Hi! Iâm Butcher (she/her)!Â
I write mostly smut and romance, though I will also often dabble in angst, horror and just about anything that is fun!Â
This blog was heavily inspired by the amazing @yourmoonanon <3 You might catch me there as Butcher Anon!Â
Anons!!!!
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jade |
THIS BLOG IS STRICTLY +18! By proceeding you hereby confirm that you are of age and assume all risks and consequences of consuming said content.
ko-fi
If youâd like to support me, you can do so by going to my ko-fi!
Though donations arenât obligatory, theyâre definitely appreciated!!!! <3Â
m.list (announcement about ongoing series)
RULES
NO MINORS!
Use common sense!
Be kind!
Drink water!
I reserve the right to not answer any asks that makes me feel uncomfortable, nothing personal!!Â
WHO I WRITE/ACCEPT ASKS FOR
Any adult CHARACTER on the Dream SMP
WHAT TO EXPECT/BROWSING TAGS
I love writing on the heavier side, Iâm quite the psychological thriller and angst fan! Though I will always tag my stuff!!! (Iâll update with tags as I go!!!)
c: Awesamdude
c: Badboyhalo
c: Eret
c:Technoblade
c: Wilbur Soot
More coming soon...
Not My Cup of Tea (I will not write it!!) [will also update as I go]
PolyÂ
c!Phil
c!Jack
Heavy dom/sub dynamicsÂ
TAGS (will update as needed)
reblogs â #reblog
rambles and anything thatâs not writing-related â #butcher talks
Summary: Everything you donât want to hear is catching up to you. (Or: Despite your best efforts, you hurt the people you love)
Relationships: Past c!Wilbur x reader, ambiguous Ghostbur x reader, c!Tommy & reader. c!Phil and c!Techno are in it for like ten seconds.
Warnings: Mention of death, intrusive thoughts that get graphic + violent, panic attacks, implications of past abuse (exile), just generally distressing behavior like shit gets dark
Notes: This is all angst, though there are moments of levity. I feel the need to emphasize the unreliable narrator aspect of this.
SORRY ITâS BEEN A YEAR. UM. I went through like 6 different drafts of this and came up with/wrote a lot of this before the c!Wilbur apology tour even started so I am. Just rolling with it and keeping the unintentional parallels to that and the finale. Maybe Iâll even finish the next one in a decent amount of time! Can you believe this was supposed to be shorter than the first part đ Itâs literally 14.3k which is twice as long.
Also, HUGE NEWS⊠this series has a name! Fourth-degree! There will be more of it, eventually.
Nimbus is honest to god one of the most talented people Iâve ever met and itâs such a privilege to have a front seat to their unending genius. It does sadden me that a lot of this gets lots amongst the crowd and I do sincerely hope one day people will truly see what they are capable of.
Iâm extremely biased to say that attrition in bigger than the sum of its parts, itâs years (cough) of work and I know each and every word has their very essence poured into it. I know every emotion has been carefully thought of, the characters arenât mindless names, they are dedicate creations with a hear and a soul. Nimbus constantly worried over how to word it perfectly, how to convey it in the right manner. Not once, did I ever see Nimby carelessly write something, throw it into the wind for notes. As a writer, that put me to shame and inspired me immensely.
Fourth-degree is a study of loss and how we often disregard the privilege of mourning. Reader is not allowed to properly mourn someone that isnât fully gone, all of sudden, youâre thrust into this new world without someone you loved so dearly, picking up the pieces they left behind, walking on eggshells around the literal ghost of your lover.
The worldbuilding in this is piece is so much more than is led on by these two parts and if you appreciate honest to god, emotional writing, give Fourth-degree a chance.
Iâm only nice to Nimby once a year, so this is my quota: You are a passionate burning flame in a dimly-lit room. Do not ever allow yourself to be put out.
