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wisepainterprince · 2 days ago

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woooowwww i love this game guys

—Honey on your hands

Summary: You got used to your new cannibalistic cottage core life and took a step further in life.

Words: 1k

Tags: Murder, Blood, established relationships, female reader

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You weren't sure when it became official.

It wasn't a fairy tale. There were none of those romantic kisses under the gentle moonlight, where he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer into his chest. Nor did he mutter a sweet confession into your ears behind closed doors, when his brother remained asleep at night. Just the slow shift of your kidnapped life filled with a strange intimacy.

His silence softened the edges. The way William hovered close to you, whenever you did the chores around the house, his eyes lingering a bit longer than usual while meeting in the garden. He even joined you in bed after you fell asleep and would rise before you woke up.

Maybe it turned so naturally, when you started to stitch his wounds. Or perhaps it was around the time, when he stopped hiding the blood on his hands.

Dating William wasn’t like anything you’d read in your little books back at home. There were no flowers,because you picked those by yourself. No love letters, because he barely spoke unless necessary. But he brought you bones cleaned of meat, and you turned them into wind chimes that clinked gently in the breeze. It was a weird match, but still fitting in its own way.

He brought you a deer once.

Still warm. Still twitching. His brother sewed some additional limbs to it, in a not so pleasing way. You blinked at it lying across the table, heart hammering, but you didn’t scream. You just looked at him and said quietly, “Do you need help skinning it?” It was a genuine question. His eyes widened, just slightly. Enough to notice.

“No,” he said. “But… you can watch.”

So you did. You sat across the room, flower crown crooked on your head, humming quietly as he worked. You weren’t disturbed. Just thoughtful. Later, you took the cleaned bones and lined them along your garden beds like little guardians. You got creative with the bones you got.

William watched you kneel in the dirt, your white apron dusted with soil and petals.

“You make everything beautiful,” he said, almost like it hurt to admit.You looked up, smiled soft and sunlit. “Even you.”He didn’t believe it, but he let you press a dandelion into his palm and kissed his jaw anyway.

Soon enough there came a day that started like any other day that you came across. You were in the garden, humming quietly one of the records that played in the livingroom and you fixed the apron bow that was tied behind your back. An apron that William gave you, stolen from another poor unfortunate victim. A fine smell of herbs hit your nose and you turned around to the kitchen window, the soup in the pot was just starting to bubble, herbs from the woods, meat from…well from William and Jackson. The house smelled better than ever.

And then the scream came. It was sharp, panicked and male. The fitting description for the poor unfortunate guy that crossed paths with Jackson and Williams' weird new pig. It resulted in Jackson kidnapping the guy, probably to turn him into another one of the cows. But the scream was enough to let you freeze. Your hand hovering over the petals of a foxglove.

He wasn't supposed to be awake yet.

Jackson and William were gone, hunting. And it meant they left you alone in charge.

And somehow, things were going downhill now that one of their victims woke up and was probably loose in the house.

You didn’t panic.

You untied your apron, left it draped over the bloody chair, and stepped into the hallway barefoot. The scream had come from the upper floor, and now… now there were footsteps. Frantic ones. A slam. A crash. Something knocked over. The screen door creaked. He was running.

You followed. Not quickly. Not loudly.

Like a shadow with soft hair and a steady breath. You were at an advantage, since you were sure that he wasn't aware of your presence. You found him near the edge of the woods, shirt half-torn, face scraped from falling. His wrists were raw from where the bindings had been. He looked back and he didn’t scream this time. He just stared.

“You…” His voice cracked. “You’re another victim? God thanks, I think I know the way out..” You tilted your head. You were still in your soft house dress. You probably looked harmless. He took a step back. “You…They’re monsters. You don’t have to be here. You can escape with me.” You blinked slowly. "Escape?"

You looked over your shoulder, back toward the little cottage. The herbs. The fireplace. The books, the tea, the bloody knives soaking in the sink. William.

"No," you said gently. “I’m already home.”

He tried to run again. Poor thing.

You moved quickly,faster than you thought your body could. The knife you grabbed from the kitchen still had flour on the handle. You weren’t William. You weren’t precise or clean. But when it was over, and the forest was quiet again, you knelt beside the body and pressed your fingers to his still-warm neck. Your breath came steady.

You returned home barefoot. Quiet. Streaked with red. The soup still simmered. You washed the blood off slowly, carefully, like you were rinsing jam from your hands. You set the table for two. Lit a candle. And you tied your apron again. When William came through the door, eyes tired, coat damp with fresh kill, he stopped when he saw you. His eyes flicked over your dress. The red at your collar.

"...What happened?" he asked, voice low.

