𝐎𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡,

                                                               @1abyrinths

There was a reputation that came with the title of The Butcher. One, that try as he might, he could never seem to shake. Even after he’d served his sentence, even after his near death- still there were others that would shame him for his past. Despite the truth he uncovered, despite the sacrifice he made, it seemed some could never look past the scars he wore, evidence of who he truly was. A monster to some, a killer to others, one who belonged at the bottom of the sea to them all. There would always be those who despised him- despised them, for trying to find peace after the chaos he’d endured. 

It wasn’t the first time someone made a passing comment, usually scoffing in their direction, comments that would leave a bitter taste- but none worse for wear. Never had she heard such vitriol, threatening words, so laced with venom as they simply tried to exist. To think, it was meant to be a date between the two of them, a few drinks at a hole in the wall, time for just the two of them to relax and unwind. Yet nothing could ever be so simple, for the moment they’d try to find peace, it seemed there was always something, someone, that would try to ruin their fun. 

It was a rare side of him to see, one that he tried to hide, or perhaps lay dormant, waiting for a memento strike. How it happened in an instant, one moment she was laughing- and the next a hand was on her shoulder. The words almost came too quickly for her to process, strangers barking questions on either side of her, the demand for answers she had no reason to give. Why was he there, why was she with him, wouldn’t she know better than to spend time with a criminal- the grip of strangers hand was enough to leave her recoiling- and he in turn stepped in to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

Time seemed to slow in that moment, like watching an attack dog bare its teeth and bite. The sound of his knuckles would connect to an unexpecting jaw, a cracking that only she could assume was the sound of something breaking on the receiving end. It was a brief, yet fruitless fight, watching just how quickly The Butcher became a reality before her very eyes. Those around him didn’t stand a chance, watching bloody knuckles fly, and bodies quickly fall to the floor before she could bring herself to react. Violent, brutal, and in truth, nothing she’d witnessed before. The sight alone left her frozen in place, knowing she was responsible for this happening in the first place. If she wouldn’t have asked for a date, if they wouldn’t have come here- if- if- 

Her hands trembled at her sides, that fear that gripped her starting to subside, seeing the aftermath of his rage. He did this for her, to keep her safe, bloodied his hands time and time again when he didn’t need to- and shouldn’t have to. It was her fault. Now here he was, living up to the name he tried so hard to move past. Her throat felt tight, that hint of tears brimming her eyes as she’d instinctively reach for him, hands cupping his face as she’d choke out his name. 

“Simon-” Nothing more was said, nothing needed to be said, finding her place in his arms as he closed the space between them. Her guilt was tangible, tears slipping down her face as his lips would meet her own soon after. The taste of copper lingered on his tongue, that familiar scent of blood mixed with sweat invading her senses. He didn’t deserve this- he never did- and still he somehow endured for her. “I’m so sorry-” the words fell between each gentle embrace, her fingers tangling in his hair, whispering her apologies between each tender kiss. "-I'm so sorry."

                                                               @1abyrinths

To think it was a question that even crossed his mind, to hold such a tone of disbelief. As if the concept was too hard to grasp, as if such kindness offered had to come with a price. Like a stray dog, kicked too many times, never once granted kindness or a gentle touch- all he knew was violence. To bare his teeth and bite any hand that tried to feed him seemingly second nature, but how could she blame him, given what bits and pieces she knew of his past. A killer, a butcher, a man who deserved such punishment- that’s what they’d told her at least. Yet sitting before her, all she could see was a man, a man who needed help. 

It was a miracle he was alive at all, to have made it to the surface after spending so long below. It was clear that time had taken its toll, blood from below having left its mark upon his skin. Cuts and bruises and the like- which is why she was summoned to help. She’d never seen him up close, only hearing him through the hollow echo of the hull, and brief conversation through radio. Only ever catching glimpses of the other through blood stained glass, never having seen him so clearly until now. 