I kept asking myself where everyone is supposed to go from here, how anyone is supposed to move on after someone so beloved tragically passes, and I've found that the answer is with just as much kindness and love as before. It's going to hurt for a long time, but that's okay.
He loved us. We loved him. Stories are the closest we'll ever come to knowing him, but how lucky we are to have known him at all. How fortunate we are to have been a part of his life, even in a small capacity.
As someone that writes c!DSMP x readers, I feel I should address my opinion on cc! x readers.
As a preface: I create a VERY firm line between creator and character, and believe that itâs the writerâs job to make that clear within the writing. If I canât tell if the piece is for the character or the content creator through characterization, context clues, environment, etc. then a disclaimer at the beginning is not going to fix that. Putting a lot of effort into character work for DSMP characters is not only a good writing practice, but a responsible one.
This is not about the people that blur that line. This is about the people that very explicitly write for content creators. (Note: this does NOT address the people that write smut about content creators, that is an entirely different can of worms that requires a different post even if several of the same sentiments apply.)
I understand why they do this. Genuinely, I do. I know that a lot of consumers (and makers) of this content are kids, I know that this is largely a form of escapism especially regarding comfort, and I trust and believe that they will grow out of it. Iâm content to leave them alone in their corner and not pick fights, this is not an attack or personal vendetta.
That being said, I refuse to interact with people that write cc! x readers for a reason. The adults especially should know better.
They are romanticizing the idealized version of a person. Either itâs âaccurateâ to the point that itâs creepy, presumptuous, and invasive, or they strip a real person of their parts and pick out the traits that are convenient for their daydream. They are not treating content creators like human beings, they are treating them like a tool for their own self gratification. This would be fine if they were fictional, but theyâre not. Donât tell me that itâs a fictionalized version of a person, either, because that would mean something like writing a character from a fic or an alternate universe with distinct differences, not âthis is clearly just the ccâs actual life.'Â
Thereâs no way to circumvent this problem, and thereâs no way to fix it. There is no good way to write cc! x readers because the problem is inherently that they have decided to make a living, breathing person (that they donât even know)Â the object of their romantic speculation. The problem is that this content exists at all.
Itâs harmful. It encourages dangerous levels of unrealistic attachment (for both the writer and their readers), the way they talk about content creators is uncomfortable, and, again, the whole dehumanization aspect. Itâs not intentional, but itâs what happens. It leads to discussion about a personâs supposed emotional availability, their loyalty, their partner preference, etc. and generally turns into a gossip chain. It becomes worse when this content is placed in the main tags, which intentionally loopholes itself around people that have blocked the x reader tags.
From a completely creative perspective, I just feel it limits you as a writer immensely, to simply choose to follow real life aspects. There is an ethical paradox when it comes to CCs, how close can you possibly make your depiction before itâs too much, or on the opposite, how out of character can you make someone to fit the narrative until it has nothing in common with its namesake except the name.
Truth is, as opposed to the characters who not only are we exposed to on almost every important moment in their fictional lives but we are told their every thought, a streamerâs online personality is a persona, itâs a show put on whether they want to or not.
I do believe art comes from all places and itâs beautiful in almost every form, itâs admiration and careful thoughts, this form just isnât one iâm quite particular about
did you know sunglasses were originally invented for chinese judges to hide their facial expressions in court? in that case, was minicrift originally invented to mask the inner existential dread that lies within you?
the writers of the bcu (butcher cinematic universe) are really going in an interesting direction with this new character, personally im excited to see the perpetual and neverending torment of the main character (butcher)
u ever think about how me calling you a whore unprompted has more notes than you saying you're going to be less of a whore. environmental storytelling.
if you think iâll be less of a whore youâre wrong, ill be even more of a whore
Jokes aside, butcher-[redacted], should I perhaps pen a name for myself? Given I refuse to come back to this unholy platform, I am still not willing to give up on tormenting butcher-[redacted] at every given opportunity :(
ur legal name is bastard
everyone meet byeol sheâs my soul sister and she has clogged my inbox with USELESS ASKS
why is your url plural. where are the other butcher anons. fake news!!!! false advertising!!
itâs butcher anonâs, you fucking invertebrate
using this absolutely USELESS ask to advertise
A little Coquette (Virgin!Techno) and Middle Child will be in indefinite hiatus until I write them
I have thought about this a gazillion times whether or not to do this but in the end, it just feels right
I donât wanna keep saying âit will come out soon, it will come outâ and basically edge you guys, so for our collective sanity, iâll leave it as indefinite hiatus.