You looked up from your knitting, warm smile on your face. “One of them got out.” A beat.

“And?” he asked.

You didn’t stop knitting. “Handled it.”

A longer pause.

Then, you felt it before you saw it, he stepped forward and knelt by your chair. His cold fingers touched your ankle, traced a faint smear of red on your skin.

He didn’t ask for details.

He didn’t need to.

That night, he kissed you for the first time.

And it distracted you from the fact that there was blood on both your hands.

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wisepainterprince · 2 days ago

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woe! oc x canon be upon ye

first actual doodle of janey and jackson and aaaa..,,, i love how it turned out^_^

(og text under cut)

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wisepainterprince · 3 days ago

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eat*

i want to beat his ass

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wisepainterprince · 3 days ago

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The butchery brothers x fat/plus sized ftm reader

Hillwalker boys/Plus sized!FTM!Reader

note: i've never written for William before, so I hope it turned out okay </3 constructive criticism is very much appreciated

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Jackson

Jackson never was one to care too much about appearances, especially not his own. He walks around the house with three day old blood stains on his shirt, mud stuck under his fingernails, hair greasy from rounding up man-eating animals and escapee victims.

So at the end of the day, Jackson couldn't care less about what society deems "normal" and "acceptable". He's got far too many things going on daily to be thinking about labels and gender. He sees you as you, whatever you want you to be, and that's as deep as it goes for him.

Jackson is not one to let down his emotional defenses, so if you've managed to capture his heart, you've won. He doesn't have preferences for who and what, but when he loves, he loves hard. When he finds a connection worth keeping, he clings to it like a lifeline. With his father abandoning him, and his mother dying, William was the only familiar figure Jackson had left as a child, and it fucked him up hard. He would accept you as another pillar in his life in a heartbeat. However, don't expect him to let you up and leave. He won't allow it. You belong to him, now, and he'll make it known.

Jackson doesn't care about what you look like either. Weight and height is just another thing he doesn't have time paying attention to. He's around so many bodies, cutting and twisting and burning and attaching them to all sorts of things. Everyone is a bag of meat and flesh at the end of the day to him. He simply doesn't care.

He does, however, appreciate being able to hold you tight in his arms and feel you there, listen to your breathing, the beating of your heart if he lays his head on you just right. You're real, and you're not going to leave him. That is more important to him than anything else.

---

William

Like Jackson, William is a very standoffish guy, minus his younger brother's charisma. He doesn't let anyone get close to him. He doesn't trust their intentions, doesn't believe in unmotivated kindness, doesn't believe he can, or should, lean on anyone for support. This is how it has always been, and this is how he believes everyone lives. His only perspective of life is a dull one, with hues of crimson red staining the monochrome way he views the world.

You changed this for him. Suddenly, the world was more of a kaleidoscope. The colours were just as dull, but they formed mesmerising patterns, and he found beauty in it nonetheless.

He finds your presence grounding. He's never had a constant in his life, something to depend on and know it won't disappear. You are as close to that safety as he can get, and he'll cherish you forever for it.

Also like Jackson, bodies are just bodies. He doesn't notice the peculiarities of each individual person. He does find himself appreciating your peculiarities when he's lying in bed with you in his arms, though. He feels you beside him, all of you entirely, and it's safe. You make him feel safe.

But even within safety, he envies you just as much as he loves you.

He envies how in tune you are with who you are. You know who you want to be, who you are, but he doesn't know what to do with himself when he isn't killing or looking after Jackson. He never allowed himself the privilege and opportunity of looking within and finding out who he was, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes. He is a working mule. In a sense, you are all he has ever really wanted to be.

However, unlike Jackson, William is an eldest son. He raised the brat, and knows how to handle emotions far better because of it. He turns his envy into pride. He is proud to know you, and to know you are his. He wishes you nothing but happiness, and believes that one day he may find his own with you by his side.

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#the butchery roblox #the butchery x reader #jackson hillwalker #william hillwalker #jackson the butchery #william the butchery #the butchery #send me rqs!

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wisepainterprince · 3 days ago

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ANYTHING ABOUT JACKSON HILLWALKER. PLEASE. ANYTHING. IM STARVING

The Lord's Gift | Jackson Hillwalker/Gn!Reader (2.7k words)

cws: mention of kidnapping, obsession, regular butchery horrors

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note: Of course, you ask and you shall receive...<3 thanks for the requests everyone, i'm ecstatic from all the attention. I made Jackson a desperate, pathetic, evil mess in this one

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William had sent Jackson to find the pig this time, tired of always chasing it around like a mother hen. He deserved it, especially since he was the one who had left the door open 'like a damn idiot'. That was how Jackson found himself cooing and calling the pig in the dead of night with nothing but a flashlight and a dream.

