clearer perhaps you would take them off. Endure the forest floor with your bare feet, but the light dust of snow had you far too worried about frostbite. As if you would survive that long.

In the distance, the boisterous sounds of soldiers echoed through the trees. Hounds on a fox trail. Barking for the thrill of the chase. 

Yet you would not be barreling through the trees like a spooked deer; you had to be clever. You knew these woods better than them. You knew they were strangers, and the forest would treat them as such, but would it be kind to you? 

The canopy above darkens. The last rays of the sun fade behind you. As you struggle to make out the overgrown path in front of you the sounds of men grow closer. Too close.

How? Were your tracks so easy to follow? Had the forest forsaken you? Gripping at the jagged bone hanging from your necklace, you prayed under your breath pleas that you would live. Words of worship falling do the dirt beneath your boots. 

Moving along branches dig into the fabric of your sleeves. The foliage grows thicker. Holding your skirt aloft could not even save it from the grasping branches. Bark-laden fingers trying to drag you back. Pulling you away from the path. Perhaps you should listen, but how could you? The only thing your mind could focus on were all the things that could happen to you if you were caught.

Dogs will hunt. 

Until the rabbit hangs limp from its jaws.

Are the trees getting closer together? Unable to stay low to the ground, the bush too thick, you were forced onto your feet. Looking around it was dark. Too dark, you could barely make out your hands in front of you. Your chest rises and falls as you try to get your bearings. Your body twisting this way and that, not even the moon could pierce the branches above you. Was the moon even out tonight? Were there ever stars in the sky?

An inexplicable terror fills your bones. The darkness is suffocating. Standing still as thoughts begin to swirl around in your head. In your head? Or were the trees whispering to you? 

‘Where are you going?’

‘Are they close?’

‘They have to be.’

‘you can hear them.’

‘I can hear them.’

‘You can hear them’

‘I can hear them right behind me.’

A hot huff of air blows a strand of hair into your face. Your body goes rigid, sweat beading down the back of your neck. As you listen. The sound of air huffing. In then out. Breathing? No. It was smelling you, inhaling your scent. An animal?

Out of the corner of your vision, you see a light, a lantern dancing around the trees. Without a thought you dart towards it, possessed by your fear. You barrel towards the beacon too afraid of the beast behind you to think of the dangers in front of you.

You can’t hear anything over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears but you know you're being chased. You can feel it. The aura of a predator. Reaching its claws towards your back. The lantern gets closer. Hope fills your chest. You can make it! You're gonna make it.

As you reach the ring of light, its glow warming your face, a gunshot rings out. Sliding to the floor you duck. Then it’s only a second before you discover your mistake. In front of you, with a lantern in his hand, stands a man dressed in uniform. His pistol raised right where you had been standing. It seems the rabbit has run straight into the jaws of the hound. You don’t stay a second longer as he yells over his shoulder, no doubt alerting his comrades that the hunt has ended.

Pushing yourself up to your feet you stumble forward. Once again sprinting into the unknown. Relying only on the adrenaline pumping through your muscles you barrel through branches. This time you can hear the footsteps rushing behind you. The light of their lantern is close enough to see in front of you.

Another shot and the bark of a tree explodes next to your head. Forcing you to pivot. A hard left that sends you straight into a thicket, thorns dig into your skin. Ripping at your clothes but you can’t stop. Tearing yourself through the clawing branches, the sounds of fabric ripping mix with the laughter of your pursuers. Finally, you feel your hand hit bare dirt. Digging your nails into the earth you clamber forward.

There’s no path ahead anymore but that doesn’t matter. 

‘Need to get away.’

‘Need to run.’ 

Fear pushes you further. Your limbs grow numb, your breathing impossible to control but weakly you persist. Until you feel the trees open up. This is it. The forest is giving you a way forward.

One step, and you're straight back into the ground. Head slamming flat into the dirt and before you can even think a scream tears through your throat. Pain flares through your ankle, burning up your leg. 

Twisting around you try to make sense of the sudden, searing pain in your ankle. However, the darkness doesn’t even allow you to see your oose and tugging your leg back only makes you cry harder. Fat tears of despair fall down your plump cheeks. Reaching down you feel for any blood but your fingers meet the cold texture of steel. Digging its jaws deep into the soft leather of the boot, puncturing your flesh.