This doesnât mean Iâll never finish them, I will. I just have no inspiration to write those stories at all and between a hectic life, I find it very hard to take the story exactly where i want it to be.
When Techno announced his illness, I put an immediate sort of stop to writing about him. Cancer comes very close to me, and even being somewhat unrelated to his character it felt emotionally taxing to write in that time as well as plain insensitive to just lewd his character while he was going through treatment awaiting surgery. Coming out of that stalemate is harder than i expected.
Recently, I have taken an 180 with my writing. I realised with the help of my friends that when it came to smut my writing felt dull. I think I tried fitting myself into a mould that just wasnât made for me, taken into account how immensely different my writing style is in my native language vs. english. Baby, youâre a haunted house was an experiment, letting go of these notions iâve attached myself to and, honestly, it feels so fucking freeing
This hiatus is mostly cosmetic, to those of you who are already waiting, nothing will change. But itâs mostly for new readers who donât follow me and canât reach the older asks buried in my blog.
I want to experiment more, to write different characters and settings. Iâm currently working on my biggest project ever for a follower milestone completion. It involves the most work iâve ever put into writing and iâm extremely excited to share it with yâall!!
Iâm immensely grateful for you patience and everything so far and Iâm super excited for whatâs to come!
It takes him twelve minutes to respond, twelve minutes of that little text bubble appearing and disappearing, never staying or becoming the message he was planning out, but never had he taken this long, always prompt and eager with his responses, living up to the nickname you have him saved in your phone under, a simp if you have ever seen one but right now he was taking his time, dragging it out and maybe, just maybe making you worried.
And then the ping sounded, twelve minutes of waiting and worrying over nothing and now you would get your answer and be able to go about your day just like you had been for the past week.
'No'
Two letters after twelve minutes, one short word of denial and then silence, nothing more, no follow-up texts, none of the rambling or mixed signals about whether he actually meant it or not, just that one word and then silence. He didn't respond to the message you send back, didn't pick up when you called, ignored every chance you took to try and get him to explain to take back the 'no' and to change his mind, sure you had ignored him and done nothing to reach out to him in a few days but that couldn't be why.
Could it?
The weekend passes slowly after that, no more messages, to pings on your socials, nothing but the same things that always filtered through on a weekend. What had you done to get this response, racking your brain and trying your best to think, sure you ignored him but you always did that, hell this stint wasn't even the longest you had ignored him, but maybe this time was the one that tipped the scales?
It took him twelve minutes to tell you no, and come Monday in your first class, not a quarter way into the class when the free study begins and you turn to his spot at the back of the class he is gone, already at another desk with another person, wringing his hands and pushing the mess of curls out of his face just like he had when you first met him, all awkward energy and stumbling charm.
Wait, stumbling charm? No, he was awkward and insecure, not charming, never charming, so why was it now that he was across the class from you, working with another that you could almost see the sliver under all the grime and filth you knew him for.
Its ten minutes into lunch when he approaches you, a bundle of cloth in his hands that when you reach for it your mind freezes, it was a hoodie that went missing, something you knew he had and chose to ignore, something you had seen him defile and stain with more drool and cum than you could have ever thought one person able to make. Hell, the week it had gone missing you were over at his, working on a project with his roommate and had caught him with it.
You still remember the day, having accidentally opened his door, catching him with his face buried in the hood, one hand clutched to the fabric as the other worked himself to completion, you never brought it up with him, but it was the day you decided to give him more of your time.