"Here, piggy-piggy! Come to papa!" He called, mildly irritated now. Worried, too. The storm was pouring down, pitter patters of rainwater sounding more like clamour than its stereotypical calming tune. He couldn't hear the animal's familiar squealing and grunts over the noise, and he'd been walking in the dense forest for at least half an hour now.

"Come on! Think about all we've been through together!" He continued. The farther he got from the farm and closer he got to the dirt path off the highway, the more he felt himself begin to sweat. If the pig was found by someone, or if it got onto the main road, there'd be police all over the place, and the Lord knew that's not what Jackson needed right now.

Suddenly, he heard a faint squeal, emanating far too close to where the highway and the dirt road that lead to the farm connected.

"Dang it." William was going to kill him for letting the pig get that far. He let out a groan thinking about it.

He rushed through the thick foliage and overgrown roots that always seemed to catch his feet and nearly make him fall flat on his face, but he persevered.

He nearly fell on his face a second time when he saw you, drenched in cold rain, flickering flashlight in hand, staring right at the creature he'd been looking for. He mentally cursed himself for not bringing some sort of weapon with him on his one-man search party, though he figured he'd just let the pig take care of you.

However, your death never came. Something about you wasn't making the pig the least bit hostile. Even with your clearly panicked expression, it remained still, and so did Jackson. No one had ever lulled the pig into calmness before, certainly not a stranger seemingly lost in the middle of nowhere.

And so, as any sane person would, he dragged you back to the house, pig squealing behind as it followed through the rain and mud. Jackson couldn’t just leave you there, being a witness and all. He tied you up, presenting you to a confused William like a trophy as he passed him in the living room, and threw you into the locked attic upstairs.

He hadn’t realized it then, but Jackson knew now that you were no unexpected surprise, a new face to toy with, an odd peculiarity that strayed from his regular routine. No, you were an angel, his angel, sent as a gift from his Lord, a thank you for his hard work.

During your first few days in that locked room, Jackson had contemplated killing you like the rest of his victims, and turning you into something beautiful, maybe a cow, or maybe another pig (as his first one seemed to like you so much). You certainly weren't growing on him at the moment. You kept hitting him with anything you could find whenever entered the room like an ambush! How rude!

Then Willian, as a passing comment, suggested throwing a cow into the room for a few minutes to see how you fare. Just to scare you a bit, put you in your place. And so, he did.

"Baconator seems to have taken a liking to you, maybe your charisma and charm can save you from this guy too!" Jackson announced as the cow trotted in on its hind legs, looking like your reckoning. The folding chair you were holding up to initially hit Jackson with was abandoned on the floor as you took a few steps back, retreating further and further into the room. Jackson watched closely, finding himself less interesting in the gore that was surely to follow, and more in your reaction to his art. How his art would react to you.

You met the gaze of the creature once you'd been back up against a wall by it. It's eyes were milky and glossed over, looking like a walking corpse, charred human arms limp against its sides. Jackson scrutinized the scene, watching as the cow breathed into your face, but never attacking. You held your breath, and released a relieved sigh when the cow simply walked away, uninterested.

Now, Jackson was puzzled. No one had ever managed to elicit absolutely nothing out of his animals. Even he and his brother's presence got them rowdy sometimes. You were an anomaly, and figuring out what made you different from the rest was a need that itched the back of his mind relentlessly.

Your captivity became less lonely a few days later, though not from the presence of more man-eating farm animals. Jackson had forced his way into your routine (not that you had a say in the matter), sometimes sitting on one of the chairs in your locked room and examining you silently, arms crossed and expression perplexed. Other times, he made conversation. Sometimes, he could even be pleasant! (as pleasant as someone like him could be anyway)

Soon enough, he realized he spent most of his day outside your room, thinking about how thrilled he would be to be back in it. Maybe it was something in the way you spoke, or your mannerisms, the way your eyes shifted nervously when he'd appear, covered in someone else's blood, but he knew he wanted more of you, he just didn't know why.

----

You held your legs to your chest, avoiding the wooden splinters protruding from the old, dusty floor as you leaned against the wall. You were glaring up at the hanging lightbulb above you, flickering insistently, worsening your headache. That lightbulb was high on the priority list of what to break next. You'd trashed the room out of anger the other day, but Jackson didn't seem to care about your bad behaviour anymore, walking over the broken glass and objects strung around your desolate prison like he couldn't see the mess.

Suddenly, you heard that telling noise, the jingle-jangling of a key, and then the squeak of the opening door. Jackson peeked inside, eyes traveling the room before landing on you. He did another quick lookover to make sure you didn't set any traps for him before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

"I brought you lunch!" He greeted with a smile, walking over and placing the plate of food down on the floor beside you. The side of the plate was stained with his bloody fingerprints. Your disgusted expression prompted him to wipe his hand on his pants.

