#Backwoods neighborhood

[sea-salted-wolverine]

I will not dox my neighbour and post pictures of his house because I am not an asshole, but he just put an addition on his already batshit insane house and I am dying to share.

He lives in a 1950 PanAm passenger plane. I have no fucking clue how he got it here, because we're nowhere near a runway and it still has its wings and its landing gear. The living space is a solid 15 feet off the ground and he has one of those old school staircase vans as his front step. I would assume its not terribly different from living in a trailer or other mobile home, but its way better insulated because its a plane.

Anyway, he just finished a glassed in porch that comes out of the pilots side of the cockpit and its so cool. This isn't some gimmicky airbnb, this is his house and the commitment to the bit is legendary.

His greenhouse is a fire engine.

[s-4pphics]

let the rain sing. 2 (a.a)

wc;cw: 4.1k, dadsbestfriend!abby, lawstudent!oc, large age gap (oc is 25, abby is mid 40s), abby is bi <3, SMUT MDNI, nipple play, eating out no bbq, strap ons, fingering, mating press😳, dirty talk, squirting, dumbification, slight dubcon, choking, mult. orgasms, abby’s so pussy drunk soo real, angst :(, mentions of grief and loss, dassit me finks

You were going to kill somebody. It’s been declared. 

Your latest lecture was, by far, the worst you’ve ever had, and you were feeling vengeful. On your instructor, your classmates, everyone.

You seethed in your seat, smoke nearly wafting off you and suffocating you in the tight space of your car. You prayed that you wouldn’t get a speeding ticket from how hard your foot pressed on the gas pedal. The familiar sluggishness that overtook your form was making you hunch over the steering wheel, your worn eyes burning from tears as you recollected the pure devastation you felt when you saw terms on the screen that you weren’t familiar with yet just an hour before.  

You’d brought the wrong notebook to your last class, making the lecture completely fucking useless because you had nothing to reference. There were so many systems listed that you hadn’t memorized, terminology you didn’t remember from your books. And you were going to fucking… kill somebody. 

You’d been so fucking embarrassed. Nobody around you even knew or cared about your slip up, but you still searched around the room, waiting for someone to ridicule you for fucking up this late in the game. You were about to graduate, and you still were behaving like a fucking rookie. A first year. Maybe you weren’t ready for your fucking degree. 

You’d scrambled to get as many notes down as you could without snapping your hand clean off your wrist, but it wasn’t enough to jog your memory. 

Your vehicle came to a halt when you reached the now all too familiar neighborhood, and you put your car in park in front of the residential mailbox. 

You hadn’t realized that you took the backwoods route that led to Abby’s neighborhood. You were parked right in front of her home, and you thanked god when you saw her car parked in the driveway. You never came to see her without warning, but you were so desperate for a distraction that you hadn’t bothered to text her. You need anything to ease the tension in your body from today, even just for a little bit. 

You exited and locked your car before booking it across the street and up the stairs to her porch, knocking on her front door with urgency; The pounding on the wood made your headache worse. 

It took only a minute for her door to pull open, and you were instantly swallowed up by the smell of flowers, her scent surrounding you and easing the tension in your shoulders. She looked so comfortable, only clad in sweats, a tank top, and slides, her soft hair framing her face. The tension in your shoulders eased a bit.

She smiled at the sight of you, the lines of her eyes creasing, but it dropped when she studied your expression, “Hi, you okay?” 

You shrugged. You don’t think you were. You weren’t sure anymore. 

Your breathing shuddered, your anger from earlier shifting into want when you saw her, “Um… sorry for coming without notice— “

She shook her head gently, “No, no, it’s alright. I was just reading, come in.”

She moved to the side and allowed you entry, shutting and locking the door behind you. 

Her angelic voice came from behind you as you threw your purse on her couch, “Would you like some tea? I just bought this new flavor! It’s mint and chamomile and it’s so good. I usually don’t drink mint things because my teeth are sensi— “

“Abby,” you cringed at the tone you used to cut her off. 

“Yes?”

You spun to look at her, “I don’t want tea.” 

“… Oh. Okay.” She looked around awkwardly, her eyes downcast. 

A moment of silence passed before she spoke, “Wanna go upstairs?” 

You're glad she understood. You nodded with persistence. 

“Please.” 

You trapped Abby against her bedroom door, slamming it shut as you shoved your tongue in her mouth. 

The kiss was eager and desperate, your hands grabbing everywhere they could on her body. You attacked her hair, tits, thighs, anywhere you could reach as you pressed up against her. Hers were on you just as much, but much more calculated, tightly grabbing at the plush on your hips, her nails digging through your sweater. She grabbed your ass through your jeans, spreading the cheeks as much as she could through the fabric. 

Your mouths were smacking together, spit coating the outside of your mouths as your teeth clanged together. It was wet and sloppy, and it made you drip in your underwear. Her strong arms came up to wrap around your hips, and she led you both over to her perfectly made bed. 

You detached your mouth from hers to yank her t-shirt off, her arms coming up so you could toss it somewhere. You eyed her bare chest before reconnecting your lips. You brought your hand up to her chest to squeeze her tits, tweaking her nipples with precision. She hummed in your mouth and kissed you deeper, her hands traveling to pull at the hem of your sweater. 

You raised your arms up so she could remove the fabric, but before you could pounce on her again, she pushed you onto her cloud-like mattress, looking down at your laid-out body from where she stood above you. 

But she didn’t move on you like she usually did; she just stared, her eyes wandering over your body. You watched her take in your bra-clad chest, wandering down to your stomach and belly button, only to come back up to eye your chest again. She was digesting you with such patience that it made you insecure, but you didn’t move from your position. Your heart matched the pounding pulse of your cunt. 

She brought her hands up to your torso, right under the hem of your bra, laying her palm flat against the bare skin. Your breath caught in your throat when her nails dug into you, and you arched into her touch; you needed her closer. Her hand slowly dragged down your body until she reached the button of your jeans. 

She didn’t undo them, dragging her hand back up your body until she reached your tits, grabbing at both with one hand before her other hand coming to join her massages. You watched her face shift as she touched you; her eyes were hungry but… fragile as her cheeks glowed in the dimly lit space. 

Her hands slipped under your bra, her fingers immediately playing with your nipples. Your core clenched with every pull she gave them, your body shuddering under her precise attacks. Your back arched into her touch as your eyes fluttered. 

And then you heard the ripping of fabric. 

You looked down in shock as she tore at your bra, completely ripping it to shreds and tossing the flimsy strands behind her and onto the floor. You couldn’t help the smirk that spread across your face at her desperation. She giggled when you shook your head at her. 

She leaned over you, her head ducking down to suck your nipples into her mouth; She moaned into the skin as her tongue swirled around you. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch her lath at your chest, coating them in her spit as her tongue flicked on your buds.

Your hips twitched under her body, “Fuck me, Abby, please— “ 

“Needa get you wet first, baby,” she hummed around your nipple, her words shaking the sensitive skin. You jerked, your legs twitching next to her hips. 

“I’m so fuckin’ wet already, c’mon, gimme what I want— “

Your words were cut off by her soft lips as they molded against yours. You made a small noise, your eyes slowly fluttering shut at the feel of her pillowy mouth. She kissed you with so much care and affection, and it made you squirm, your thighs squeezing around her waist. 

You were pulled out of your trance when you felt her hand on your cheek, her thumb softly caressing your face. You instantly stiffened; She was so sweet, too fucking gentle, and it your heart pound at an alarming pace, anxiety suddenly swirling in your stomach as you cringed. 

You gently pushed at her shoulders and looked at her, her brows furrowed in confusion. 

“You alright?” She checked in softly. 

You nodded quickly, your pussy squeezing at her tone. “Um… yeah. Just— can we, like— “

She shuffled off you and stood at the side of bed, awkwardly grabbing at the back of her neck as she apologized, “Yeah! Um, I’m sorry. I kinda just— “

“Don’t apologize! I’m just in a,” Lie. Just fucking lie! You looked off to the side, “… kinda in a hurry.” 

You sounded like such an asshole. You had nowhere to fucking be, but you always felt terrible whenever you were forced to shut down her intimate gestures. You had no choice but to be stiff with her; She knew what this was between you two, and it could never go beyond that. 

You watched her back muscles flex as she rummaged through her drawer, pulling out her strap and some lube. She undressed quietly, only clad in her boy shorts as she stepped into and adjusted the thick dick on her waist, securing it before turning around to look at you, returning to her previous space between your legs. 

You shivered with want, moving to unbutton your jeans, but she slapped your hands away to do it herself. She moved hastily, ripping your pants and underwear down your legs, and tossing them to the floor.

Your bare pussy throbbed as you held your legs open so she could ease into your cunt, but she yanked you to the edge of the bed, your ass hanging off it and dropped to her knees. 

She shoved her tongue inside your pussy without warning, her wet muscle wiggling around, massaging your walls as your clit pulsed. Your head dropped onto her sheets as you sighed, her tongue swiping up from your entrance to your twitchy bud. She spat the wetness she collected from inside you onto your clit and you groaned. 

She sucked it into her mouth, and you cried out, your hands flying down to her soft hair to pull at it. 

She was licking into all of your spots with enthusiasm, and your hips bucked into her mouth as your orgasm quickly built in your stomach. She took time to learn your body in a way that no one else did and it always shocked you how fast she made you cum. You could already fucking feel it with every quick flick of her tongue on you. 

You bucked in shock when you felt two of her thick fingers slip past your entrance, curling up to hit that spot inside that made you see white. She was hitting it with obscene accuracy, your pussy practically melting around her fingers with every plunge into you. You were about to see god, she was going to make you squirt—

“Fuckin’—ah fuck!”

Your orgasm was going to be big; you felt it and it was so fucking close—

You need to cum, you need it you need it! “Abby, fuck, s’coming— “

Your hands shamelessly flew behind your knees to hold your legs up, your shouts of your orgasm increasing in pitch. You craned your neck and you forced your eyes open to look down at her, finding that she was already staring up at you, watching you lose it on her tongue. 

“Feels s’good, fuck— “

She grinned on your pussy, “Then cum in m’fucking mouth, baby, needa swallow it— “

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your walls crushed her fingers, your orgasm building and building and building—

You couldn’t even understand your loud babbles as her fingers dug into you, milking your spot and forcing your cum out of you and onto her tongue. Your eyes fell shut as your body wracked in pleasure. You shouted obscenities and her name and demands of fuck me harder! The splashes of your wetness coated your thighs and her blankets and her. 

You could hear her slurping at your cum as it poured out of you, her tongue shoving in alongside the grind of her fingers. She was moaning against your pussy like she was cumming, and it made you cum harder. 

You felt her pull away and out of you, the cap of a bottle opening and sloppy wet sounds filling your ears. You nearly screamed when her dick squeezed in between your still clenching walls. Pure pleasure and shock rushed through you, prolonging the last bits of your orgasm. 

You felt a soft hand grab your chin as she allowed you to recover, your eyes fluttering open to meet her serene ones. 