‘This is it. You're caught.’

‘They’re going to kill you.’

‘They’re going to do worse than that.’

The voices chase you still. Furling the fear that grips your being. The steady thrum of dread that shields you from the pain. 

Soft light begins to glow onto your pathetic figure. What a sight you must be. Covered in dirt. Bloodstained and unable to stop your desperate sobs. Shaking like a newborn lamb.

Light fills your vision. What should be a guiding star is now the beacon of your execution. 

The hounds have finally reached you. Just as they always would. Just as they always had. 

Three of them, dressed in army fatigues,  burst out of the trees. Boxing you in. Only one of them held his gun aloft, pointing his pistol straight to your head. He stood in the center, the other two had weapons of their own. One a rifle hanging idly in his grasp. The third, holding a lantern of his own, gripped a knife in his fist. Each of them leering down at the prey in their grasp.

As your eyes darted between them they began speaking in a language foreign to you. Not speaking to you of course but with each other. Discussing something. Their body language was so casual it left your hair on end. The words didn't make sense, but they didn't need to. What else could they be talking about?? What other reason could they have to chase you so far? Your death would not be a swift one.

Leisurely the one with the knife begins sauntering towards you. Then something snaps in your brain. You scream again. Now in a fury as if that’s going to deter him.  Spitting and hissing as a final act of self preservation. The man’s smile only widens. Cooing words at you as his leather-gloved hands reach towards you. Hands that would never touch you. 

In a blink, you watch as a hatchet buries itself into the side of his cap. His wide eyes locked on yours still as he stumbled to the side. Gasping for words before falling to the ground. You can’t tear your gaze away. You stare as his hands still twitch. His lantern still clutched tightly in his grasp.

The soldiers behind the now corpse start yelling into the trees. Both now with guns at the ready, aimlessly pointing them into the shadows. You turn your head left. Then right, trying to get a glimpse of this new danger. Peering into the bush the lantern light just barely touches a few feet beside you.

An eerie silence descends on the red forest. Not even the sound of the wind through the trees to calm your nerves. 

One of the soldiers creeps forward, shining his lantern deeper in. The light swallowed by the pitch black. He speaks in commands, you think as if ordering the shadows around him to surrender.

In front of you soldier with the rifle stands frozen, his grip on his gun too tight. You can see him trembling. He takes one step back then a great hand reaches out of the darkness. Gripping him by the hair and dragging him backwards. A scream pierces the air, the sounds of struggling. Then something that sounds of wet branches snapping.

To your left, you can hear the last soldier standing scream out, before shooting wildly into the bush. Releasing as many bullets as he can, the shots pounding through your skull until all you hear is clicking. You don’t look as the soldier desperately fumbles to reload. No, you can’t look away from the darkness in front of you. You shouldn’t. 

‘Watch. Witness.’

Stalking into the light you see the face of a rabbit. A wooden mask splattered with blood affixed to the face of a hulking body. Towering over the scene. Muscles taut as they reveal themselves. The sleeves of their tattered shirt rolled up to the elbow, exposing the blood trailing up their forearm. A large wood cutting ax is held firmly in their hands, but the only thing you could focus on is its eyes. A pale blue that brings back memories of when you were a child. Of stories, your father would tell you. Of bodarks roaming the wood. Of the stryga that huntsmen

Lost in your admiration you flinch as the creature from the wood lunges forward. In two swift strides, it has him by the neck. The wood cutter's ax sunk deep into the muscle of his shoulder, as though it were only butter. He barely has time to scream before he’s thrown to the ground. The thing presses a bandaged foot down onto his chest, pinning him to the earth. A predator hovering over its prey. With his body pressed down the ax is yanked from his skin. The masked figure raises the weapon above their head and you suddenly realize it’s a woman. The ax swings down, cleaving his face in two. 

You can’t bear to look anymore. Can’t bring yourself to open your eyes or even will your limbs to stop shaking. Your hand goes to your necklace. Trying to seek any form of comfort in your last moments. It goes quiet again, and you wait for the ax.