You didn't dignify him with a response, glaring down at the moldy bread he had offered you. You could only imagine what the kitchen downstairs looked like if that was the state of the food. Jackson let out an irritated groan at the way you were glaring at his offering. He dropped down in front of you unceremoniously, toying with his suspender as he pushed the plate closer to you.

"Come on, we need you alive and healthy. Just rip off the blue parts if you're picky." He encouraged with a roll of his eyes.

"Why do you need me alive?" You questioned, glaring at him now rather than the food gone bad.

"Y'know...reasons and all." He replied with a shrug, smirking at your anger. Truth was, he didn't know why. Maybe you had grown on him, maybe he enjoyed having a new face around. He didn't like thinking about it. "The animals have taken a liking to you," he added, admiring the look of hatred in your expression, "it would be cruel to kill you so soon."

You glanced back down at the bread, reluctantly picking it up and taking a bite. You were starving. Jackson let out a satisfied hum, stomach fluttering as you accepted his aid.

"Speaking of the animals, animal whisperer," he continued, "I need to introduce you to the big guy, but I can't really bring him upstairs."

"What 'big guy'?" You asked wearily.

"Oh, you'll see when I bring you downstairs." He answered, tone far too sweet to be coming from someone as sick as him. You felt your heart stop. You'd be leaving the room? Jackson's head spun from your subtle change of expression, your horribly hidden desperation drove him absolutely crazy. "If you're on your best behaviour, I might let you out of this room more often."

"I'll be good." You confirmed, words sounding far more like a weak plea. You were hungry, tired, and begging the universe for a way out of this house. This could be it.

Jackson stood up, mentally replaying your words over and over in his mind like it was his new favourite tune. He glanced back at you on the ground and clicked his tongue twice. You scoffed up at him, causing him to laugh as he left the room. You followed behind silently, feeling sudden relief from the new scenery. You drank in the pattern on the wallpaper. You hadn't seen the colour yellow in three weeks.

Jackson led you down a flight of stairs, past the living room (where an uninterested William was lounging on the couch), and into the kitchen. Your previous thoughts were confirmed reality, the kitchen was absolutely filthy. Your eyes scanned the mess for something of use amongst the dirt and grime, something you could slip into your sleeve, undetected. Then, your focus landed on a used knife lying on the counter.

You shot Jackson a casual glance, watching as he distracted himself with his keyring, sorting through the keys and looking for the right one. You took the knife, hiding it just in time for Jackson to look back at you suspiciously, holding a key in his hand.

"Watch your step when we head downstairs, we don't have lighting down there." He explained, before he continued his way through the house. He unlocked another door, and soon enough, you found yourself face to face with a pitch black staircase.

"Well? Go on, animal whisperer." He said, motioning to the darkness before you. You turned to him with a look of disbelief.

"No way."

"Yes way!" He replied before shoving you down the stairs. You let out a yelp, barely catching your balance as you tumbled down most of the steps. By the time you caught your feet and turned to glare at him, he was already halfway down the stairs, flashlight in hand.

"Here, horsey-horsey!" Jackson called into the dark, throwing in a whistle for good measure. You stood still in the silent darkness, Jackson leaning on the wall beside you in wait. Then, suddenly, you heard the trotting of hooves growing louder and louder, closer and closer. You held your breath as it turned the corner.

It was standing upright just like the cows, but it was giant in comparison to the others. Your eyes travelled from its open ribcage to its gaping mouth, taking a step back. It tilted its head, beady eyes trained on you like prey. Jackson was staring at you, too, a look of excitement on his face as he drank in your first impression of his latest project. You let out an involuntary whimper of fear as it drew nearer.

"Why did you take me here?" You asked, glancing between the creature and Jackson frantically.

"I wanted to see if the jockey would take a liking to you like the rest of 'em. Looks like he has, you still have your head." He replied with a shrug, before patting the horse on the back and looking up at it. "Eh, big guy? Not feeling hungry today?"

The horse turned its attention from you to Jackson, leaning down to get a better look at him. Jackson stared back at it curiously, brow quirked.

Suddenly, the horse's jaw opened wider, and it lunged at him.

He barely had time to process the attack when you pulled out the knife you stole before and swung it at the animal. Jackson's attention remained fixed on the horse, wide eyed and pale, as the animal turned to look back at you. Your slash had barely made a scratch on its tough skin. You don't even know why you swung, you wanted Jackson dead.