“Okay, honey?” She cooed at you. 

You blinked dazedly as your walls clenched harder on her, and she chuckled, slowly pushing deeper into you, “Yeah? Missed me, baby?”

Your pussy clenched in approval, and you nodded thoughtlessly. Her nails dug into your jaw as she grinded into you, “Missed this tight fucking pussy. Always thinkin’ about it.”

You brokenly moaned her name. She pulled out and fucked back into you harder, making you squeal. 

She released the soft grip she had on your face, tightly grasping the back of your knees, and pinning them to your chest. You gasped sharply as she slid deeper, hitting where you couldn’t reach, right where you needed her. You could already feel another orgasm building in your toes, your eyes watering from the quick snap of her hips. 

You couldn’t think or talk coherently as she used you, rendering you completely brainless every time her fat tip hit your g-spot. All you could do was grab at her hips, her thighs, her sheets, and wail at the top of your lungs how good it felt. The wet sounds of your pussy drenching her dick made your toes curl. 

You were going to sleep so fucking good. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, holy fuck— “

Your stomach was in tight knots as her skin slapped against yours. 

“Can’t think with this dick inside you? Huh?” She sounded so cocky with every sneer she sent you, your eyes shut tightly. It’s right there, right there right there—

“This is all you want from me? Need me t’take care of this nasty fucking cunt?” She spat at you. 

You hated it when she said things like that aloud, when she made your indifference towards her known; It crushed your heart, but how could you express your grievances when she was this deep in your guts? You were awful and selfish, and she didn’t deserve to be used like this, but you needed it. Needed her to do this for you. It made you feel sane, every thought in your head silenced and replaced with her her her—

You babbled nonsense warnings of how hard you were about to cum, and you felt her large hand clutch your throat. You wheezed out begs, pleading her to keep fucking you there, make you cry. Please, please, please, I need to sleep, Abby, please!

“Shhh, I gotchu, baby. Such a good girl.” 

Your orgasm shocked you and her. You couldn’t hold back the scream you let out when your eyes shut, —even with her choking you out—your brain rattling in your head as your body attempted to jerk away from the intense pleasure she gave you. 

But she held your legs down, keeping you still as she fucked you through it. You heard her moaning over your sobs and keens, only making out so fuckin’ hot and gonna make me cum so fucking good, and it threw you right into another orgasm. 

Your walls squeezed around her with such constriction that she could barely move, but she managed to pull out and you almost cried at the emptiness, your orgasm slowly dying. She grabbed your hips and eased you higher up the bed before climbing up, pressing against and looming over you. 

She hooked your knees into the crevice of her elbow, popping her tip into you with no hands, slowly pushing in so you could feel her. The details of her dick were catching on your walls and the feeling was making you tear up. She eventually sat fully inside you, grinding her entire length in so her tip nudged your spot, and you were about to fucking cum—

You were completely limp under her, relishing the kisses and sucks she gave your neck. She slid out slowly until just her tip was in you before dropping her hips, fucking her cock back into you. You thought you screamed but no noise left you as she pounded your cunt. She was hitting you so good, rotating between moving with her dick fully lodged in your guts and thrusting as pretty moans filled your ear. 

You came so fucking hard, only having strength to pull at her sheets and sob, squealing her name and trembling as she sent you to space. She was somehow louder than you were, and you knew she was cumming. You had no energy to move, to stop her, to do anything. You just laid there and took what she gave as your body melted into the memory foam, relaxing completely as she rode out her pleasure inside you. 

Your walls were still contracting around her dick, hugging like they never wanted her to leave, wanted to cling onto her forever. Her movements eventually came to a stop as she whined in satisfaction into your neck. She plopped against you, your sweaty, heaving chests pressed together. 

The last thing you remember before knocking out was her soft kisses on your skin. 

You woke up to blinding sunshine. You forgot to shut the fucking blinds again. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, shoving your face into the plush pillow under you. You inhaled deeply and immediately stiffened. 

Flowers. Fucking flowers, what the fuck—

You never left Abby’s last night. 

You quickly sat up as your head rushed, looking over to see the vacant, mussed spot on her bed. You could hear the shower running and quiet hums coming from the master bathroom, and it made your heart race. 

You threw the covers off you and stood quickly, walking over to where your clothes were neatly folded on her dresser. You saw the remaining strands of your bra balled up near her mirror. You hated how your pussy clenched.

You grabbed your clothes and dressed in urgency, nearly tripping over your stubborn pant leg. 

The clattering of your phone falling from your pocket shook you. You bent down to grab it, the bright screen reading 12:34 and showing six missed calls from your parents. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

The running water shut off and you tensed. 

You shoved your phone in your back pocket as your flight senses tingled. You would feel awful if you left her place without warning, and she would probably never talk to you again if you did. You were guarded around her enough as it is, and the last thing you were going to do was embarrass her further. 

You stood by the dresser, awkwardly playing with your fingers until the bathroom door opened.

A dripping Abby walked out, clad in a towel, her wet hair wrapped in another as steam left the bathroom. 

She shut the door gently before turning to face you. She looked bright, but it dimmed when she took in your frazzled appearance. You needed to leave. Now, now, now—

“H-Hey, um… are you leaving?” 

You nodded stiffly, voice monotone, “Yeah. I didn’t wanna leave without telling you, though.” 

Her hand on the doorknob dropped to her side as she sighed in exasperation. She scoffed, “That’s surprising. I thought you would’ve taken any opportunity to leave.”

Your eyes squinted at her suddenly snarky tone. You two never argued: there may be tension or words left unsaid after you leave her, but you never fought about your relationship, “What the hell are you talking about?” 

She looked at you in shock, “Really? You’ve been acting like being around me is a chore this entire time! We… We don’t even speak— “

“What is there to talk about?” Your voice rose to match hers, your arms flailing around. “We both know what we agreed to when we started this!”

“I know we did! But you…” she looked so hurt and her voice was cracking, and it was making you uncomfortable. “You just treat me like I’m— “

You didn’t want to hear this anymore. You interrupted her harshly, “I'm not treating you like anything! We’re behaving exactly how we’re supposed to be! If anyone were to find out about what we’re doing, we’re fucked! That’s… that’s just how it is now!” 

She took her bottom lip between her teeth and sniffled. She nodded and looked down at her bare feet before meeting your eyes again. Hers were teary, and it sent a painful jolt from your chest to your head, your heart filling with remorse. You needed to lay the fuck down. 

Her voice shook as she spoke, but it was stern. 

“Fine. You… you can let yourself out.” 

Your shoulders dropped and your tone softened, “Abby— “

She shook her head, hers spiteful. “You know where the key is. Enjoy the rest of your day.” 

You couldn’t get your apologies out before she pried the bathroom door open, walking inside and slamming it shut behind her. You flinched as it echoed in your skull. 

The ringing of your phone blared through her four walls. You resigned, leaving her bedroom and gently shutting the door. You walked over to her staircase, pulling your device out to answer your mother’s call. 

“Hey,” You leaned against the stair railing, trying to ignore Abby’s quiet sobs coming from her room. Your eyes shut, guiltily picking at the skin on your lip. 

Your mom’s angered tone blasted through the speakers, “What the hell do you mean hey! Where have you been!” 

You descended the stairs, sighing when you reached the bottom, “I… was at my friend's house! We got caught up, my bad.” 

“Yeah, well, when you get caught up, you better tell m— “ 

Your mom’s voice was suddenly cut off by your father’s distant laughter. You heard her shout gimme my phone before your dad’s cheery tone rang through the line. 

“Heyyy, sweetheart. Ignore your mom, when are you comin’ home?” 

You couldn’t help the tears that jerked in your eyes at his voice. 

What the fuck were you doing. 

You cleared your throat before speaking, “I’m, uh… I’m leaving my friend's place now. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Okay, baby! Take your time,” You heard your mom yell out don’t tell her that!

“I love y’all,” You did, you loved them so much. 

“We love you so much more. Drive safe,” You heard your mom’s shout and your father’s laughter, and more tears jerked in your eyes. 

When the line went dead, you propped yourself over the back of Abby’s couch and cried in silence. You tried to keep your small breakdown short; You still had so much editing to do for your thesis. But you couldn’t stop your flowing tears. 

The drops slid down your face and onto her soft lounge pillows. You never cared enough to inspect her living space since she invited you in the first time, but you couldn’t help your wandering eyes as you digested her living room. The area was quaint and serene: there was a small fountain propped on a small table in the corner of the room, crème and black walls littered with framed artwork, decorative tables holding vases filled with fresh roses, her coffee table that still held the half filled, rose-littered mug with a tea bag string hanging out of it, her reading glasses. A framed photo of a smiling Abby carrying her just as happy baby girl on her back in front of a lake. 

And a marked book titled Working Through Grief right next to it. 

It forced a loud sob out of you, your hand flying over your mouth to hush any noise you might’ve made.

You fucked up. You fucked up so bad, and you still had the audacity to be in her safe space. You needed to go; you couldn’t fucking breathe. 

You snatched your purse off the couch and booked it for the front door, almost forgetting to retrieve the key to lock it behind you. You secured it and hid the key in its designated spot before rushing across the street to your car. 

You grabbed your keys from your purse and unlocked it, pulling the driver's door open before flinging yourself inside. You slammed the door and your heavy head dropped onto the steering wheel. You took some deep breaths, trying to calm the nausea that hit you out of nowhere. Sobs wracked through you as you shook in your seat. 

You were so fucking selfish. 

daaaamn wassup y’all 

writers block tried to get me omg y’all seen that shit😳😳 I FOUGHT BACK THO 

taglist y’all know wassup omg love y’all @saturnsellie @ohlawdthebirds @fibrogirlie @unangelic-thoughts @chrry1ovr @uraesthete @gravygranules @digit4lslut @machetegirl109 @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @macaroni676 @sillygooselit

kissies mwwwwAHHHHH

prologue. part one. part three. interlude. part four.

[preg-canis-limus]

I can't help but think about a corrupt doctor playing aloof.

He was amicable, if not a bit standoffish; he even helped you and your husband with "fertility treatments" so you could get pregnant in the first place; how could you not trust him? He's one of your neighbors and has been a bit of a character since you first moved into this space backwoods neighborhood, only catching glimpses of him in your periphery before finally catching him tending to herbs in his garden and starting a conversation. One thing led to another, and you got close enough to accept his help for your pregnancy. He's affordable, courteous, and, despite being a little... off, he even makes house calls. So, you keep going back while your stomach swells and when your chest grows too big and sensitive for any binders or sports bras.

He's been a big help during your rather difficult pregnancy. You kept falling ill for one reason or another. A weakened immune system causes you to get sick easily, and morning sickness makes your stomach weak. Your body was admittedly frail, and here you were, putting it through the wringer. Still, the doctor always reassured you, even encouraged you, saying your body was a "prime candidate to produce offspring," that's a way to word a compliment. He reliably comes to the rescue with quick remedies and strong medicine to soothe your stomach and mind. More so than your husband was doing, providing almost no help until the doctor arrived and waiting for the doctor to give the ok before immediately leaving you to your lonesome. The doctor had become your biggest comfort at this time, promptly responding to your calls and providing plenty of assurances.