But ten minutes into lunch there he stood, hoodie in hand, scratching the back of his neck as he handed it over, grimacing just like you had that first time he asked to buy you lunch, but the real kick was how the hoodie smelt, it was plain, like the soap you buy for a dollar from the laundry mat, like forgotten clothes you take and bulk wash before donating, it smelt like goodbye.
The sound of your friends laughing, bumping your shoulder and snickering about being in trouble with your simp ringing in your ears, even as you look down at the now pristine hoodie it still feels unreal, as if you were dreaming and that text never came, you never watched him walk away off to a table of three people, a mixed group and the new object of his affections clear as day, some random bitch you think streamed or something but all that your mind could catch was that he had walked away.
It was five minutes into a party you knew he would never attend had you not been there for you to look at the space along the back wall that he normally occupied, always there, always waiting for you to lose interest in the loud music and cheap booze, a staple of any party was stealing away with him and giving him just enough to keep him around.
But he's not there, the wall is instead taken by some couple making out, using the free wall to the most, breaking in the party with a make-out session and you were stuck watching, mind muttering that they are in his spot, that they need to leave cause he will be here and he will want to lean there, he always dose.
Then again he always said yes to you.
It was five minutes into the party and you were thinking about leaving, waiting for an uber and going home, but something kept you, rooted you in place and had you check every door and greeting for him. It was five minutes and he wasn't there, he wasn't leaning against the wall or awkwardly shuffling into the house, he wasn't here.
The moment you leave, waiting for the uber, numb to the fact that he had left you, turned his attention onto another, idle through the ride most certainly not scrolling through the long messages he once used to send you, thinking about how it took him a few days to drop you and only twelve minutes to tell you no. At home it's easy to strip down and tug on the hoodie he returned to you, the smell of generic laundry detergent odd where it should smell like shitty Chinese and axe body spray, a disgusting combination but it was how he smelled, or how you remembered him smelling.
It's incredibly easy to drift off into the obsessive rambling he once left you, it's toxic and foul, switching between begging for your love and rambling degenerate filth about his sexual needs for your touch, but nothing could stop you from looking at that time gap between your last message and his denial, such a small thing but it has left you spiralling.
Twelve minutes to tell you no.
Ten minutes to hand back something he had defiled and purified on the same day.
Five minutes for you to drown in the obsession he had once held and show for you.
But it will all be okay, you'll take some time, calm down and he'll be back, he can't have left you, no this is just a phase, he will be back, stealing your hoodies and awkwardly buying you lunch, filling your DM's and texts with rambling filth and obsession, looming behind you and acting like he should.
It will be okay, it will all go back to how it was.
âin which the sincerity of his love and the wonder in his eyes are nothing but hollow promises meant to absolve his guilt.â
pairing: Technoblade x reader
genre: angst
word count: 765
authorâs note: got distracted while writing for drabbles for moments in time and this happened :D mild not sfw content but it isnât anything explicit;; if you are a minor please dni if possible :)) thank you for reading <3
courtesy of @/Stazza85 on minecraft forum
Technoblade is not gentle.
He isnât gentle when the voices in his head scream the loudest, overwhelming the cries of his friends and foes alike as he makes his way onto the battlefield. He knows he isnât gentle when he sees the carcasses flooding the path on which he walks, blood trailing behind him with every step that he takesâthe burden he carries oh-so heavy on his back.Â
Of course, he knows he isnât gentle when he draws a blade to his enemyâs neck, eyes cold and merciless as he takes their last breath. He feels the guilt; he knows the feeling very well, in fact, and he knows you feel it, too, when you take his hand in yoursâonce so dainty and softâto walk with him on the thorny path he has chosen.Â
Technoblade knows he is not gentle.