“-Because you needed it.” The words were spoken simply, softly, as she’d tend to the cut on his brow. Cleansing the area, preparing it for stitches, yet her touch remained gentle through it all. Hands would guide his chin to lift, giving her a better angle as needle and thread would begin their work through flesh. “Despite what everyone might think of you, I refuse to hold judgement until I actually get to know someone. And I know we haven’t spent much time together… but whatever you experienced down there, well, no one should have to go through that.” It was a miracle he made it out at all, overhearing others place bets on how long he’d last, if he’d live to see the surface again. Why, if no one else believed in him- she did. 

“What I’m saying is, I’m glad you’re alive. I was worried about you… and contrary to what most might say around here, I believe each life is valuable. Your life is just as important as anyone else on this crew…” Her brow would knit at the notion, ready to defend him without hesitation. Still, her hands continued their work, each loop through flesh helping close the wound, wiping away the blood as she went. “Am I being too rough..?”

It was a sound he’d come to dread, the warning siren overhead as flashing yellow lights would alert those around of danger. Nothing good ever came from those doors- that much he’d learned in his time down below. How many lives had he seen get taken from the beasts they’d unleash from their confines to let run free. Gooseberry, Coyle, Franco, The Twins- the list only grew longer in the time he’d spent down here. All of them equally deadly, and yet none compared to the one he ought to fear most. 

The Groom- his groom. One could not be seen without the other when it came to these twisted games. To think the title of The Bride became his being, a role he never anticipated, yet over time began to encompass all that made him who he was. Maybe that was the purpose of these trials, to reshape and form people into a twisted design of Easterman’s desires. The lines between his life before and the person he was now only blurred further at the edges. Denial, in being the wife to this man- and yet still he stood, unmoving as those doors would open to reveal who would join him in the dark- waiting for a glimpse of him, despite knowing what would come should they meet face to face. 

He would know him by his footfalls alone, the soft hum he always seemed to carry on his breath. How it made his heart leap into his throat, the feeling of adrenaline coursing through him at the sight of him. His lover- his husband- his hunter. Night vision of his goggles gave clear view to the man that loomed down the hall, each step down causing him to backstep in return. If he wanted to leave the trial- he had to stay focused, complete his objective- the last thing he needed was to be-

The crackling of glass would break the silence, his own, shuddering breath giving way to his location. A hand would clasp over his mouth, trying to catch himself as he’d stumble back, shards of glass opening up his palms, crunching beneath his feet as he’d try to catch himself, turning to run. Droplets of blood would be left behind, leaving a trail for the other to follow. Grasping the wall, he’d try to cut the corner, break line of sight and gain some distance between them. If he could- there was no stopping the man once he knew he was in the trial. Everything, everyone else wouldn’t matter now. 

Unfortunately for him, there was to run to- even fewer places to hide. His trembling hands were brought close to his chest, feeling the warmth of blood as it would run down his wrists from his injury. It was only a matter of time before he’d find him, the darkness closing in as his headset would dim. He needed to find a way out- stumbling further into the room with the hopes of finding a door- a window- some way to get out. Running into a table, it was at that moment he realized the room he was in was a kitchen, tripping on kitchen items that lay strewn about, colliding into the nearby countertop with force, the air being knocked from his lungs as he'd try to catch himself on the floor. A sound of pain slipped from him as the glass in his hands only sunk deeper.

“Agh- Shit-!”

                                                               @finalslay

There was a clattering of chains, footsteps stumbling back as it to gain some distance between them. To think she was always like this, so skittish one moment, only ready to rear her head and bite the hand that chose to feed her. Truth be told, she should have been dead long ago. If he’d not had any say in it, she’d have been buried under the sunflowers out back by his all-too-eager mother some months back. Merciful, even when he was raised not to be- knowing it was risky, keeping a girl around as feisty as she was. But it wasn’t all bad, at least on the days she wanted to behave. The tug and pull was normal, some days she longed for his affections, and others- like now- did she try and force him away. Not that she’d get far, in fact, she knew damn well there was nowhere for her to go at all. Why he couldn’t help but laugh, even as she forced space between them, leaving him high and dry despite the taste of her still lingering on his lips.