The doctor was rather peculiar, he’s actually pretty shy and despite being experienced, his demeanor was reserved outside of his work. It explains how you haven't been able to get a good look at him before you met, at least. He often stumbled during casual conversation, and his eyes didn't really meet yours. He takes measured gazes when working, but when he’s not, his eyes flicker here and there as if he is trying to avoid looking at something obscene. You would be slightly offended if it wasn’t for the quality of care he gave you, memorizing details to an almost scary degree, practically predicting what ailments you would have before you had them, and swiftly treating you. You had offhandedly muttered about your medication to deal with nausea once, not even talking to him really, and he stopped by the next day with some fresh-grown ginger. He really can be sweet deep down, despite the strange behavior.

With one thing or another, you kept calling and grew accustomed to this somewhat awkward doctor and his equally awkward methods. The medicine he provided worked, and he was the closest help you would get out here, so you weren't going to complain much, but you had to admit, some of his procedures were a bit odd; boy, did you have stories.

He was thorough in his work and examinations, checking you head to toe, in every crevasse, and you mean EVERY CREVASSE. You remember the first time he gave you an in-depth exam, and, surprise, surprise, his hands were cold, causing you to jump slightly. It was strange feeling those cold hands on your oversensitive hole the first time, but you stomached it and allowed him to continue. He had actually stopped when you flinched... how considerate. he even had you alter your wardrobe and check your clothes. No more jeans and stiff fabrics, only loose, thin clothing, even when your bump was relatively small, for better movement and thermoregulation, he said. He followed up on the clothes matter as well, asking how you felt, if you liked them, and if they were accommodating your pregnancy properly. You said yes, they were fine, that was truthful, but it was somewhat difficult to switch to thinner underwear, with your cunt producing more fluid and essentially soaking through them, that was truthful. From then on, the doctor made the, in your opinion, crazy request for a pair of soaked underwear. Increased discharge production is normal, and he wanted to test it to make sure it was healthy. You were incredibly apprehensive at first, the idea of giving a random man your underwear was horrifying, and you made your thoughts known. He then explained that he wasn't some random man but your doctor and provided a long list of all the risks to your pregnancy if he left anything to chance. All of what he said was truthful; he wasn't some random man, and your body was too feeble to risk it, so you relented, giving him a pair of your underwear and watching as he put it in a biohazard bag and tucked it into his work briefcase. At least he was professional about it, but you never got that pair back.

One time, the baby was just too active and made your body sore, so he came over and gave you some light painkillers and even offered a back massage, which you enthusiastically accepted. It was a rare occurrence that the doctor offered to touch you for something outside of medical obligations. He even briefly lifted your stomach to help take the weight off your back. You found yourself back to his chest, so lost in the relief that you almost missed the sound of sniffing behind you. Was he sick? You hoped what he smelled wasn't you; it would be so embarrassing if, after getting so physically close, you smelled bad. He didn't bring it up afterward, and you didn't either. During his next visit, he brought this strange salve with him, saying that since the baby was growing and already so active, the skin on your stomach would become more taut and sensitive, so it was meant to moisturize the skin. He offered to help with the first application, and you accepted, you didnt see why not. You raised your shirt over your bump, just under your new breasts, and that focused gaze instantly turned to your stomach. It sort of startled you how quickly he honed in on you, but you supposed it was his job; what is a doctor if not studious. The salve smelt strange, nothing too strong, subtle, and actually kind of familiar, but you couldn't quite pin it down. He continued, putting a small dollop on your stomach and rubbing it in. he took his time, being thorough and making sure it covered your whole stomach, gaze not straying from it. You felt kind of shy at that. You know he's your doctor, but did he have to look so close? He was usually rather reserved about touching you so closely. You sat as he worked, rubbing the salve into your skin and even massaging your stomach for a bit. Only after a while did you shift in your seat, and this seemed to gain his attention. Promptly' standing up and clearing his throat, avoiding your eyes again, he declared himself done, telling you the proper dosage, and he was on his way. That was... strange. It's not too out of character for the awkward doctor, but you didn't expect him to get so... intimate.

Another time, you found your chest terribly sore. The doctor came over and told you it was fine, just some compacted milk in your newly swelled breasts, which were unused to being so full. Unsatisfied with that answer, you groaned at the strain. It didn’t matter if it was fine, it still hurt. So, you asked if the good doctor could do something. He explained that the milk just needs to be released, either by pump or by hand compression. You didn’t own a pump, and you didn’t know how to get the milk yourself, so you asked for his help. At this, he almost lost it, stuttering out verbal instructions and growing redder in the face by the second. Ultimately, you interrupted and told him you trusted him, he was your doctor, after all. Why get so flustered now of all times?

Flashing some sad puppy dog eyes, you managed to pull him to sit next to you. Pulling off your top, he wraps an arm around you, cupping your breasts and rolling them in his palms. You flinched at his doctor-like frigid hands, the feeling on such a sensitive area surprised you. After they warmed up, he got a gentle grasp on one of your nipples before looking at you for confirmation. You give the affirmative, and he rubs and massages the bud between his fingers, eliciting a soft groan from you, this time not from discomfort but from the strangeness of the feeling. It felt good. Were your nipples always this sensitive? It must have been the pregnancy. He was so warm and so close to you at this moment that you could feel yourself relaxing by the second. He continued his caresses for a bit before pinching at the nipple, drawing out beads of milk. You let out a gasped moan at that, and he stops, letting go of your nipple. Snapping out of your stupor from the sudden lack of sensation, you, a little bit too enthusiastically, ask him to continue, reassuring him that the touch felt good. He continued on like this, massaging, pinching, and milking one breast after the other until the soreness was alleviated. It was warm and comfortable with your back against his chest, it lulled you into a kind of trance. You felt a bit floaty afterward, tingles of pleasure still flowing down your spine, and he offered to make this a regular occurrence since it seemed to alleviate more than just bodily soreness. You accepted, but you had to admit the scenario was a bit weird. The doctor would be coming over weekly to milk you, maybe it's more regular in the practice than you think, he's the medical professional not you.

You grew fond of the touches despite yourself, and you supposed, despite the initial rejection, he was OK with the closeness too, if not a little fond as well. Your husband hadn’t touched you much since your bump really started showing, so you’ve been, admittedly, a little deprived. Despite his cold hands always making you jump for examinations - really, he examined your entire body so frequently you would have thought to have been used to it by now - they were a comfort on your sensitive skin. When they finally warmed up, if he kept his hands on you that long, they were incredibly soothing. You might even say you’ve come to look forward to the touch… maybe… not out loud, though.

Your relationship grew over time, and his checkups became regular enough that he would even stop by on his own occasionally to check in and then promptly leave. He’s rather skittish as well, frequently at your house but never staying for too long, he sometimes leaves before you can make the two of you tea. You can’t say you don’t miss the company, your husband hasn’t been showing you much attention, and you find yourself somewhat starved for interaction. You did whatever you could to keep the doctor a second longer, asking for an additional check, asking him to reach something you couldn’t “with this big belly in the way, after all.” You even invited him to feel the baby kick after a routine checkup once. It's kind of cute how shy he is, his ears turning red when inspecting your belly.

And after a while, it seems like he caught on. Despite still being a bit awkward, he indulged your whims. Stuttering facts about botany, anatomy (yours included), and how his day was when you asked for any conversation. Helping clean up around the house, which you thanked him with a cup of tea. With those intense eyes, he even rubbed your stomach when you invited him and acquiesced to apply the salve for you on occasion, sometimes the baby bucked at his touch. However, he still made sure to keep boundaries on the rare occasion your husband was around. The doctor brought by gifts and trinkets he happened upon in town for you since you were, by his advice, homebound.

He gave you a lovely red scarf and said he thought it complimented your style and that you would like it. While the doctor was handling matters in the kitchen, you were sat in an armchair in the living room, off your swollen ankles, deciding what to do with the scarf and what outfits you could make. Absent-mindedly toying with it, you ended up tying it around your stomach, a nice bow situated on top. While you’re messing with the loops, the doctor steps away from the kitchen, "T-the dishes are all clean and put away. Is there anyth-" he pauses once his eyes land on you, gaze shifting to your stomach and the big red bow on top. You looked down at the bow. “Oh, thank you so much for your help again, doctor. I was just playing around a bit, trying to figure out styles I liked.” You giggled to yourself and looked back up at him, but what you saw startled you a bit. He was still looking at your stomach, unmoving, but his gaze had grown dark. You couldn’t read the emotion behind his stare, but it was a little unnerving. Did you do something wrong?

You cleared your throat. “U-um, doctor? Is something wrong? D-do you not like it?” You meekly question, and it snaps him out of his stupor. He averts his gaze and clears his throat, hiding a blush behind his fist. “Apologies, I’ve got a bit on my mind today, and I just remembered something.” Oh. “Oh, ok.” And that was that. He soon dismissed himself, and you were left alone again. That was so strange, it was almost like he was glaring… You pushed it out of your mind, justifying it as one of the doctor's quirks with eye contact, and never brought it up again. You didn’t want to risk scaring him off or, worse, scaring yourself over what is probably nothing. You liked your dynamic already as it was and didn’t want to lose the company.

One day, when you were about 7 months along, you were lying in bed with a mean stomachache and a light fever. Panting heavily, you're wearing nothing but a thin oversized shirt, overheating and sweating through everything else. Your husband is nowhere in sight, having left for a trip with his friends over the weekend, leaving the doctor to tend to you in your bedroom. Lying on your side, the doctor’s back was facing towards you, writing something you couldn’t see on a clipboard. Your stomach churned again, causing you to flinch and groan. You lift up your shirt, hoping the cool air will do something to soothe the ache, but to no avail. It was so uncomfortable, and your body was so sore. At moments like these, you felt so alone, so vulnerable, so weak. You hated how your body seemed to be capable of almost anything but this, unable to support this one desire. Had the doctor’s assurances been false, could you really go on like this? You open your eyes again and find that the doctor is crouched in front of you, looking at you with that measured gaze.

This time, you meet his eyes again, and it’s once again unreadable and just as dark as before, but they look different somehow as if communicating something to you. The good doctor who has cured your ailments and soothed your stomach again and again. The one who spent time with you, touched you, and cared for you, understanding all of your needs before you even made them known. He’s close, right in front of you, and you’re in need. So fragile in that moment, you whimper and reach out for his hand. He doesn’t stop you, even meeting you halfway, putting his hand in yours, and cooperating when you lead it to your uneasy belly. His cold hands were a comfort to your overheating skin. Understanding your needs like always, he gently rubbed your stomach back and forth, easing it across the sensitive skin. You whimpered again from the soft, calming assurance the reliable doctor always gave. He reached another cool hand up and placed the back of it against your forehead, probably to measure your temperature, but you didn’t care at this moment, leaning into the soothing touch you missed so much at that moment. "There you go," his voice croaked from lack of use. "You’ll be fine. You’ll both be ok with me." you relaxed further into his touch. "Just rest... you’re in my hands now."