Yet, when he feels your skin under his own, he canât help but feel like he could be something that he is notâthat he could be anything if not gentle.Â
He touches you like youâre glassâlike youâre fragile, even when he knows you arenât, not anymore at least; he knows that youâre nowhere near fragile, heâs seen it with his own eyes after allâthe same eyes that soften as they gaze over at you, battered and bruised fighting his war.
And when he tends to your wounds, he can only let himself be gentle in spite of your protest to get on with it so you could return to the training field, his sword in your hands, anticipation tethering on the edge of excitement. He knows itâs bad for you to be out there so often, putting your life on the line just for him, and only him.Â
Even in his most intimate of momentsâwhen his body is captured by the raptures of your own, breathing in the scent of your comfort, heart embracing yours like a lifeline, he is still wants to know that he is holding you with such attentiveness; tranquil and tender in his embrace as he covets your form with his own.Â
He is gentle when he traces the curve of your hips, feverish fingers dipping into the warmth of your soul for he knows that it is what you deserveâto be loved and revered like the angel that you are. And oh, heâs trying so hard to be gentle when he mumble praises into the shell of your ear, the roughs of his finger tracing the arch of your spine as he indulges you in the finest of sins.Â
Youâve gotten him wrapped around your bruised little fingerâjust as you are on his, and you are content with that so long as you can see him, feel him, stay beside him.
Even so, sometimes when he smiles at youâso warm and longingly, like an unspoken promiseâyou feel like it truly will be the last youâll ever see of him; and really, for all you know, it could be the last time youâll ever see him. You know thisâhe knows this, especially when his lips run over the roughs of your own, chapped from the harsh coldness of the tundra as it burns against the fiery clutches of death outside your door.Â
And oh, he kisses you like he wants to take your existence away from when you standâradiating with reverence as he worships your lips with his; and yet, it is quick and woefulâso desperate for your love to soak through his skin and drown the sorrows in his heart.Â
He knows it is but a selfish whim.Â
He knows, because every time he steps out that door, he tells you to prepare for the worst, for he knows it could only get worseâfor it is simply his fate to walk this pathâeven when youâre right beside him, your hand in his, and the other on the hilt of the blade youâve spent too much time wielding.Â
And when he turns to look at youâyour glistening eyes meeting hisâhe knows his love for you is nothing but secondary to the guilt in his heart; and despite his delicate touch and gentle caress, he is nothing but a smear on your hopeless dreams of a peaceful lifeâa forever-unfulfilled future where the both of you could truly bask in the love of one another without the deafening wails permeating through your walls.
He knows that his adoration that knows no bounds for you, no matter how infinite it may be, isnât and will never be anywhere near gentle.Â
For the sincerity of his love is nothing but an apologyâhis hopeless apologyâto you.Â
Itâs such an honour to watch Pandoraâs writing develop at such a rapid pace đ„ș It only gets better with every piece
I love this. I love the gut wrenching uncertainty of the future, the fear that clouds over their every shared moment together. Techno feels human, insecure and scared.
You always describe scenes with so much love and attention i canât help but fall in love with the way you write.But this one hurteedddd
Itâs poetic, the cursed warrior forever forced to live in a cycle of guilt, exchanging immense power for never really being alright. A (greek) mythological punishment.
Absolutely wonderful piece and even better writing, Iâm so incredibly proud to call Pandora my friend and extremely excited to see what comes in the future â€ïž
Are we ever gonna get a part 2 of Baby, youâre a haunted house?
WHEN THEY ONLY ASK WHERE IS PT2 NEVER HOW IS PT 2
In all seriousness, this might just be the last time I'll answer an ask of the sorts relating to Baby, You're a Haunted House.
As of right now, there are no plans for a PT2, if that changes of course y'all will be the first to know but I've got plenty on my plate right now
In summary, I'm extremely thankful for the sweetness but there's no part 2 in the near future
As for my other fics; I'm working on them, finding it a bit hard to push the story where I wish it to go as well as working on standalone stories I'm sure you guys will like just as much! Thanks so much for your patience! :] <3