You closed your eyes shut, teeth bare in fear as you waited for the worst. You only hoped the horse's jaw was strong enough to crush your brain in one go rather than a few. When the worst never came, you opened them again and watched as the horse let out a huff, turning and trotting off into the darkness.

Jackson was staring at you again, a look of bewilderment etched into his features. Maybe it was the adrenaline of almost dying talking, but the light from the top of the staircase was hitting you just right, and he could've swore that in that moment, you looked like an angel.

Then, it all clicked in place. The Lord had sent him an angel, compensation for all of his hard, dedicated work. You had the loyalty of the animals, the backing of the Lord, and now, you were all his. His to keep.

"You saved me." Jackson said, gazing at you as if you were the only thing in the room. You could only meet his eyes, feeling royally fucked now that he knew you had a weapon. You had to act, and fast.

Your body moved before you could think, shoving him against the wall and wrapping your free hand around his throat, the other holding the knife to his stomach.

"Let me out of here." You demanded, squeezing his throat tighter and feeling his adam's apple bob under your palm.

Jackson hated being touched, hated the feeling of someone's body heat mix with his own. It felt trapping, suffocating, it always had. However, rather than disgust and discomfort, for the first time in his life, it felt good. Intoxicatingly good. Your grip on his sent a jolt down his body, and his hands wrapped around your wrist, nails digging into your skin.

"What happened to good behaviour?" He asked, short of breath, eyes hazy from lack of oxygen. All he could see was you, the fruits of his labour, the prize for his devotion to the holy spirit.

He yanked your hand off of his neck without warning, and knocked the knife out of your other. You watched as it slid into the darkness of the basement, helplessness suddenly flooding your brain once more. You didn't want to go back into the attic.

Jackson took you by the front of your shirt, ignoring your pleas and screams as he dragged you back up into the attic throwing you onto the wooden floor you dreaded seeing again. You turned to look at Jackson, on your knees and desperate.

"Please don't leave me in here again." You begged, holding yourself tight as if doing so would give you the strength not to give up seeing the light of day again. Jackson stared down at you, absolutely drunk on your expression. He needed you in his life forever, he knew it well now. Jackson knelt down in front of you, admiring your expression closely as he cocked his head to the side.

"You did save me, angel. I guess that does merit a favour or two from yours truly." He answered honestly, offering you a mocking grin. "Maybe I'll take you for a walk around the house again sometime soon."

You nodded frantically, and Jackson felt his heart tremor at the sight. You were his, the Lord had said so. He would never let anything harm you again. His angel.

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Thank you for reading cuties <3

#the butchery roblox #the butchery x reader #jackson the butchery #jackson hillwalker #the butchery #send me more rqs!

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wisepainterprince · 4 days ago

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cutie pie competition winner btw

HIO!! 🐡🪸

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wisepainterprince · 7 days ago

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U R SO NICE TY FOR HAVING FAITH IN MY WRITING 😭😭😭

OMG HI!!! no problem, your writing is absolutely phenomenal <333 The little details you use, and the way you convey subtle emotion through descriptions and adjectives is insane. the part in chap 2 where you wrote about jackson being connected to art and how it evolved into the gory mess he creates now was such a treat to read. i’m waiting on the edge of my seat for chap 3, but take your time!!!

that being said, everyone go read tenshx’s fic

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wisepainterprince · 7 days ago

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guys it TRMILY update day!!!

❦ the red means i love you ❦

(chap. 2)

➪ chap. 1 • chap. 2 • chap. 3 • chap 4 • chap 5

𓃟 read it on ao3

❦ pairing: jackson hillwalker/cottonwood x fem!reader

❦ word count: 3.2k+ words

❦ summary: jackson loved art. from a young age, he believed he was destined to create life with his own hands. he stayed true to that belief, his path resolute, until everything shifted the moment you caught his eye. suddenly, he found himself redirecting his plans, but he figured he could work around that.

❦ authors note: sorry this took forever gng. 🥀 i’m currently studying for an exam but i promise im working on it chapter by chapter. jackson’s just batshit crazy tbh,, i’ll revise more later

❦ possible triggers: A JOB!! blood, heavy stalking, mentions of mutilation, religious psychosis, obsessive behaviors, injuries

Jackson loved art for as long as he could remember.

He’d dreamt on numerous occasions of becoming an artist, wanting nothing more than to bring things to life with the work of his own hands. He would often recall those same memories— how he would run up to his mother, a broken crayon in one hand and a crumpled piece of paper in the other, a prideful grin on his face. There was an excitement in his chest— overwhelming, far too much for one child to handle.