[melodrama-ticcc]

— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐰

𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙩.

𝘈 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰��𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫. 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧. 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧.

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ. ⁱ.ᵉ. ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ, ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ, ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵈᵉᵖⁱᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵈᵉᶜᵉᵃˢᵉᵈ ᵃⁿⁱᵐᵃˡˢ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ⁿᵘᵈⁱᵗʸ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ, ˢᵘᵇˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ.

—

The dining table is silent apart from the gentle clanking of silver cutlery against glassware. Gazes wide in stupefaction and nonplus, as the table awaits an answer to the strange encounter they’d just bared witness to. Disconcerted, they watch as she finishes the final bite, scarlet gathering at the corners of her stained lips. The flatware clatters against the plate as she brings the linen napkin to her mouth, patting away the golden crumbs and sticky syrup and blood. She returns the linen to her lap, still wet with the crimson that transudes from the wound on her palm. Finally, Rebecca brings her gaze to meet the guests at her table, a content smile rested on those pretty lips as she finishes chewing her dessert.

The swallow is loud and uncouth, though not nearly as concerning as her current state of mind. She clears her throat as she places a delicate hand over her chest, as if to do so in a defensive manner. There is an uncomfortable silence that fuels the growing tension in the room. Exchanged glances and raised brows only allude to the natural discernment that follows such a plebeian act. In order to cut through the cumbersome silence, Rebecca finds herself attempting to speak up once more, her mouth opening only to be cut off by Johnny, who now rises from his seat. He smiles to the group before his stare befalls her, this time with the necessary intent to oblige her and draw away from the sensitivity of the dining table.

“A lil’ blood never hurt nobody, mind cuttin’ me a slice, doll face?” He plays into her game of make believe, the fantasy that this was some perfect little storybook. That she was the faultless trophy wife of some backwoods redneck neighborhood, or the cover-girl of Good Housekeeping. Whatever game she wanted to play, he’d play it, for she’d piqued his interest. “Sides, I like my sweets a lil’ messy.”

What a blissful thing silence is. That is until it is disturbed by primitive savages like Johnny Sawyer, she thinks. Having had enough of his trivial pissing matches, she too decides to indulge him. She serves him a slice of that sanguinary pie, paired with her chesire leer and a disdainful glare. She leans forward, over the table (an obscenity against basic table manners), and slams the porcelain platter at his place across the table.

“Enjoy.” Her tone is anything but pleasant, it’s mocking, scornful. Evidence that her unsettling grin is nothing but a facade masking her antipathy for the young man.

As he takes the plate she adjusts her posture to stand upright, knife gripped in her good hand as her eyes flicker to the remainder of her guests, and most importantly to her father. “Anyone else?” They’ve all sat back down, and her father, a little skeptical, gives her a knowing look. A warning of sorts. An indicator her show of make belief is drawing to a close, that it is time to face the dire reality and the consequences of her little episode. “Well then, sorry ‘bout the mess folks. I’ll just get this cleaned up.”

The silence is anything but blissful, nothing but the sound of the running faucet and dishes clanking. Any attempt to strike up a conversation is short lived, the table awkward as they share questioning glances and worrisome countenances. Even Raymond, who watches his daughter from behind. His hands clasp together in front of his mouth, elbows resting at the wood table. Before she’s finished, she says something in regard to her temper tantrum, blaming it on some sort of mismanaged anger inherited from her absent mother. Shrugging it off, she offers to try at this spontaneous dinner party another time, with promises to better control her temper the next time around. As if she had something to prove, a redemption of sorts. You’ll have to excuse me, you’ll find I can be quite the model hostess. Just like those women in the magazines!

He sees through her lies and false claims, knowing well the darkness that pools in the wells of her ocean eyes. They glimmer with something sinister, malicious, he knows it. Knows it in the way they lack genuineness when she smiles, or the way they stare daggers at him when she becomes antagonized. It’s amusing really, to toy with her like this. It’s all the sort of confirmation he needs to satisfy his theory.

The remainder of the evening picks up slowly on account of Drayton and Nancy’s small talk. Only before Raymond and Rebecca escort their newfound neighbors out for the night. Good wishes and farewells are exchanged as they wave goodbye. As that front door shuts Rebecca knows she’s in for it, her father turning to watch her with a disapproving utterance.

“You aughtta give me one good reason not to lock you inside this here farmhouse for good girl.”

“Daddy, please,” Rebecca looks frightened, shaking her head fervently as she follows her father into the kitchen like a duckling it’s mother. “It’s just an accident, it ain’t gon’ happen ‘gain.” She pleads with him, the habitual feeling of buried emotions surfacing all in an instant. She never took well to being scolded, it made her manic. Disappointment had not been something she could live with nor fathom, not from her father at least.

“Accident my ass, you ain’t even try to hold back on that boy Becca, goin’ on about a starin’ problem, you’ll get this family torn apart and we’ll have to move out all over again, you want that?”

“Now just what the hell were you thinkin’, boy?” Drayton smacks his palm against the upside of Johnny’s head, a hiss befalling the younger man’s lips as he shoots him a sharp glare. “Eggin’ on that girl — you gon’ get us in trouble just like the last time, not watchin’ that attitude of yours, you snot-nosed brat!”

“You best watch your tongue ‘round my boy cook, ‘lest I do away with you like I did with my husband.” Nancy mocks pointedly, raising her voice in a defensive manner. “Johnny it’s alright, accidents happen, we’ll get anythin’ we need cleaned up.”

“You’ll be in tomorrows stew if you ain’t get that boy of yours in check, he’s lucky her daddy ain’t raise no fit!”

“Get it together, I know damn well you ain’t wanna be the reason we pack up shop a second time.”

“Daddy, I swear it I’ll fix it just, I ain’t like that boy! He don’t mean well not one bit.”

“That girl, she ain’t right, in the head. I can see it. I feel it.”

“You keep that big mouth of yours shut ya’ heard me boy? Goin’ on about a young filly like her bein’ crazy or sum’, all cause you got trigger happy and fiddled with her temper.”

“Shut the damn hell up cook, you ain’t know shit.”

“Why you shithead,” Drayton groans, pulling on Johnny’s ear to bring him down to his level. “You listen to me boy, I ain’t wanna hear ‘bout this again! You apologize to that girl and that’s that. Don’t go causin’ anymore trouble, stay away from ‘er after that. Dumbass.”

“Hey! Get ya’ hands off my boy!” Nancy thwacks Drayton against the head, “I told you my Johnny ain’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“She ain’t right, y’all just don’t see it yet.” Yet.

“That boy ain’t do nothin’ to you, you makin’ up stories again girl. Ignore ‘em if he bothers you so bad. But you owe him and those Sawyer’s an apology, I ain’t about to loose some good ole’ fashioned neighbors over this drama of yours. You’s an adult, act like it young lady!” His voice is loud and angry, enough to quell her incessant arguing and disdainful thoughts.

“Yes, daddy. Anythin’ you say.” But he just ain’t all that nice.

Growing up in rural Oklahoma wasn’t all that much different than Texas. You had your farms; cattle, dairy, poultry, sheep and goats, and crops; mostly wheats and hays, corn, cotton, oftentimes sweet potatoes. They were fairly similar geographically, grasslands and flat plaines with the occasional hillside. Their people each had a certain southern charm to them, hospitality and benevolence at the heart of their every interaction. Texas was considerably more sizable than Oklahoma, though. And their people often outfaced one another on account of petty rivalries.

For Rebecca, much of the same had been true. Her father was a cattle farmer in the small sub district of Skiatook, settled right up on the outskirts of Tulsa. She was born on that farm and raised an only child with a hard working father and a transient mother.

Maggie Payne had an influence on her daughter that would far outlive her. Both negative and positive ascendencies, though the bad far outweigh the good. Rebecca remembers how as a young girl it was expected that she be the prim and proper southern woman, like something out of Gone with the Wind or Oklahoma!. Free of scandal or transgressions. A perfectly polite little lady with impeccable manners and a faultless smile. One wrong move would be met with the smack of her backhand across the cheek. A painful sting a young Rebecca would become accustomed to in her adolescence. Despite an ever longing curiosity for playing in the dirt and aiding her father in tending to the farmland and it’s animals, she remained indoors. A prime example of what a young woman should become. Maggie would teach her daughter how to be the picture perfect housewife, ensuring that one day, she’d make one lucky man the happiest alive.

Yet, Maggie would become the prime example of what an abysmal wife would look like. Haunted by the notion that she had been destined for a life of stardom and limelight, she resented her daughter for her beauty and grace, condemning her to a life of servitude as a homemaker, wed to a man to dictate her livelihood just as she had been. As time would pass and Rebecca’s beauty would continue to burgeon, Maggie’s treatment would only grow worse, as would her addiction to heroine.

Rebecca remembers watching her mother spiral into a life of despair and forlornness. Watching as she would bring home some backwoods tramp and fuck him in her own marital bed. She remembers watching the same man beat the shit out of her for stealing his dope. Remembers how her mother would sob something ugly and blame Rebecca, only so that she would get her ass beat in the same fashion. She remembers how her mother would cry when she’d catch those men with another woman, when they’d leave her for that other woman. She remembers watching her mother asphyxiate on her own vomit, multiple times. Remembers how she would help her mother’s lovers turn her over just so that she’d keep breathing. Remembers contemplating what would happen if she hadn’t saved her, how much life would have improved if she’d of just let her die then. A part of her wishes she did.

Years and years it would happen, time and time again, and as Rebecca blossomed into the fair lady she has become her mother’s vanity and envy only grew. As did her pathetic excuse for a life. Until Rebecca herself would become the woman of the house, tied to her father in the same manner her mother was supposed to be.

And then she remembers the day that all just stopped. A day of liberation and tranquility. What’s only two years ago now felt like an eternity of well-being compared to that hell on earth back in Tulsa.

It was hard to pinpoint how the move had affected her. Living in Tulsa had become much too difficult for her father, who struggled with the gossiping townsfolk in that small farming community. The result of a scandal of that nature became a heavy burden to withhold, and when he’d told her they’d be starting anew in Texas she knew exactly the reason behind his brash decision. But there’d always be a piece of her left in Oklahoma that she’d never get back. She didn’t have any friends or relatives to miss, they’d all left the moment her family went to shit. Yet, the thought of abandoning a childhood home to come someplace new was heartbreaking. To leave what was so familiar and comforting, a place that was supposed to be a home. Rebecca always worked hard to make it that way, but it was never really hers. She could never shake her mother’s hold in the place away. It would always be the home Maggie built, never mattered what Rebecca did.

Starting anew meant she had been given the opportunity to make her own home. In a place that was truly a blank slate. No influence from her mother, she could begin from the ground up. It would be a place where her talent and passion would truly shine, and she’d flourish in it. She always knew she was meant for homemaking.