You feel something. Cold fingers brush softly against your calf. A sharp yelp escapes your throat. A knee-jerk reaction as you open your eyes and come face to face with the bloody rabbit mask. She’s crouched down next to your trembling body, you hadn’t even heard her get closer. She doesn’t acknowledge your scream, merely inspects the trap still locked onto your ankle. With her so close now you can make out the features of her face. 

The mask covers all but her lips and jawline. Scars travel from beneath the bloody wood, marring her pale skin. One cuts straight through her top lip, pulling it up just enough for her canine to peak out. Your gaze drifts downwards, following the contours of her neck. More scars. All the way to where her broad shoulders are hidden beneath the ragged cotton of her shirt. Her clothes seem worn. They look like things men in the village would wear.

As you drift slowly back up to her face, pale blue eyes stare back at you, fixated on your features. Her head cocked to the side. As if she’s trying to figure something out. 

A hum fills the silence. A lullaby. One that you’ve heard thousands of times as a child. She’s singing a lullaby under her breath. You're not sure how to react. Something about this fills you with a sense of peace. Some nostalgic feeling, from winter's past.

A dirt-covered hand reaches towards you. Moving the hair from your face. Gently, her fingers trace along the contours of your cheek. Mapping out your features. Delicately she trails a line down your neck, following the cord of your necklace. Towards your panting of your breast. Stopping at the small animal jaw dangling from your neck. Fingering the edges of its teeth. 

She’s leaning over you now. Staring intently at the worn bone. Her steady breath fanning against your cheeks. She shifts and you feel her other hand brushes against your waist. At the sound of you gasp. As if you’ve burned her. 

The lullaby cuts off, and for a moment you just stare at each other. Before her gaze darts to the ground and she seems almost… bashful, you think. Slowly your mind begins to come back to you. Thoughts racing as to what you should do. She wasn’t threatening you, in fact, she had saved you. Hope fills your chest once again. 

Sparing a glance at the mutilated face of the fallen soldier behind her you hold onto that thought. Sitting up a little straighter you lean closer to her, tilting your head to meet her gaze.

“Help me, please.” Your voice is hoarse. Hardly able to speak above a whisper. 

She looks at you. Startled. Like she was amazed that you could speak. She stares for a moment, long enough for you to worry about her intentions. That perhaps you were mistaken. That maybe you would meet the same fate as those men but she turns to look at the trap still clinging to your boot. 

With a practiced hand, she presses down on the metal. A click and the jaws are released.

Relief floods your lungs as you're able to pull your leg back. The pain lingers but something stops it from fully reaching your brain. Perhaps the thick leather saved you from a broken bone, you hope. Leaning down you go to take off the boot. Desperate to know what lies beneath but a hand on your wrist stops you.

“Don’t.” The first word she says to you. Her voice is rough, harsh as the winter, and coarse as sandpaper. Sounding as if she’d never used it until this very moment. 

Your hand stills as you stare up at her. Unable to deny the authority in her voice you can’t help but listen. Watching as she slides her hand up your arm. Goosebumps shoot up your skin. Her other arm scoops under your legs. Then before you can protest, she hauls you over her shoulder, careful of the pain in your leg.  

The last thing you see is the corpses of the soldiers, fading into the red pines. Their remains swallowed by the earth as this strange woman whisks you away.

[ashleyeveerson]

Haven't been able to think about anything other than the victorian/edwardian/WW1 twink and his 80's punk almost-boyfriend for a week, send help

[jitteryjive]

i hope no one has done this yet as this meme always reminded me of them… i was considering doing paladin mickey versus scrapper/thinner mickey but m&o is funnier imo

if u can please reblog this… i really like this drawing

[hellbraiserart]

The Edible Man

What a joy to find ones body under such careful attention

(Deaghlan, he/him)

[sco07ut]

furry au thomas thorne accidentally shoots a human out of the sky in his duel pass it on

[nuktia]

something something about rabbits and mental health

[the-kipsabian]

[retrovrt]

made a white rabbit design and now i cant stop thinking about cheshire, him, and jervis

[selfiesforalgernon]

Frankenstein's monster, watching the Boris Karloff movie adaptation from the 30s where he's acting like a fucking dumb asshole: "Ok this is so offensive though wtf"

[kathybluecaller]

I just think they’re neat :]

[fluffytimearts]

"Run Little Rabbit" Redesign!