Everytime, his mother would place a kiss on the crown of his head, her fingers ruffling through his hair as a greeting. She‘d take the paper from his hands, studying it for a moment, before flashing a grin towards her son. Her eyes, full of life, shone with admiration as she stared at the scribbled piece and back at Jackson. With open arms and a plethora of love radiating from her, she praised him just like any good mother would.

“My boy is destined for great things!”

“A natural prodigy! With a talent like this, you’ll become an artist in no time.”

“God blessed you with these hands and such a blessing you have given us in return.”

It was no wonder why he had such a passion for his work, why he took so much pride in it. All it took was a supportive mother, a pack of overused crayons, and torn pages from his brother's notebook to kickstart his journey to success.

He found multiple ways to express his creativity: useless drawings stashed away somewhere in his mothers closet, absurd clay sculptures probably half broken in a random, forgotten hallway, and that stupid popsicle stick tower his brother had ruined when he tripped over it, resulting in a heated argument that their father had to step into.

It was a never ending cycle— the need to create stronger than before, the yearning to be in control. He could never fathom the thought of abandoning his talent no matter how much time had passed, refusing to stuff it in the back of the attic just like William had with his hobby he shared with their father.

It was saddening to see the remnants of what his brother used to be; a fishing pole abandoned, rusted and decayed in the far corner. Next to it, a box of equipment collected dust, its contents long forgotten.

He remembered his brother's gleeful smile, a fish thrashing at the end of his line— one of the rare moments he had seen such unguarded, pure joy in him.

Maybe if William hadn’t deserted the only memory he had of at least one of his parents, he wouldn’t have turned out the way he did— resentful, cranky, and rather snappish.

As those thoughts drifted through his mind, Jackson couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe art was the only connection he had left of his mother before everything went to shit, leaving them both to suffer and salvage what was left of their family.

Then the impossible happened, something he would’ve never expected. William had stumbled upon a plant in the shape of a heart dangling off of a vine not too far from their manor, preserved and in pristine condition despite the storm that had shadowed them for hours. Hesitantly, William took it in his grasp, a sickening sensation spreading through his hand as it throbbed and pulsed with a rhythm that felt disturbingly alive

William saw it as a curse, a nuisance to be discarded, but Jackson saw something more. To him, it was an offering— a final act of devotion to their mother, wanting to honor her spirit and unwavering love she had given them both. Without hesitation, he snatched it from his brother's grasp and sprinted towards their mothers bedroom, as fast as his legs would carry him.

For once, Jackson thought he had done something right, a good deed that only God could reward, after witnessing their mother revive temporarily. Their happiness was unforgettable, seeing her warm smile and open arms once more, but it was incredibly short lived. She had weakened, her condition worsening with each passing day and for the second time around, she was slipping through their fingers once more.

Sometimes, he wished he had left her for dead and even more so when things had turned for the worst.

The animals began growing etiolated, their farm gradually crumbling as he and Will attempted to keep their family’s legacy alive. Crops began wilting and the house became unrecognizable as the vines from the plant painted the walls, permeating uncontrollably. In a blink of an eye, they both slowly began to fall victim to the dreadful path Jackson had unknowingly led them to, William falling ill on a rainy night and him not long after.

It was excruciating, an experience he would never forget. He remembered the relentless mental torment, the voices in his head driving him to insanity, spiraling him to what he thought was his impending doom. His body became a prison, constantly haunted by his own thoughts while his brothers suppressed screams played like a broken record in the back of his mind.

It was a nightmare they couldn’t wake up from—agonizing and seemingly endless— until one evening, it all came to a sudden halt. The room was finally silent, broken by the sounds of crickets chirping and wind slipping through the cracks of the windows.

He found himself on the floor as he roused from sleep, his mind alight with an intense, unexplainable energy that felt foreign. Suddenly, everything seemed to make sense. The plant had brought them a gift— a new purpose— after the absence of their parents. Whatever they had welcomed home had given them refuge, a sense of clarity they had been searching for.

Along with that gift, it had rekindled Jackson’s passion with art. It allowed him to see the beauty in both life and death, and to embrace the idea of reincarnation in a way he would’ve never understood years ago. It was the closest he had ever come to playing God. The most alive he had felt since his mother had passed. He was utterly grateful, thanking his newfound Lord endlessly for providing both of them a second chance.

It was a selfless act their Lord had offered and in return, they both had made a sole promise to serve until their last breath, finding that they could never repay the opportunity bestowed upon them.

Jackson finally had a fresh start, everything looking up for both him and William. He had an end goal, his life fueled by a rush of exhilaration that surged through him like adrenaline. This was his drug, his addiction, one he could never find elsewhere—

—until you came into the picture.

He had heard several rumors about a new face around the village, his curiosity heightened as he eavesdropped while browsing around the market. Change was rare nowadays, a luxury rather than a common occurrence in a small and underground place like this. Newness didn’t come often and when it did, it was never left unnoticed.