That’s precisely what she had set out to do, too. Over the next couple weeks, Becca worked at making that big piece of farmland a beautiful little home. With the inside furnished and made to look neat and pristine, much like you’d see on advertisements or the newspaper. It was some sort of rustic chic, warm toned tans and browns combined with the clean-cut look of pure white linens. She’d adorned the place with flowers and photos, even went as far as to cut Maggie out of them all. Her favorite was kept over the fireplace in the den, a photograph of herself at six years old. Her hair done up in curls as she poses in a frilly white gown. She loved it. She’d always wanted to be a bride.

The exterior was where the real work had been needed, though. As Raymond prepped to take in herds of cattle in the coming weeks. Rebecca often found herself out there chopping wood or fixing up fences or troughs. She was always good with an axe, ever since she was a child and she’d sneak out to help her daddy. The wooden handles always felt so natural in her grasp, and she knew if push came to shove it would become a deadly weapon in her hands. She’d taken it upon herself to explore the land, too. Those adventures had led to some intriguing encounters. There had been dead animals, lots of them. Mangled and bloody with their innards torn out from their torsos, as if something had ripped them out with a knife. Miscellaneous scraps and bones, she’d even find some of them arranged in odd sorts of contraptions. Something used to catch the wildlife in the area, she was sure. For a few of them had even had dead bunnies or foxes in them. Half rotted and decaying with maggots crawling from their flesh. She’d clean them up and dispose of them properly, tossing the carcasses and bone scraps in the garbage for pickup on Tuesdays.

On several occasions she had run into the Sawyers. She’d catch Nancy working out in the fields or gardening in a luscious sunflower field. She never said hello. Similarly, Drayton could be seen snooping about the place and stealing glimpses of the work she and her father were doing. He’d watch, and usually when he realized he’d been caught looking he’d offer her a thumbs up and a cheeky grin. Only to scurry off back to his own property, presumably. They never really said much. Only came and went as soon as they’d been seen. As if they purposefully avoided others. She’d chalked it up to them being recluses, homebodies unaccustomed to others in their neck of the woods.

Sometimes, she’d exchange looks with a younger looking lady. Drayton did mention there were others. The woman’s blonde hair tied neatly in a bun, she wore some sort of black dress, much too short to frolic around in like she did. She’d prance about the yard giggling, and Rebecca did find her laugh annoying. In order to save face she would always smile and wave when the woman would look towards her. That woman never wove back. Only ceased her incessant laughter and fled like she was afraid. She supposed that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though.

She’d often catch glimpses of shadows in the windows walking through the Sawyer residence too. There always seemed to be movement in there, like they were always up to something.

Then there was that Johnny.

He never stopped staring. Watching her like a cat would a mouse. He was persistent and tenacious, eerily concerned with her every move. Like he was waiting for her to slip up. Oftentimes he’d stare for a time, and just when she’d had enough, she would turn to yell something from across the field and he’d be gone. Then there had been the time at that swimming hole, too.

Someplace back behind the farmhouse and past the grasslands, a hillside dipped into a pool of warm spring water from the melted snow in winter. When she’d found it, she had been out looking for dead trees to cut down for wood by her lonesome. She set the axe down against an old stump before taking the initiative to undress herself down to her ivory undergarments and dip into the water. It was pleasantly chilling, a refreshment from the intensity of the blazing sun. She’d float there for some time, unbeknownst to his lingering gaze.

Her womanly figure captivates his audience. Caught in some eery trance by her half-naked body. Gentle curves glimmer in the blazing sun above, glowing like a true deity. Her midsection toned and tight, it contorts with her every movement. Teasing him with each careful gesture she makes, flaunting herself as though she’d known she was under his watchful eye.

It was only when she stepped out to redress that she caught glimpse of his familiar figure a short distance from the place. Her head snaps back round, this time sure she’s caught him red handed.

“The fuck you think you doin’, get lost, hood!”

“My my, don’t we act different when the old man ain’t around.”

Her anger seethes out of her, radiating in fiery hot waves from her tanned skin. Her stare is grisly, sliding into her bell bottoms as she buttons up the top.

“I’ll have you against this here blade if you don’t watch it boy, what’s your quarrel with me?”

“Ain’t know we couldn’t share the swimmin’ hole-”

“I ain’t dense shit face, now what the fuck you want, eh?”

“Ain’t you a pleasant one, tch.” He moves closer, approaching the water’s edge on the opposing side, and spits into the hole. “I ain’t know what you bitchin’ ‘bout, best calm yourself, wouldn’t want to burst that temper of yours.”

Rebecca grits her teeth, grinding them like gears. She loathes him, would love to blow his brains out right there — no — that’s too quick. She wants to split him in two with an axe.

“Alls I wanna know is why you think I ain’t notice that ugly outburst of yours.” He laughs, “you know, I’d hardly call it a temper tantrum.”

“Would’ya shut your trap? Fuck off and leave me alone, how ‘bout that?”

“Now it ain’t very gracious of you to not answer my question, after I so kindly obliged your own. S’not very ladylike.”

“Nah. I wanna know why the hell you starin’ at me all the damn time. Ain’t that momma of yours ever teach ya’ not to stare. Tsk.” She slips her blouse back on, “I’ll saw that pea brain of yours right out that head Johnny boy, you best watch it.”

“You dumb bitch.” Johnny only shakes his head, he doesn’t laugh or smile. He’s angry, more aggravated that she’s so attuned to his routine. “You’s a thorn in my side you know that? Can’t ya’ be like all the other girl’s and keep your mouth shut. Ya’ know most would love to have a man like me look at ‘em the way I do you. But you’s just won’t budge. Like to play hard to get.”

She didn’t like that, not one bit. Her hands ball into fists and she all most wants to do it, picking up that axe from the ground and gripping it in her hand. She can feel the uncanny urge to fillet that man in two. To do away with him, teach him a lesson he won’t soon forget. That habitual feeling resurfaces and she can feel herself about to snap. Just like she had at supper weeks before. She imagines what it would be like to have her way with him, slitting that thick neck of his and cutting up those veiny arms. She has to draw herself from her cognitions before she’s too far gone, the thought of it makes her all too giddy. “You wanna meet the devil boy? I’ll go tell that family of yours what type of man you’s really is.”

He only laughs, ugly, it’s an angry laugh. The tone of his demeanor becoming darker, deeper. “Ah, you pretty handy with that there wood splitter ain’t ya’? I seent it myself. Go ‘head, try it. I know you ain’t right in that there head of yours girl. You wanna chop me up? I don’t think that fits in your lil’ life of make believe. But go ‘head, come over here and swing at me, see how far that gets ya’.”

“Just what you think you sayin’ huh? You’s as stupid as you are oblivious. Boys like you ain’t no how to take a damn hint. I catch you starin’ one more time I swear I’ll be on your doorstep with a loaded shotgun.”

“Oh, so you’s that type?”

She doesn’t know what he’s insinuating but it sure ticks her off. She has to stop herself from loosing her composure, her deep breaths hitching in her throat as she begins to shake. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Johnny, whose pleased to see his tactics getting to her. Though still, she’s affronted his typical suave self and brought out his aggravation.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a spoiled man child used to gettin’ whatever he wants. Go back to momma and cry ‘bout how I made you upset, go on, get!”

“There it is, come on baby, come hit me!”

“I ain’t into greasy boys with momma issues, hood, tough shit. Get ya’ act together, ya’ look desperate.”

Rebecca turns to walk away, a scowl etched into those pretty features as she hikes up the hill. She may have been enraged, but she knows better to keep her head. Especially after the lecture her father had given her following her last blown fuse.

Her footsteps are an indication of that intense feeling of hatred and disgust, heavy and furious. She walks off in a heap of rage, only to leave behind an indignant and frenzied Johnny, who turns to stab his foot in the dirt with an irked yell.

She didn’t see him again after that, at least not what she could tell. But Johnny was always there with her in one way or another. She was certain he had continued to watch her, she’d known what his crepuscular gaze felt like, how it made her feel. Like she was completely and utterly vulnerable. That’s what she’d hated about it.

He reminded her of the men her mother often brought home, only more clean and cutthroat. But he was only the devil using the guise of an angel. He was the type of man that used his pretty face to prey on innocent women and break their hearts, the type to destroy a girl’s life or ruin marriages. She execrated him for it. Detested him with every fiber of her being. For his actions and egotistical behavior only proved that.

Rebecca would press on as normal after that encounter, working in the hard sun and traversing the land. She often found herself loosing track of time, Raymond calling her in for the night when he felt she’d taken work too far.

One night she had strolled down to where their edge of land bordered the Sawyer’s, nearly stepping on some metal footing that buzzed with an electric charge. It surprised her surely, but she’d found the concept to be an oddity. Electric exits and an antisocial family, they were a peculiar type of people. Though she’d chalked up there unusual means of defense as a way to keep their livestock in and the wildlife out. It made sense in a way, despite how eccentric it might have been.

She found that entire family to be anomalous, riding the line of what is socially standard and what was entirely bizarre. From their unconventional practices to their perplexing behaviors, it was something that hadn’t made a whole deal of logic. Nothing like what normal southerners would do or behave. The cause for concern was minimal, yet enough for Becca to keep a close eye on her surroundings and arise suspicions of those backasswards neighbors of theirs. Especially Johnny, who’d been the driving factor behind her cautious approach.

For about two weeks her routine remained the same, with little to no deviation in their crude ways and no sign of Johnny aside from the persistent feeling of leaden eyes watching her from afar. That she had been thankful for, but it would seem just as she’d let her guts down there that feeling was again. The eeriness of being stalked. It only strengthened that ugliness she felt for him. In that time the radiator on the pickup had blown too, leaving both she and her father without any proper means of transportation. Something she was looking at fixing in the coming days. But it was yet another thing to add to the aggravating headache that was this fixer-upper.

She had found herself out in the front of the house, splitting wood to fix the damned fences once again. Sweat beading on the flat of her forehead and dripping down the length of her face. She’d wipe her brow with slender fingers, the action pointless as the salt continued to fall into her eyes. Burning and stinging, but she’d keep at her labor despite the inconvenience. Muscles flexing and pumping full of warmth each time she’d swing the axe over her head. It would hit the log below with a crack and clunk. The sound of wood splitting in two and falling the ground, or the blade of that weapon smacking into the stump beneath it. It was a simple but tedious task, spanning into the long hours of the afternoon. After doing so for days though, time passed quickly and the labor barred no difficulty to that of cleaning a house or cooking supper.

She supposed she’d been too absorbed in the work, so much so she hasn’t noticed the sound of quick and heavy footsteps coming up the drive. Dirt kicking and rocks scratching against the boots of a man she’d yet to meet. He stood there from a fair distance, watching her work.

It was a spur of the moment thing, a momentary epiphany of enlightenment. She’d only stopped to wipe that damn sweat from her forehead, and happened to catch the image of a tall, wide figure standing up the road that led to the house. All most as soon as she’d seen it once, she’d snapped her head back to catch it again, and there it was. The man wore a mask of some sort that veiled his true features, a mask that looked much like flesh. Ugly and sinful, stitched together by the careless hand of a terrible seamstress. He donned a yellow apron, pink and red splatters fading on it's front. But perhaps the most striking thing of the image had been what he was wielding, a chainsaw.