I redrew some old 2022 art and decided to do some redesigning and renaming. I made them in the form of chibi/avatar sprites!

Mr. Wolf -> Vanity Sang (Vanity = excessive pride in or admiration of one's own appearance or achievement, Le Sang = French word for Blood, Gore, etc..)

Human!Fluffy -> Lally Lapine (Lally = To Chatter, Lapine = French word for Rabbit

[julietslament]

The Butcher and The Rabbit Ch.2

Stone Butch!Huntress x High Femme!Reader

Part 1

Summary: The wolf has taken you back to its nest. Tends your wounds and brings back unwanted feelings.

CW/Tags: The inherent homoeroticism of stitching up wounds. Internalized homophobia. Vaguely unwanted touching. Anna is kinda silly.

A/N: Zaya - Meaning little rabbit. A popular Russian term of endearment. Used for a spouse or lover.

The searing pain of your leg settles into a dull ache as you're carried through the pitch black wood. Head pounding with every step she takes. Your hands grip into her shirt, while you try to keep yourself conscious. With no light to guide you, it’s impossible to tell if your eyes are even open. There’s no path for this beast to follow as she stalks through the trees. Her steps are light, not even a leader out of place. The only sound she makes is singing that old lullaby. Something that once soothed you to sleep is now a haunting knell of uncertainty.

‘The gray wolf has come.’

Pain is all you can focus on. It’s what you have to focus on. The only thing that needs attention right now. How your bones ache, and the pull of your limbs as they grow heavy. Adrenaline flows out the tips of your fingers, leaving you as nothing more than a limp carcass hanging over this giant's shoulder. Just as the cold kiss of snowflakes hits your cheek her raspy voice reaches out.

“Almost home.” She reassures with a gentle pat on your bum. As if you were merely too drunk to make it home. Were you in your right mind you’d be humiliated. She talks to you so softly, like you're a child. What’s worse is that you feel like one. Pathetic and small. 

The sound of a door creaking open, and you can finally see. Nutty wood floors glow with firelight. The warmth of it hits you slowly, seeping through your skin to soothe your aching bones. With long strides, you're carried through a living room, up hand-carved stairs, and through the threshold of a door. Gently the stranger leans forward and you’re sat down on a plush bed of fur. Bouncing slightly atop the covering your hands grasp at the fur to steady yourself. 

Worrying the thick duvet in your hands you take in the room. Warm cedar walls adorned with bones. Antlers of hunts gone by proudly displayed over a fireplace. The crackling of flames settles your nerves. Slowly the world stops spinning as your headache dwindles.

 Towering over you the stranger tilts her head, studying you through the holes in her mask. Her eyes glowing in the low light of the fire and as your gaze finally lands on her a tension fills the air. It’s a suffocating apprehension, wrapping itself around your throat. She’s breathing heavily, harder than before. Her chest heaving up and down. Her hands twitching at her sides.

 ‘It was a long journey.’ You think and you're not a small woman. She must be tired. Although her gaze tells you something else. Staring down at you like a predator. Muscles taught and ready to spring at the twitch of your finger.

‘She’s going to eat me.’

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. The fur straining against your hand as you grip it tighter between your fingers, waiting. A doe frozen in the sights of a wolf, but before the pounce comes she pivots. Turning away towards a different door in the room. You can’t take your eyes off her, you shouldn’t. This is still a killer, after all. A strange hermit in the woods. The fact that she saved your life doesn’t change that. Who knows what she could do to you?  

Eyes trained on her, you try to peer into the room. Watching as she fades into the darkness, not bothering to make a light. Moving through the darkness as she did in the woods. Confident in every move she makes. Something wooden opens, shuts, and then she’s back in sight. Carrying a white tin in her hand.

Without a word, she kneels beside the bed and opens the box. Taking out bandages and tinctures to lay neatly beside you. Firelight glints off steel scissors, sending a shiver up your back. Shoulders tensing as she silently prepares her tools. Sewing needles, knives, and other things that slice through skin to bone. The silence is too much.

“Have you done this before?” You ask nervously. Eyeing her as she settles herself over your maimed foot. Taking the boot gently she begins unthreading the laces. It’s jarring how carelessly she touches you. How easy it is for her to move you as she needs. Sparring you a glance she smiles ever so slightly at your words.