Jackson loved change. Anything that could break up the monotony of his slow, everyday life was always welcomed, especially when he wasn’t busy mimicking God in his own home.

It wasn’t long before he encountered you. You had moved into a shabby apartment in a shady part of town with only a few boxes and a bag slung over your shoulder. The neighbors greeted you with unexpected hospitality, embracing you warmly before volunteering to assist you with your items. He watched as you nodded your head shyly, a sheepish grin spreading across your face as you accepted their offer.

Jackson nearly drops the reusable bag he's holding, groceries threatening to spill, upon seeing your face for the first time. His interest sparked instantly, a raw and indescribable feeling blossoming as he stole another glance. With a smile like that, how could he ignore someone like you?

It wasn’t direct, face-to-face contact for a few months, him simply watching from afar, unsure of why your presence fascinated him so deeply. There was something about you that held his attention, his eyes tracking your every move with stern focus. He assumed that you’d be his next catch, wanting to make use of that pretty face of yours. Your blood would look breathtaking splattered on his walls, your limbs a good fit for whatever animal he deemed perfect. Maybe he’d be generous enough to let you choose.

It started with the usual, casual snooping, soon learning your name, your story, and every detail that you openly shared with others once you began involving yourself more. With the way you were running your damn mouth, the position you set yourself in was inevitable. In a small community like this, everyone's business was public and you should’ve known that from the start.

You were an easy target, incredibly naive and painfully unaware of how others could use that information against you. (Not him, of course. He would never be so disrespectful.)

A name should’ve been enough. A story was overdoing it, and yet, even with this knowledge, he still hasn’t made the effort to abduct you just like every other victim he’s pursued. He should’ve stopped there and discarded you like the rest or perhaps committed the rare, merciful act of leaving you alone so he could continue his peaceful slaughter without the extra trouble.

But he hasn’t.

Instead, he’s developed an obsession with understanding his own intentions. Yet, the more he attempts to do so, he fails to realize that he's only digging the hole deeper.

Somehow in between the lines of his latest routine, he learns more about you— both against his will and within his own doings.

He memorizes your routine to a T: an early trip to the farmers market (he notes every item you purchase), a quick stop at your favorite cafe (your order tasting better than anything he's ever tried), and sometimes you’d linger long enough to read a book or type something in that little, silly laptop of yours before heading back home if you had nothing else planned.

Your schedule remained consistent and whenever it did shift, even in the slightest? He adapted quickly, moving like a man starved.

So when the news broke out that you had begun working in a diner down the street, he saw it as a chance to grow closer to you. He paid no mind to that neglected, rundown part of the village, disgusted by the sight of it, but now, it was the most appealing piece of shit he’s ever laid his eyes on. In a burst of overzealous optimism, he made the monumentally idiotic decision to dine in whenever he could, keeping tabs on your work schedule instantly and with unsettling ease.

He couldn’t have thanked the lord more the second he saw your face enter the dining room, his gaze fixated on that cute outfit that adorned your body as your coworker chatted with you behind the counter. You wore that same smile that drew him in the first time around, a smirk of his own stretching across his cheeks.

You were far more than what he could’ve ever conjured up in that mind of his. When your voice greets him— shaky and clearly nervous from your new job— he feels a jolt of electricity shoot through him.

His grin widens at the sight of you, incredibly anxious and antsy in his company. A sense of control and power floods his head as you shyly scribble his order onto a notepad, fidgeting in place before thanking him with a hushed voice, quickly excusing yourself. His eyes trail after you, realizing that his little game of stalking wasn’t going to cut it moving forward.

His first real conversation with you was quiet and minimal, Jackson attempting to break the ice with small talk he wasn’t normally fond of.

“How’s the village treating you, sweetheart?”

“The weather's nice this evening, hm?”

“I like how you did your hair today.”

You don’t respond much, often sparing him an awkward smile or nod and your occasional one worded answers but you were interacting with him and that was all that mattered! He was ecstatic with the progress.

He expected it. After all, you were still navigating the ropes around the village, caught up in the lengthy process of getting to know everyone, much less some random local who (respectfully) had started showing up a little too often out of the blue.

It took him a few rounds, but he eventually managed to butter you up enough to grow comfortable around him after a couple of visits.

Now that you were within his reach and falling victim to his facade, the possibilities felt endless. With the access he had, he could’ve done anything to you but found himself rerouting his plan. Instead, he decided to keep you around, growing unexpectedly fond of the genuine relationship he’s built with you.

You were the only sense of normalcy in his life, the only connection he had with this pathetic village he despised, and before he knew it, everything was about you—you, you, and only you.