[celluloidrainbow]

VIC + FLO ONT VU UN OURS (2013) dir. Denis Côté Two lesbian ex-cons, Victoria and Florence, are trying to make a new life in the backwoods of Quebec. Seeking peace and quiet, the couple slowly begin to feel under siege as Vic's probation office keeps unexpectedly popping up and a strange woman in the neighborhood soon turns out to be an increasingly menacing shadow from Flo's past. (link in title)

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hi there. Friendly neighborhood M.I. (me lol) again with the prologue of the Blackie fanfic. Should be about 3 chapters, total, with time skips inbetween. Small warnings for a little blood and, obviously, death. Mention of a minor/adult relationship.

1970

Everything hurts. The pain starts in your stomach, radiating out from the bullet -or bullets, you aren't actually sure how many hit- lodged somewhere inside you and down through your tired limbs with every step. You're cold in spite of the burning ache, with far too much of your blood being on the outside. Again, you aren't sure how much. Your shirt was dark to begin with, but not so unpleasantly damp and clingy, earlier.

"Just a little further, baby, c'mon," Tommy pants, practically dragging you even though he's not in much better shape.

"I'm tired," you whimper, slumping down on a stack of the wooden crates that seem to be everywhere here by the water.

Far more of them than there are people. Tommy was sure there'd be people, somewhere. Someone who could help. He's wrong. As usual. The last ten years have taught you that he's always wrong, but you go along with it the same way you did when you were just a naive girl of sixteen and your twenty year old boyfriend said he was leaving for better things.

His dreams were larger than life. Larger than the nowhere backwoods town where you grew up. And his dreams slowly became your nightmares. The pair of you were supposed to be living in a luxury penthouse overlooking the city lights by now, rubbing elbows with the finest and moving ever upward.

Instead, you were dying, cold and damp, on a fish-reeking pier because Tommy once again got himself mixed up in the wrong scheme. Pissed off the wrong people. People with guns. The one thing he'd gotten right is that you should've stayed home tonight. He was meant to protect you, not the other way around.

He'd done his best. Wheeling and dealing for rent on your perpetually roach-infested apartment, doing whatever he could to keep you off the streets and out of trouble when more honest work inevitably failed. Though...more than half the time it failed because of his scheming and pissing off someone higher up the food chain. Fired. Back to step one.

But he was still gorgeous and sweet. Deep brown eyes, total devotion, and an incredible sex life went a long way toward making you overlook his glaring list of flaws. Especially when you became just as trapped as he was and had no one else to fall back on. Waitressing wouldn't cover all the expenses alone. Not if you wanted to eat and have somewhere to live.

And now, you're exhausted. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. This is it. You're done for. The one consolation being that you're pretty sure you managed to leave at least one of those men dead in your wake when everything went south. You're not going out unavenged.

Tommy drops to the ground beside you, the leg he's been limping on not able to hold his weight without your questionable support.

"Get up," he says, as if he's not slumped and trying to hold himself together the same way you are.

You don't need to see his eyes to know there are tears in them. You can hear it in his voice. You want to cry, too, but you're afraid the movement will only hurt worse.

"There's no point," you say, reaching out for his hand.

It's sticky and the fact you know exactly why is enough to make you overlook the pain to give a quiet sob.

"I love you."

The words are apologetic. The way they always are when he's screwed up. You say it back, anyway, squeezing his hand with the last of your strength.

At that moment, lights flicker somewhere to your right. A sign bearing the words All Night Cafe. You're sure that wasn't there a second ago, but the shining words are like a beacon of hope.

"Baby, look," Tommy exclaims weakly, and you know he's having the same thought. "Maybe there's a phone."

A way to call for help. Maybe someone who can dress your wounds. Keep you alive until an ambulance comes. You take a deep breath for strength, only your overwhelming exhaustion stops your from screaming in agony as you pull yourself back to your feet. Helping Tommy do the same.

Together, you shuffle toward the relative safety of the small building. Practically falling through the loose-swinging door.

It's empty. Apart from the man dressed mostly in black, sitting in the booth nearest the door. Facing it. The suit he's wearing looks far too nice for his surroundings, as does the heavy coat draped over the back of his seat. He stares at the two of you, drawing deeply on his cigar.

"Everything okay," he asks casually, smoke billowing out with the words in a way that makes you uneasy.

"Phone," you gasp. "Help."

The only words you have strength left to manage.

"No need," he says. "You lost that chance five minutes ago. Fortunately, you've got a shot-" you don't like the way he grins at that "-at another one..."

OH HERE WE GO!!

I'm so hyped. THREE PARTS YOU SAY?? *buzzing*

I love your writing style already, I feel so immersed in this story! And when Blackie turned up?? Tommy go your creepy ass away, your time is up-

[artsycervidae]

Moksha: Chapter 9, Filler

In one of his earliest solo missions, Nobutoshi learns to open his heart to others a little more.

Needed to clear the creativity pipes with this one.

Word Count: 7.6k

Refer to the triggers before beginning this series!

9 YEARS AGO

After the Final Selection, Nobutoshi had expected to take his rightful place at his father's side. Despite years of training, this was not the case. He needed to 'work his way up' to an appropriate ranking; regardless of his pedigree, skipping rungs on the hierarchal ladder was impossible without provable strength and a slay count. And so, though the Mist Hashira and his tsuguko often traveled together in the passing months, it was only Nobutoshi's crow that screeched, "North, northeast! People are disappearing in a farming town to the north, northeast!" When Nobutoshi looked to Ishikawa Jin for input regarding this news, the only response he got was, "Go." Dismissed and dismayed, Nobu set off on his own down the long and lonely road to a small community under attack. Whatever mission the Hashira was headed toward, no longer would Nobu be a part of it.

Putting up an argument was no option: such insistence would be scrutinized and judged, and Jin may lose trust in Nobutoshi's competence. The best Nobutoshi could hope for was to finish the job quickly and return to his father's right hand. Therefore, he didn't stop to rest at all that day. The sun lazily hung overhead by the time he arrived in the late afternoon. Nobutoshi strode past fields of crops, their outlines dotted with small farmhouses, barns, and shacks. The farming town itself wasn't a real town, not according to the closest lumber mill he had encountered on the road, and upon seeing it for himself, he was inclined to agree. It was only a cluster of these farmhouses in close proximity to one another, creating its own simulated neighborhood.

Moreover, the layout and environment struck Nobu as a strange place for a demon to hunt: the lumbering village would have been a better location with their nearby forest canopy. There were no mountains or cliffs to speak of here either, only hills and valleys. There were few sanctuaries available to a demon when the sun was out. Nobutoshi stepped off the track and watched as a couple boys no older than himself set off the direction he just came from, charged with what appeared to be the only wagons left in the hamlet; their burdens were loaded with food and goods to trade and sell. An overnight trip, perhaps... could the demon have shrunk itself down and hidden in one of those burlap sacks? Could it have smuggled itself beneath grain and fruit, eager to be transported somewhere more suitable for a nocturnal monster?

It also occurred to Nobutoshi then that the only grown humans were in the fields, accompanied by young boys of varying ages. There were only children bustling in town, carrying baskets and cloth and even papers.

"Good evening," a honey-smooth voice said from behind him. When he turned, he was met by a girl a couple years his senior-- golden-eyed, raven hair pulled back into a neat bun, no older than sixteen yet clearly a fellow pubescent given the small spots of acne under her chin. Despite the pinpricks of irritated skin, she was slim and beautiful, carrying herself and her yarn-handled bag with grave etiquette. "We don't get visitors often," she went on, "Are you passing through?"

Nobutoshi recognized her class: while 'noble' was perhaps too strong a term for a backwoods place, she was clearly educated, definitely wealthier than the other villagers whose clothes were tattered and hand-hemmed. Her kimono was a dark blue, trimmed with a creamy off-yellow, and intricately floral-patterned. Nobutoshi bowed to her and noted that while her shoes were weathered, they weren't nearly as dirty or worn down as the working class's. The lacquer had barely begun to chip off.

"Good evening, miss," he greeted, straightening himself up. "Yes, I'm only passing by."

"I supposed as much," the young lady hummed, crossing her arms. "You're better off leaving the way you came. There's not anything for ages eastward, and the roads can be dangerous even if you're well protected." Despite referencing his sword she hadn't taken her eyes off his face nor had she stopped smiling. It appeared to be a kindly look, though shallow. Her teeth were as dull as her nails, her eyes warmed his face, and her aura burned righteously from the core of her mortal body.

"Is it? Do tell," he said, taking advantage of her attention, giving her the opportunity she clearly sought. The more he gave her what she wanted, the more she would return the favor, after all.

Delighted he would ask, she gestured for him to follow her. "Come with me," she said, "I'll tell you our troubles; my fiancé and I will house you as our guest." Sensing her own eagerness, she settled back into politesse. "What is your name, stranger? I'm Tachibana Fumiko."

"Ishikawa Nobutoshi. At your service." He took up stride next to her and matched her even pace. "Thank you for your offer. You're rather generous to help someone you've only met."

"My husband-to-be owns the very land we walk on," she shared. "All these farms and the people here are his responsibility-- by the end of summer, they'll be my responsibility too. It's a lady's duty to tend to those in her stead."

"Congratulations on your marriage, Miss Tachibana. I'm certain you will be proper and generous to those under your future husband's employ."

"Thank you," she preened, cheeks flushing under his gaze. "But... given the circumstances we find ourselves in, somehow I feel my manners won't be enough..." She trailed off pensively.

Nobutoshi took his cue. "... To resolve the problems you're facing."

"Indeed."

"What are those problems? Is it the dangerous routes?"

"It's closer to home than that," Tachibana sighed. "You see... some of the folks indebted to my fiancé have been running off. Vanishing into the night. It's been over a week now, and almost every night there's some parent or grandparent missing. It's deplorable-- they leave their children behind with nobody to care for them. Then we never see them again... those who hadn't abandoned their obligations are laywaid by bandits, no doubt. My husband-to-be, bless him, gives the children the chance to continue working under him, to figure out their next decision, but..." Her face fell and she tilted the expression away from him.

Nobutoshi had been listening. He was capable of multi-tasking, scanning their surroundings at the same time despite appearing distracted. So far, everything she said lined up with the report and his personal observations: the village was nearly absent of adults, and those remaining were still younger than Nobutoshi's own patriarch. Indeed, there were no elders, not even a sick or injured person in sight-- nobody to take care of the infants except for the young girls juggling all the other domestic errands. A sharp wail cracked from a musty, run-down building, and one of the girls gathering clothing from dry lines darted indoors. One of the younger children filled the empty place, doubling her haste to finish laundry duty.

He swore, for only a moment, that something scuttled deeper into the darkness of the crawlspace under that house. The hairs on his neck stood up. No matter how hard he stared, he couldn't make it out again. He needed to get a closer look, to investigate... but it was already gone. He would have to keep an eye out again, move faster the next time.