“Have you?” She quips back. With the laces removed, she opens the leather mouth as wide as she can. Delicately she pries the boot off your foot, steadily revealing your wool sock. Once a bone white now dyed red with blood. Wincing you scrunch your nose at her. The disgust at seeing your own blood paired with your annoyance at her nonchalance.

“You're not going to saw my foot off are you?” You mutter back. Wincing you scrunch your nose at her. The disgust at seeing your own blood paired with your annoyance at her nonchalance. Though she only responds to your attitude with a humorous huff.

“The trap was small. Meant for a rabbit.” She laughs to herself. Her hand gently cradling your leg, raising it to settle on her knee. Shuffling your skirt higher up your leg in the process, the wool tickling your knee. 

Taking the sheers, she slices the fabric through. Then gently peels the wool from your bloodied flesh. Steady in her movements you're sure she’s had experience. Doesn’t even flinch at the grotesque way your torn skin clings to the wool. Lifting and stretching with it, slowly so as to not mangle the skin any further. Blood drips down to the floorboards now that the lacerations are exposed. Deep gashes tearing into the muscle. You cringe at the sight, unable to look away.

She must notice your brow pinche together. How your lip trembles at the sight of gore. Gaze softening ever so slightly she runs her hand along your leg. Rubbing her thumb just under the hem of your skirt. It’s meant to be comforting you know, but it only stresses you more. The callousness of her fingers set your skin ablaze. What shocks you the most is how warm she is.

“It’s not so bad. In time it will just be a scar.” She comforts. Moving her hand away from your skin, leaving a scorch mark in its wake.

She grabs a bottle of liquor laid out next to all the other tools. Twisting the lid, the acrid smell of it reaches your nose. The unmistakable burning of vodka. She says something again but her words fall on deaf ears. A sudden stinging surges up your flesh. Burning through your nerves as she carelessly pours the alcohol onto your skin, flushing out any disease that might cling on. You cry as she wraps a towel around your ankle. The pressure doing nothing to stop your hyperventilating.

“Breath, you're alright.” Her gentle tone pierces through the pain. “Just a little longer.” Her pale eyes never leave yours as she holds the cloth tight to your skin. Talking you through the pain. 

“You’re doing so well.” She praises, watching your face bloom red. The pain is dull compared to the gentle way she looks up at you. With final praise, she takes the towel away. Revealing the cuts in your skin. It’s not so gruesome now that the dried blood is cleared.

“I’m not a child.” The words sound petulant even to you. Wiping the tears away you turn, staring into the fireplace. Out of the corners of your vision, you catch her grabbing the needle and thread. 

“No...But you certainly cry like one.” Her heady tone does not go unnoticed.

“Oh please.” Huffing you lean back on your arms, trying to make more space between you. Your knuckles must be white with how tight your grasp at the bedding beneath you. Twisting it in anticipation for what’s to come and glaring at the fireplace. Not allowing her to see the incensed frown on your face but still from below you can hear her snicker at you.

“This is going to hurt, cry all you need but stay still.” She warns, threading her needle. You turn back to see her holding the bottle towards you and without a thought you take it. The liquid burns your throat, distracting you from the way your insides flutter as your fingers brush against hers.

Tense silence settles over the room. You continue to drink through the first passes of the needle as it glides through the skin. The wound is still raw and each pass of the needle is a reminder of the metal jaws that did this to you. Of the excruciating explosion of. A flash of red that dulled soon after. This, however, was torturous, an unwavering pain with no end in sight. Nursing the bottle in hand, your eyes grow blurry as you attempt to hold back tears.

Instead, you try to find something else to focus on. A fixed point to occupy your mind. Looking down at her, you watch. Mind numb with spirits you fixate on the way her arms flex as she works. The light of the fire extenuating the veins snaking just beneath her skin. Moving in tandem with the way she painstakingly tends to you.

‘Sew.tie.cut.

‘Sew.tie.cut.’

‘Needle. Thread. Scissors.’