It’s far too late when he does figure that he’s trapped himself in this void, his heart raw and laid out on a platter for you to take.

Jackson had drawn you into every corner of his sketchbooks, your face engraved into his memory, your initials carved into any wooden platform that caught his eye. He swore he used his own blood to mark one or more of his artworks of you, a crimson seal binding you to him.

You were in his prayers, rosary clenched in his hands as he kneeled in front of his Lord. His voice was desperate as he spoke in whispers, your name like a worship on his lips—as if it was the only word he knew.

Jackson promised he had honest intentions. He’d crafted intricate plans to slowly wedge himself into your life in the most humane and subtle way he could. He had worked meticulously to build a convincing front for you, tweaking his personality just enough to give you the false sense that he was even a tad bit sane (and deep down, he heavily believed that nothing was wrong with him).

He had plans to court you, to prove to you that he was a good man and eventually, you would realize how much he admired you, more than life itself, enough for you to overlook all his flaws.

Everything was in his favor and he was certain he had you in the palm of his hand, but he never would’ve guessed that the Lord would reward him with such an accessible shortcut. With all the sacrifices he had brought home as of recent, it was no wonder why he was granted such a blessing.

He wanted to establish things properly and take things step by step just as he planned, but he supposed he could work around this change. Jackson was nothing if not adaptable.

After all, he was a very forgiving man.

And for you, he’d do unspeakable things.

❦

You wanted this to be a bad dream.

Maybe if you woke up, you’d be in your bed back at home, your coworker calling to chide you for being late for your hangout. You’d ready yourself for the day, grab your usual from the cafe, and start your shift in the diner from two in the afternoon till eleven at night.

You’d see Jackson, his smile as bright as ever with his comforting and sweet words, the image of last night's events reminding you that what you saw was simply just a hallucination, a nightmare your mind managed to conjure.

You wanted this experience to be another story to tell your family and friends, jokingly bringing it up during a get-together in some poor excuse of a bar not too far from work or shared through a choppy call from your outdated cell-phone.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans for you, sending a harsh reminder that your situation was inescapable. A violent throb pulses through your head as you slowly regain consciousness for a moment. Your ears ring for a couple seconds before you hear the soft sound of humming, the voice muffled and distant.

Your eyes flutter open—half-lidded, your vision terribly blurred. You don’t want them to, unwilling to face the reality of your fate, but you somehow gather the strength to look around.

As you blink, trying to clear your sights, you realize your head is laying on something soft and firm. You struggle to make out the silhouette above you, your world spinning as you do so.

You don’t make sense of anything— your surroundings are a blur, your mind dazed— until his familiar voice travels around you, haunting in a way that makes you feel nauseous.

Then it all crashes down on you all at once. The puzzle fits itself together, suffocating and unbearable, as the revelation weighs on your chest.

“Finally awake,” he coos, voice consoling as he runs his fingers through your hair in soothing patterns, avoiding the sensitive spot in the back of your head. His touch burns through your scalp and you want to pull away, fight against his hold, but everything hurts far too much, your body frail and enervated from the blow.

You catch a glimpse of him leaning in, the tips of his bangs brushing over the softness of your cheeks, too close for comfort.

His words sound distant despite his closeness, breath warm against your skin as you hold yours.

“Gave me quite the scare,” he mutters sweetly, “ I was worried I lost ya.”

You want to scream at him—run away from this damn village until your lungs give out and never return— but all that leaves your mouth is a slurred, pathetic whimper of his name. Your head lolls weakly to the side to create any kind of distance between you both. It’s all you can do.

He finally straightens up, tossing his head back slightly as he lets out a laugh— unsettling and terrifying, twisting your stomach with discomfort.

Panic begins to flood your system, your breathing becoming shallow and suddenly, you’re pulled in and out of consciousness as you try to ground yourself.

Nothing ever goes unnoticed by Jackson. He never misses the way your lips twitch upwards as you hold in a laugh from a joke he slips out mid conversation or the way you tap your pen thoughtfully against his table in the same rhythmic pattern whenever you articulate a response for him.

It’s only natural for him to notice your state— how your body falters, how your breathing patterns change the more you realize your predicament.

Gently, one of his hands moves to shield your eyes from the blinding light illuminating his form from behind. Your breathing begins to settle as you succumb to unconsciousness, your body betraying you as the world begins to fade.

Just before the silence takes you, his voice cuts through the darkness, hushed and tender.

“Sweet dreams.”

You dream of freedom.

Jackson dreams of you.

tags: @mr-trick @wisepainterprince @ryuoo @ang3lin3r33 @novalovelily @prettygirlslovegirls

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