"I see," he said coolly to Tachibana. "I assume you've not met any new faces lately."

"Well..." She considered her words before shaking her head. "No. Not except for baseless rumors."

"Like what?"

"To be honest," Tachibana indulged, "That's one of the reasons I approached you, Ishikawa. One of the boys swore he'd seen a girl wearing a strange, black kimono like yours, right down to the white accenting."

Another Slayer? This made him mildly hopeful that someone else had a lead. "And where is this girl?"

"That's exactly the issue-- he said she was scurrying off somewhere in town, but she was so fast. Faster than he could call out. He couldn't make out any concrete details, and nobody could verify this claim."

A swift Slayer. Junko? His heart skipped a beat at the idea of their paths crossing yet again. "So, you're here to clear the air with me, a suspicious boy similarly dressed to this rumored stranger."

Tachibana cradled her cheek in her palm, bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. "Putting it that way makes me sound so unneighborly," she commiserated, "but, yes. As I said, I have a duty to those my darling employs."

"I take no offense. If such a person exists, I'm equally interested in finding them," he confessed. "You could say I'm looking for someone... so if they've been here as well, all the better."

"I appreciate your cooperation, truly," Tachibana exhaled, as if this genuinely brought her relief. "I hope you won't mind helping us solve this mystery in exchange for food and board, then."

"I don't mind," Nobutoshi said. "I want to be of help. Please, lead the way."

Some eyes fell on them as they cut between houses, lips moved in hurried whispers at the newcomer's presence, but nobody approached them; there was still work to do and precious few hands to offer aid. Despite her apparel, Nobutoshi had expected Tachibana's abode to be as humble as those he had seen... to his surprise, they continued on up the hill to a modern creation: it smelled of fresh construction still, maintained and tidy, leering over inferior shelters. Its placement above the farmlands granted them a gorgeous view to challenge the seaside: the grain a golden gulf, the houses as small sailboats. And perched on this, the loveliest home of all, were two nondescript crows. Nobutoshi stole another glance around, to little avail.

"It'll be so nice to have company," Tachibana went on chatting. "My fiancé has been out of town on business, so it's only been myself, our hired hands, and my sister-- she's unwell, you see. I can't keep an eye on things and care for her at the same time. Thankfully, the girls from town dote on her all the time: telling her stories, bringing her gifts. It keeps her spirits up."

"It would be a pleasure to meet her," Nobutoshi nodded, giving his hostess his 'full attention.' Despite the missing persons, life moved on, apparently... perhaps even thrived off the misfortune of others.

"I'm glad you think so too," she hummed. "I wanted to introduce you both at dinner, if you wouldn't mind. Ah-- there he is. Saito!" Tachibana raised her voice and a hand in greeting to a young man who had just stepped onto the dirt trail. Saito froze, then redirected himself towards the lady. Nobutoshi's impeccable vision caught the slight widening of Saito's eyes as the two approached; swiftly, the farmer's head lowered and hands tucked behind his back.

Saito barely even lifted his face to the duo as they drew nearer. "Yes, miss?" he mumbled, voice starched and formal despite his dirty face and clothes.

"You remember what you saw last night? Your ghost story?" Tachibana asked in a pleasant tone not all that different from that reserved for guests.

By then, the farmer's surprise had fled. "Yes, miss," he replied.

"That unique outfit you said she was wearing... did it happen to look like the garb this gentleman here is wearing?"

Saito nodded and swallowed. "Yes, miss. Almost exactly, but less well kept."

"Could you describe what you saw for him, please?"

Saito hesitated again. "Miss, I... can't be sure at all of what I saw before."

"You were insistent enough this morning," Tachibana stated, the sweetness in her pronunciation souring ever so slightly. This tone made Saito reconsider his approach.

"Well... she looked like--"

There it was. From the corner of his eye, Nobutoshi saw it more clearly: a humanoid shape huddled under the house, watching them from the dark. Without warning he tore across the yard, seizing the creature before it could escape and yanking it out into the sunlight, his other hand grasping his katana handle and slipping it mere centimeters from its sheath before he realized--

"Hinata?!"

The dazed, empty-auraed Slayer lay on the ground, uniform muddied and filthy, their wrist limp in his grasp. 'They hadn't even fought back, the idiot. What if I had actually beheaded them?' He grit his jaw in annoyance, glowering down at them.

They, on the other hand, granted him a sheepish smile-- their cheeks crinkled the corners of their eyes, and their familiar fangs peeked in greeting. "Hi, Nobu." It barely mollified the anger. Nobutoshi wouldn't let them off the hook that easily.

"Like that!" Saito cried, his composure broken and his finger jabbing their way. "There's the ghost!"

Tachibana didn't respond to the enthusiastic outburst. She moved to Nobutoshi's side and peered down at Hinata. "And what," she asked, "were you doing under my house?" Those gold eyes hardened as she assumed, "Stealing?"

Hinata's attention slid from Nobu to Tachibana and back to Nobutoshi. The tsuguko nodded subtly, hoping that this would encourage Hinata to save face and come up with some likely story to explain themself. They took the nod as permission and answered in a soft, cavernously vast voice. "I was looking for the demon."

A hairpin could have been heard dropping. Nobutoshi could have slapped his own face, or Hinata's, or both. What was this moron thinking? Did they bother with thinking at all?

"I'm sorry," he interjected and knelt down to help Hinata up, his fingers digging into their underarms. "This is the person I was looking for, the one I told you about earlier. Hinata is my brother." Hinata opened their mouth as though to object, but one stern glance from Nobutoshi was all it took for them to change their mind. "I apologize sincerely for his confusion. He's deeply troubled."

"I'll say," Saito murmured from afar. Tachibana turned to him and the farmer's shoulders dropped.

"Thank you, Saito," she said icily, "That'll be all."

-----

One guest was company. Two guests, in which one had been discovered trespassing in bizarre fashion, was inconvenience. Even so, Tachibana had the grace to allow 'Ishikawa Hinata' a night's stay alongside their 'brother' until the safety of daylight. Said pseudo-siblings had little opportunity to privately discuss their plan; while Nobutoshi perhaps could have accompanied Hinata in the bath as a reasonable enough alibi, he was too annoyed with them to even imitate intimate proximity yet. The smudgy Hinata was encouraged to wash before supper, and Tachibana took Nobutoshi's company for herself. She led him straight to the room that the two visitors would share, going so far as to slide open one of the dressers, demonstrating the space inside that could hold their katanas. Nobutoshi set them in there, if only to placate her, and placated she was as she withdrew clean bedding from the drawers above the swords.

He very much had the impression that she liked him. Of course, that was a silly thought. She was betrothed to someone else. Nobu was only a visitor in their prestigious home, and even that was a farce. He was only here to get information. To slay the demon. To save lives.

If only he could get her to stop talking about other nonsense and drivel. But there was no way to direct the conversation in his favor: "It gets so lonely, you see," she babbled once the room was set, sitting across from him, "being far from sophisticated society. My sister and I aren't local. I was wed off to help expand my father's shop, and so he and my fiancé have an understanding. Naturally, when my sister fell ill, he sent her along to live with us and recover. The air out here is definitely fresher, but what good can that do her when she can hardly stand on her own? The doctors say they can't cure her-- she has medicine that helps her tolerate the pain, but otherwise, they said she simply has to 'get better.' Can you believe that?"

"That's unfortunate," Nobutoshi replied.

"It's so difficult," she went on. "When my husband-to-be takes long trips like these, I'm meant to keep things running and keep her well. It's too much sometimes, especially since the workers are barely of more use than manual labor. I've had to teach some of the townie girls necessary bedside manner myself, and it's hard having my attention stretched between different people on top of my other obligations. Thankfully, the girls do a good job so long as they're paid. But I hate when they expect me to pull money out of nowhere-- like when my sister gets worse and they have to stay overnight. After my fiancé has vouched for their jobs, and after all we've done to support them, can't they just help her from the kindness of their hearts? Do you know what I mean?"

"I understand," he said.

"You're a good listener," Tachibana confided. She scooted a little closer to him. "And you're smarter and kinder than most people... I can tell, just by the way you care for your brother."

"Yes," he stiffly responded, recalling their alibi. "It can be... frustrating." But even as he said that, the pleasant smile of a captured Hinata flashed in his memory. Even when Nobu was steaming mad, Hinata had been overjoyed to see him; he had been a sight for their sore eyes. "We do what we can to help those we care for," he relented.

"Exactly," Tachibana excitedly nodded. "That's what I mean."

"So, your sister has resided here with you this whole time? Has she improved any?" he asked.

"Not really," she lamented. "It's been two weeks now, and there's no end in sight for her suffering... My fiancé keeps promising he'll find a way to help her, after the farm has settled and expanded, but sometimes I'm scared she'll keep existing this way, hovering between life and death until--" her voice choked and she stopped. "I'm sorry," she shook her head, "I don't want to conjure that image. Let's talk about something else."

"What about him? How long has your fiancé been gone?" It was only after he said it that Nobutoshi considered how audacious it sounded.

Tachibana either didn't consider that or didn't mind. "Oh... about a week now? Listen," she interrupted, turning her whole body to him. "I want to know about you, Ishikawa. Tell me about yourself."

He supposed he should have seen this coming. Information for information. It was too charitable for someone to offer total strangers a place to eat and sleep. Personal information was a strange demand, but it wasn't so personal if it was a lie, after all. "What do you want to know?"

"Are you the older or younger brother?"

"Older."

"Why don't you two look anything alike?"

"We have different fathers."

"What was he doing on his own? Why weren't you with him?"

"He runs away sometimes."

"Why?"

"His mind can be... disorganized. His interests get the better of him and he pursues them without a second thought to those around him."

"Ambitious men are always the most dangerous," Tachibana purred almost approvingly. "Especially when they go off on their own. Still, what a strange fixation. He said he was looking for... the demon?" Before Nobutoshi could consider providing any truth to her, Tachibana snorted. "What nonsense... even if demons existed, only a fool would think he could hunt anything like that down."

Was she taunting them? Did she actually know something, or was she simply being tactless?

"He can't help it. It's like an impulse, or an itch he has to scratch." And then, merely because he wanted her to regret her words, he said, "Our mother died to a home invader. We were both witness to it. Hinata internalized it as a demon attack in the night. Now, he wants to hunt demons and bring them to justice. It's the only thing that brings him peace."

That shut Tachibana up, if only for a moment. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I shouldn't have--"

The door slid open, revealing a washed Hinata in a borrowed kimono robe. Eager for distraction from her improper conduct, Tachibana got up and began to babble their way. "Oh! It suits you. I was worried my fiancé's clothes wouldn't fit, but you're not nearly as tall or broad-shouldered as your elder brother."

Nobutoshi had gotten up as well only to make his way to the window, watching the sun sink behind the horizon. The farmers were finishing work and returning to their ramshackle houses. "Thank you again for the clothes," Hinata was saying behind him, careful with their tone and word choice. "They're so soft. Cozy."