“Come on now darlin’- no sense in shying away now… You and I both know why you ended up here.” Curiosity, like a moth to a flame, how many girls made the same mistake as her, once upon a time- yet it didn’t end as well for them. Whether or not she was living on borrowed time well, only time would truly tell. If she played her cards right, maybe it wouldn’t have to end in bloodshed. All she had to do was play along. Which meant giving in to her desires. 

“You just couldn’t resist, could you? Now look where you wound up, a pretty little thing, in over her head…” How his wolfish grin only grew, flashing canines like a dog ready to bite. He wouldn’t ask, nor care much what she’d think, closing that space between them like a predator, ready to overtake his prey. A hand would move to grasp her jaw, forcing her to look his way. How his own head would tilt at the sight of her, the silence almost tangible as he’d look her over, studying her, before a thumb would come to trace her bottom lip, a low, guttural noise stirring from somewhere deep within. Desire, amusement, and something akin to hunger lingering in his gaze as he’d speak.

“How’s about we try again, hm? This time do it right…”

                                                               @carnagewed

This is wrong, he knew this was wrong- but somewhere along the line, the voice in his head that once screamed out to refrain began to slip away. Where, or why, he wasn’t entirely sure- the passage of time seeming to take the parts of the man he once was. Like a painting, worn and weathered in time, the visions of his past life grew faded at the edges, cracked and tarnished beyond recognition. Something he tried to deny- to come to terms with the acceptance of his newfound life. Yet at times like this, it was almost all too easy to confess. He couldn’t remember the faces of his family, wife and child, now nothing more than Rorschach spots- black inky nothing behind his eyes. Acceptance, in knowing there was no returning to the person that once was.

Where once, shame might have encompassed his being, now only pleasure would follow suit. To think once he might have fought away his advances, felt ashamed in the act of loving another. Day by day, the notion faded away, his name, his role, coming easier now as he’d submit to his touch. Gluskin’s bride- his pretty little wife. The titles and names felt familiar now, as did the touch of his groom, the longer the nights went on. Once the dress was pulled away, and flesh lay bare before him- how his heart would leap at the sight of his lover before him. His towering frame, such contrast to his own, feeling smaller, delicate beneath him, as lips would claim what was rightfully his. A hand would come to stroke through his dark hair, quietly admiring the further he ventured down. It would be a lie to say he didn’t crave his touch, his body trembling in pleasure, the longer he’d linger south. 

“Eddie-” his name fell softly from his lips, desire reflecting in the soft tremble of his voice. His hips would move, his lower back arching from where he lay beneath him, the self control within him dying out as he’d submit to him in that moment, chasing the sensation of his lips. Fingers would settle at the nape of his neck, giving a firm, loving squeeze, as if it might convince him to stop and reflect on where affection could lead. When in truth? He didn't want him to pause, nor pull away. Logic would fall away for pure desire- for in that moment? all he wanted was him.

"Don't stop-"

                                                               @1abyrinths

The space was secluded, tucked far enough back in the trees that no soul in their right mind would come looking for them. Truth be told, not even the gang would likely find them even if they tried. It started off as a simple request- scout around- find homesteads that might be easy enough to sneak into. Robbing, looting, it was something that’d grown to be a specialty of his in his time within the gang, and why it was he above all others that was sent out, time and time again. Not that he minded it, in fact, sometimes privacy was needed. A break from the group. The bickering, the fighting- but there was the rare occasion that company was preferred over isolation. Mainly it was him. His one exception.

This gave them an excuse for time spent together. No eyes or ears to suspect a thing, no need to rush something good. A makeshift tent was all the two needed for the night, hardly strung up beside an isolated pond. To him, it was enough, to allow himself a moment to be greedy, taking all his time and attention from the others. It seemed even John longed for solace, a desire that seemed to be lingering in the back of his mind. He could tell by his touch, the way his body moved with purpose, taking no time to invade his space, slotting himself perfectly between his open legs. 