  She’s doing it on purpose you're sure. Flexing just so. Tensing her shoulders in a way that boils your blood. Showing off with the sole intent to turn your gaze. It’s distressing that someone could be so shameless. What’s even worse is that it's working. The pain of the needle dulls in comparison to the growing itch inside of you. The aching needs that you force down. Down, down, down. Deep beneath the surface but it bubbles up. Always trying to claw its way out of your skin. Your face contorts in frustration.

‘Too much to drink. That’s all.’

The thought passes and leaves as you bring the bottle up to your lips. Stoking the embers of impulsivity. Settling further into the plush mattress you absentmindedly spread your thighs further apart. You take no notice of your relaxed posture. Of the way your skirt sprawls with your legs or at least you don’t let yourself notice. No, the buzzing of your head stops that, but the predator beneath you is painfully alert. She sees every twitch of your fingers. The flush of your cheeks as you leer at her, completely unaware of yourself. Once again her gaze drifts to the jawbone dangling at your clavicle. 

“Don’t pout. Tell me, where did you get that?” She shifts from looking at you to back to her work.

“Huh?”  Your gaze snaps to hers. The sudden question pulls you from your reveries. Sheepishly set the bottle down. Trying to conceal it as if you’ve been caught.

“Your necklace. Where did you get it.” She clarifies, still absentmindedly stitching away. Needle. Thread. Scissors.

“Oh..my necklace.” Compulsively you grasp at the bone, rubbing your thumb along the indents of its teeth, dull from years of worrying it down. Holding it tight you think of how to answer her. What could you say? What is there to say at all? There are no words. Nothing meaningful enough to express everything this trinket holds dear. Patiently she waits, expecting something.

“A friend made it for me.” The words are nothing more than a whisper as fresh tears swell up. You can’t stand it. The guilt stabs through your heart. It won’t leave you even with another sip of the bottle. There’s silence that follows your statement and it is unbearable. It drapes the room in a cruel judgment. You try to focus on her hands again. Lip wobbling and eyes Squinting as the thread glides through your skin. Needle. Thread. Scissors. Blood coats the thick black string with each pass-through.

  ‘There was so much blood.’

“A friend?” She finishes the final stitch. Leaning down she takes the string in her mouth, cutting it with her teeth. Lips brushing against the skin. When she pulls back there’s blood smeared on her lips, gaze locked on yours all the while. 

“We were girls together… we…she..” You speak impulsively. Needing to bite your lip to control yourself. Unsure of what might tumble out next. The jawbone continues to dig into your palm. Feelings you haven’t touched in years bubble just beneath your skin. Twisting that knife inside of you.

She stares at you, mouth turned downwards in a frown. Pitying you from her spot on the floor. Yet it’s lost on you as you stare right through her. Buried memories swirling through your brain.Remember.That terrible voice rings like a bell in the back of your mind. You shouldn’t have drank so much, or maybe you should drink more.

‘It should have been you.’ 

You hardly feel the wrapping of a bandage around your stitches. Unable to pull yourself away from lamenting your past. Pulling the fabric taught she moves to caress your skin once again. Rough hands try to comfort you once again while she struggles for her own words. Her mask does not do much to hide the way she pities you. How her eyes crease with a sullen air, head tilting to the side. As if you’re some sad creature needing to be coddled. Wrapped up in her toned arms, nestled into her chest. You take another drink.

“You’re still wearing it.” She sounds surprised. Her words under her breath, not meant for you to hear.

“Of course I am.”  You’re almost offended. Why wouldn’t you still be wearing it? A part of you believed it wouldn’t come off if you tried. Brows furrowed, you watch as she rises from the floor. Touch lingering as she stretches to full height. 

“You will sleep here.” A soft spoken order. One that you have no objection to. Your head is spinning again. Fresh tears stain your cheeks as you sit leisurely on the bed, watching her clean up the bloody mess you left. Scarlet rags are shoved thoughtlessly back into the white tin. Bloody needle and silver scissors tucked into a bed of cotton roses. Then another sip from the bottle until her hand engulfs yours, stopping the glass from reaching your lips.

“You’ve had enough.” She scolds you and you're in just the right place to get mad.

“Don’t speak like you know me.” You look up at her creased in frustration. Not relinquishing your hold on the bottle. Instead pulling it closer, and in turn her. “Who even are you?”

“Who am I?” She asks sardonically. A threatening timber echoes off the walls. Her hand darts up, squeezing your cheeks. Digging her fingers into your flesh. While your grip on the bottle is rigid, hers is ironclad. Forcing you to crane your neck upwards. Her canines glint in the light as she sneers down at you.

“I am the Frost King.” She tilts your head, examining your reaction. Reveling in the way your face twists in fear. “Aren’t you warm, maiden?”

“The frost king?” You echo. A tale as old as the woods outside.

 ‘What is she saying? Is she making fun of me?’ 

Confusion fills your head as you try to understand but she doesn’t give you the time. Her grip from as she leans over you. Pushing you back into the bed. Her thighs sliding under yours as she makes room for herself, settling in between them. The fabric of your skirt bunches up against the coarse cloth of her pants. Leaving your bare legs hanging off her hips.

“My poor Zaya. Always so lost.” Her thumb brushes against your cheek. Wiping away your tears.

“What?” That name. Eyes widened with fear you try to claw at her arms, desperate to get her off. No one’s called you that since you were a child.

“Don’t call me that.” Your words are strained against her palm. Unable to speak properly as she keeps her steady grip on your face. With teeth bared in false intimidation, you try to squirm away from her. Twisting your hips against her, something that only has her pressing against you harder.

“Why not? It suits you so well.” She pushes your head deeper into the fur, your hair splayed out underneath you. 

“I remember you used to like it.” She’s whispering as a lover would, there’s a pleading in her voice. Desperate for you to understand, her grip on your face softens. 

“Remember…?” You repeat. Staring up at her just as desperate to understand, but you can’t. You don’t want to. 

Lips tremble as her fingers leave your face, tracing down the curve of your neck and your arm. She takes your wrists in her hand. Then guides you up towards her mask. Electricity shoots through your nerves as the wood meets the tip of your fingers.

“You know me.” She insists, eyes searching yours for recognition.

 The room stills as you take the mask in your hands. Everything falls into the aether. Only your breathing in tandem with hers disturbs the air. The two of you buzzing in anticipation. Tentatively you lift the mask. Slowly. So slowly. Afraid of what you’ll see. Of what lurks beneath the carved wood. A choked sob leaves your lips. You don’t think you’ve cried as much since that day.

“Anna?” The name is raw in your mouth. The scar on her lip cuts up her cheek, digging into the skin before it splinters across her face. Jagged lines reaching towards her ear, slicing a crescent around her eye. Her eyes. They’re sharper, focused but there’s no denying that they are hers. The same light gaze mirroring yours. Tears of her swelling in the corners but they don’t fall. Your fingers trace along her features. Taking in the roughness that she has grown into. 

She says your name. Softly. A wave of emotion crashes through her as she leans down, pressing her forehead against yours. Her hands holding yours in place, relishing in your touch.  Her breath warm on your cheeks and the memories that you’ve locked away burst forward. Hazy images of climbing trees and swimming in the river. Of kisses stolen in the rain. Blood on the snow. Gunpowder filling your senses. You’re finger holds her tighter, not ready for her fade away. Convinced that this specter will rip itself away from you once again. Her hands hold you tighter in kind.

“I’m here.” She reassures. Leaning down to rest her head in the crook of your neck. Her arms snake around your waist to hold you tighter. Curling into like a long lost pet.

“How?” You wrap your arms around her in turn. Grasping onto her shirt too tightly while you stare up at the ceiling. You press your cheek against her hair, taking in the scent of pine. She shakes her head at your question. Shushing you quietly before offering a soothing kiss at the pulse point of your neck. 

“It does not matter. You’ve come back to me.”

[rainboworm]

Rewatching season 1 of yellowjackets and Shauna going "yeah i guess I'll cut up this deer if no one else is gonna do it, whatever" is so crazy... I'm over here like noooo, girl you're about to take on the role of the butcher in a way that's so deeply engrained in your friends minds that it will follow you your entire life, making you face the horror of all that happened out there much more directly than the others have and leaving you traumatized in some way none of the other girls have, noooo

[rabblets]

This kit was so traumatized by the front row seat to butcher day and the hides hung from his cage that he turned around and binkied away in utter fear!!