It was an act of trust, to expose himself to another in this way. How often he hid that part of himself away, his neck a reminder of just how close he’d come to death all those years ago. The jagged scar was not one he revealed to anyone- his partner being one of the only few he’d give such space to. No doubt the fluttering of his pulse could be felt against his lips, fingers in turn tangling into long, dark locks in response. He’d grown accustomed to keeping quiet, their love so often brief and fleeting, he’d learned to keep hush for them both. But it was clear this time was different- that John wanted to hear his pleasure. His hips would shift to meet his own, greedily rocking as thighs would squeeze against his waist. The more he moved, the more responsive the wolf of a man became- once tender kisses growing in passion, until a sudden flash of canines would playfully meet his skin, his grip tightening in response. 

“John-” How his tone felt almost cautionary- as if warning him what might happen if he’d continue. Yet he seemed to have no intention of stopping, feeling his lips only continue their path down the curve of his neck. His free hand would slip between them, tugging loose the buttons of his shirt, giving the man free range to continue. “Been waiting for a moment alone like this- guess it’s safe to say you were too…” A breathy little laugh would escape him, while hands would boldly shift further down the space between them, finding the weight of his lover's belt buckle, and giving it a playful tug to loosen where it sat. “How about we take our time with this job… make sure it’s done right…” As if it wasn’t the last thing on his mind- but he’d make excuses where they were needed, preparing for whatever scolding might await them, once they’d return to camp. 

                                                               @lesalut

Ironic, that he of all people, one whose sworn goal was to defy death itself, clung to his own life with each passing day. To think he’d entered this town with one goal in mind: searching for means of immorality, no matter the cost. What he’d never anticipated, was the reality that befell before him. Never one had he expected that a quick trip to a quaint town would have him one foot in the grave. Such as it were in these tales- a man makes plans, and god himself laughs at those who believe they can defy him. 

He should have known better than to travel after dark, the way the town breathed infection from one district to another. With it came its rabble, thieves and thugs who sought to abuse the sad state of this town. Never did they care who their next victim would be, innocent, elderly, let alone a man who claimed to be a doctor. The only time they listened was when they faced the barrel of a gun. Even then it could not stop the occasional confident madman, which left him in the sorry state the man had found him. 

A cold sheen of sweat had begun to wash over him, the remnants of tobacco and smoke lingering on his clothes as he’d forced himself to stand. He’d only planned on resting a moment, safe from the cutthroats and pest that contaminated the district down the road. His mask hung loosely around his neck, risking a lingering sickness for the sake of his needed vice. One of many- yet the only one on hand for the pain he felt in that very moment. Thankful, at the least, the blade he’d encountered only went so deep. A hand would press to the wound beneath his coat, attempting to hide the sorry state he’d found him in, and push onward with hope he’d not catch wind of the copper that pooled beneath. 

“On the contrary, I was actually trying to help the inhabitants of this godforsaken town, if I must explain myself to you.”  Ashamed to admit he’d been caught off guard, having no desire to dwell on the notion he could- and should very well be dead. Yet despite the throbbing of his head, and the tumbling of misplaced steps, his voice held no malicious intent towards his other half. The surgeon cared for the same reasons he did- they needed each other, fates forcefully tied into knots on the day they both arrived in this place. 

“The locals here are far from friendly as of late- not that they were even on the first day of my arrival, but I digress- I helped who was in need, with luck they'll live another day.” The remnants of his rolled cigarette were cast aside, the inky stain of blood evident on his leather glove as he’d returned it to his wound. “Stillwater calls to me, I’m in need of rest, morphine, anything to help me make it through this night.” He could feel his own shoulder brush against the man at his side, but made no effort to meet his piercing gaze.

“Walk with me-” A demand, yet more so a request- fear that he’d not make it back alive on his own, should any more unwanted guests arrive.