[thebutcherbingo]

Down The Rabbit Hole Bingo

(Note: The orders from another menu will still be delivered)

Dearest Customers,

The butcher establishment is opening a special menu as The Online Service currently being made.

Down the rabbit hole bingo is all about the strangest, the good, the bad, and the magical things from all over the world. From a foreign tale to a love story of the century, or the things that crawled all over the online world.

Below listed is a possible trigger warning and their codeword, so could avoid it when needed to:

Upsetting historical events--for example; a death from a plague (Codeword: Rotten Rodent BBQ)

Graphic depiction of violence--For example; Description of a scar (Codeword: Wounded Steak Flesh)

Dead Dove themes--For example; Rape/non-con, autocannibalism (Codeword: Chicken’s fried head)

Disturbing fictional themes--For example; novel about scalping the native, a lyric that has described disturbing things (Codeword: Roadkill Soup)

Romantic themes; you know what to expect (Codeword: Waltzing cats)

Dark Themes; Murder, robbery, and many more (Codeword: Nightly Owl’s eyes)

Sexual themes; Voyeurism, 69, blowjob, and many more (Codeword: Steaming Butchered Long Pig’s Jewels)

Disturbing facts from all around the world (Codeword: Hiding rabbit)

Fluff; (Some customers do not like happiness) (Codeword: Fur covered Plate)

Angst/Heavy Angst; Some customers like torture (Codeword: Live Dolphin)

Disturbing internet's rabbit hole--For example a letter from a murderer, or dark web rumored facts (Codeword: Electric Bugs)

Monster/creatures--For example alien, or the mothman, or kuntilanak(Codeword:  Alien Fried Fingers)

Wonderful/disturbing places--For example haunted places or a beautiful tourist attraction (Codeword: Atlantis Water)

Artifacts from all over the world--For example Rosetta stone or dead sea scrolls (Codeword: Monkey's paw)

Strange events--For example The Bermuda Triangle tales or story from the Winchester haunted house (Codeword: Msytery Blood)

Humor (Codeword: Laughing fox)

Song/musical instrument (Codeword: Singing Raven)

Movies/short film (Codeword: Through The Lens of The Butchered)

Gen (Codeword: Gen)

Paintings (Codeword: Macabre From Humanity)

What the Codeword is used for:

To mix one codeword with another to get a mixed prompts/two themes merged into one.

Let's talk about Mannerism and customer's rights now:

While The Butcher is not a highly-demanded place, mannerism is needed or else you're going to be somebody's culinary experience.

1. You can only request two (2) menu at maximum and you are only allowed to ask for a change at maximum up to 2 squares. Therefore, please be careful when ordering.

2. Due to certain culinary experiences, only customers over 18+ are allowed to order.

3. When you're eating—filling up your stomach—you are allowed to use any method to eat; with your hands, with a fork and a knife, with a spoon. Your experience when eating should grow depending on how you look at it.

4. It might sound weird, but The Butcher accepts if you play with your food however you want. For example, if you're ordering a chicken, you're free to make a poem out of it or an art, or just throw it in the trash.

5. The Butcher establishment is offering special badges if you finish eating your order. It's just for fun. The Butcher is all about having fun.

Second, customer's rights.

1. Order from The Butcher establishment opens on October 11th 2023 and will be forever open, at least until The Butcher is dead.

2. The Butcher prefers having the customers take their time when eating so no one will die choking in the establishment, so… they have time to fill up their stomachs. There's no deadline. So even if you turned into vampires--like some of our customers and live eternally, you could still eat your fill.

3. The Butcher opens its door for two orders only, however, you can cut it into pieces. There is no minimum or maximum quantity for the requirement put in as a filling. 100 pieces? Go for it. 70,000 pieces? Go for it and have fun!

(pshh! Pieces as in word count)

4. The Butcher allows customers to bring food from another establishment and mix it up with The Butcher's order, as long as the other establishment allows it.

5. Anyone from anywhere could sign up, whether you like evil superheroes or two cannibals in love, The Butcher is open to everyone.

That's it!

The Butcher

Do you agree?

If you're ready, you're welcome to order below;

ORDER HERE

@thebigbangblogproject

[xilaxii]

I DID A THING!!! not the part of the song people usually animate to but im like all unique and cool and stuff i guess!

you guys get like. vague lore and shit!