"Aren't they?"

"Has anyone even worn them yet, or am I the first?" And just like that, they made themself too comfortable. Caution thrown to the wind.

Tachibana forced a laugh, shrugging off Hinata's own rudeness as an impolite joke. "Now that you're ready, let me see if my sister is feeling well enough for dinner."

Tachibana must have left-- Nobu hadn't bothered to pay attention to the room anymore, not until another body sidled up next to him. "Where are the swords?"

"Bottom drawer."

Hinata grunted and shuffled over to the drawers, sliding the door open. Nobutoshi continued to watch the town prepare for lockdown. "She's got a massive crush on you," the Slayer behind him said. The drawer closed audibly.

"Good for her," Nobutoshi answered bitterly. Lanterns were being lit, doors were being locked, windows were being shuttered. Even from so far away, he could see the larger figures stooping down to pick up a scythe, an axe, a heavy rock-- anything that could serve as an impromptu weapon in the night, should more unexpected visitors arrive.

"Are you upset?" Hinata's voice had moved to the other side of the room, closer to the spread bedding. They sounded more curious than hurt.

"No."

"Hmmm... you seem pissed off."

"I'm not," Nobutoshi lied. He noted the inconsistency in Tachibana's alibi, filing it in his brain for later. Indigo and hot pink clouds hung low in the sky. Moonlight would be scant tonight, but Nobutoshi didn't have to worry too much about that after his eyes adjusted to the dark. Hinata though...

Hinata emerged into his peripheral view; they watched their fellow swordsman watch the countryside scuttle to their defenses. "It's batshit how lavishly these guys live. You saw how their workers get treated and paid? They're being worked to death for luxuries they'll never see... and the kids have no choice but to do the same. This place is perfect for a demon."

This got Nobutoshi's attention. He frowned at Hinata. "There's nowhere to go when the sun is up. This is a terrible hunting ground for a demon."

"Are you kidding me? Who needs to go anywhere when you've got land, bait, and time?" Hinata pointed out. "All they need is a permanent, inpenetrable lair. Right now there's a population shortage, but word has already been spreading that there's easy money to be made. This place is so out of the way that we got here before any civilian could pack up their life and move in or out. The people will come... and then they'll be trapped here too."

Nobutoshi hadn't thought of it that way. Maybe he would have, had he been given a night to review the circumstances. "What else did you figure out?" He turned from the outdoors to face Hinata head on.

They met his eyes, then looked away almost bashfully. "The demon isn't particularly strong," Hinata said slowly, treading their report with caution, "though if we assume they've eaten every missing person in town, they're probably getting tougher. I don't see any evidence of a Blood Art, and I haven't been able to find where they go during the day. Their behavior is the typical nocturnal hunting that new demons resort to before finding their bearings. Nobody was taken last night, the demon laid low for the whole time I was here, but I've narrowed the options down to the residents," and their left fingers, nubs and tips, drummed on the wall, "in this very house."

"Tachibana's sister," Nobutoshi assumed, "right?"

Hinata grimaced, their eyes falling further to their feet as if Nobu were reprimanding them. "No... she's still human. Unless her brother-in-law has a plan to change that."

"Have you met her?"

"Not that she knows. I took the liberty of investigating the halls and rooms I passed on the way back from my bath, and I heard her hacking up a lung. I went to check it out and... She's..." though their words faltered, they swallowed down their nerves and found a way to express sympathy. "She's so small, Nobu. So weak. I don't think she would be able to survive a transformation. Living through something like that isn't a guaranteed outcome to begin with... Maybe the fiancé did, but there's no assurance that the girls will."

Nobutoshi didn't have the tactile advantage that Junko or Hinata had-- but just looking at their sagging shoulders and half-lidded eyes made him feel fatigued on Hinata's part. "Where's the fiancé then?"

"Beats me. Neither within nor under the house, that's for sure." They slouched forward to rest their head on the windowsill, arms folded over each other as a makeshift chin rest. "I don't even know why a demon would choose to break ground all the way out here... there's nothing for miles except wilderness. Maybe it's just for territory, but there are better places, for sure... Why go all the way out in the middle of nowhere only to establish a society...?"

Nobutoshi was grateful that Hinata was here. That they had taken the time to investigate each human in town, keeping track of those who survived sunlight, who benefitted from so much death, who could and couldn't be accounted for. Not that he excused their stalking, their sneaking into girls rooms, their crawling under homes and invading privacy... but it had been efficient. It would be worth killing the demon and staunching future bloodshed.

So why did Hinata look downright miserable about it?

"You did the right thing," Nobutoshi assured them. "We know who to target now, and nobody else needs to get caught up in this."

"Tachibana will be heartbroken," they murmured, "And what about the people here? What happens to them after we kill him? Do you think they'll be allowed to keep their homes, or... will all their lives come apart?" they worried with the simplistic ignorance of a child.

"It needs to come apart before things get better," Nobutoshi insisted. "We have to purge the parasite before it can bury its filthy roots into this community." Hinata sighed like a great old dog who had seen enough already. Nobutoshi settled his hand on his compatriot's shoulder. "... We're saving Tachibana too. Her fiancé may have stayed away before he turned into a demon, but her sister can't go anywhere." That indisputable fact was a hard-learned lesson that Nobutoshi would never forget. In a moment of rare weakness, he added, "The alternative is worse. A demon will eat their own family when pressed. They may smile and seem warm, but only for that sole reason: because they see something they can feed on that won't fight back."

When Chihiro had turned into a demon and pleaded for Nobutoshi to let her into their home, she grinned just like that-- ravenous and wolfish. He had been lucky that Jin was there to behead her, taking responsibility for his wife's fate before she could murder and devour their only child.

Hinata's head raised as though Nobutoshi had shared the sordid details of his memory aloud. "I'm sorry," they said, reaching their hand to squeeze his. "I'm putting my burden on you."

"Don't be. You just don't want anyone to get hurt. That's admirable, but impossible." Nobutoshi fought the tightness in his throat and turned away, watching the last rays of sun blur beyond his vision. "The only way all this ends is by killing the Demon King. We can't stop until every one of his bloodthirsty agents has been slaughtered."

"I'll help you," Hinata promised. "No matter what. I won't hesitate... okay?"

For one of the few times in their acquaintenceship, Nobutoshi found his mouth contorting, the corners of his lips turning upward at Hinata's sincere pledge. "Of course. You're a Demon Slayer too."

"Thank you for waiting," Tachibana said, Hinata's hands flying to their own personal space when she reconvened with them. "I'm afraid my sister isn't feeling well enough to entertain guests. It'll just be us." She stepped aside and led them out of the room, making certain to slide the door closed behind them.

"That's unfortunate," Nobutoshi replied as the party moved down the hall, away from their view over the lower class. He had hoped there would be another window or sliding door for them to utilize, to keep an eye out, but alas, the dining room they entered was insulated on all sides.

"Woah," Hinata breathed at the sight of the long, solid wood table and a dozen matching chairs. "Neat!" Forgetting their manners, they grasped the back of a seat and dragged its solid weight away from the table, inspecting the woodwork.

"Isn't it?" Tachibana smiled, suddenly patient in the face of disrespect. "These are gifts from one of my fiancé's associates, when he chose to leave for the countryside. His partners are so kind and generous-- but it also helps to have a long table for business meetings."

"Very modern," Hinata murmured. "Must have taken a lot of money and work to get it all the way out here. And such a nice gesture, for being a farewell present."

"You won't be dining with us?" Nobutoshi asked, noting that only two places were set.

"Oh-- I had to send the girls back home. It wouldn't be prudent if I let my guests go hungry and neglected my sister, so I'll be serving you and disappearing often. Please understand my flexibility." She bowed her head stiffly.

"You sent your sister's helpers home?" Nobutoshi repeated. The excuse didn't sit right. Tachibana gestured for the two to sit and they did, but Nobutoshi pressed, "You don't have to overwhelm yourself with so many responsibilities at once. Your sister takes priority."

"Don't you worry," she smiled. "I appreciate your concern for her, but she's in good hands tonight." There must have been a cold breeze that found its way into the house somehow. Tachibana stared directly at Nobutoshi, and Nobutoshi maintained the eye contact, his skin creeping under his clothes.

"Great food!" Hinata interrupted. "Thank you for the meal."

The food would have looked incredible in better lighting. There were glass light stands in all corners of the room, a single candle sitting among the many dishes provided to the Slayers. The overall effect brought no comfort-- the long shadows cast upon the walls and floors gave Nobutoshi the impression of bars. Even so, Hinata's chopsticks picked and rolled morsels around. "It's pretty dark in here, huh?" they commented.

"Is it dark?" Tachibana asked dreamily. "I can fetch us more candles while I check on my sister." But she didn't leave yet. She was waiting for something.

"It almost feels like a big house like this one would have electricity, but that's not possible all the way out here, is it?" said Nobutoshi's indelicate 'sibling.'

"Not yet," Tachibana agreed. "But given time and resources, my fiancé's partners intend to move out here as well."

"Wow, sounds luxurious. And incredible, for your husband's business decisions to make such impacts. What kind of person is he that his associates can pull such strings for him, yet follow him into the unknown?"

They had been too greedy, too obvious in the way they handled human affairs. Whether that came from impatience or ignorance didn't matter-- Nobutoshi could feel the pieces being laid out for a dangerous game. Tachibana merely grinned with skin-deep honesty. Nobu took a sip from the tea by his dishes, feeling the tang of valerian root and poppy on his tongue before he allowed the liquid to seep back into its cup. He feigned a swallow.

"I'll check on my sister," Tachibana said instantly, turning and leaving the room with all the rush of fleeing a crime scene.

Nobutoshi dared not assume they were alone enough to speak freely. He pointed to the tea with a raised eyebrow. Hinata nodded and lifted one of their platters, exposing the missing morsels that they had hidden. 'Even the food wasn't safe?' That had been mildly disappointing. Nobutoshi, after all, hadn't stopped for nutrition all day.

The lights went out-- as if the breeze had returned and extinguished them with a single sweep. Hinata disappeared in the abrupt depth. Nobutoshi only needed to blink for his eyes to focus, and Hinata's dark form developed outline and detail.

So did the body behind them.

Nobutoshi hardly had the chance to warn them when the demon seized Hinata by the scruff, nearly yanking the kimono off their body with such brutality. Nobutoshi leapt to his feet, picked up his tea and threw it hard, then his bowl of rice, then a plate-- the flatware shattered and bounced off the assailant's head. Hinata's hands had found the demon as well, grabbing at its hair and ripping at the tender flesh of its face, stealing its organic samples in vicious self-defense.

The demon howled and threw Hinata aside-- the Slayer stumbled and crashed, legs tangling in the chairs' and falling into all that furniture. It surged over the table after Nobutoshi, but he was already wielding his dinner chair, swinging it seat-forward to shield himself from the maneater. The demon was so powerful that Nobutoshi stumbled backward-- he refused to go down, but the creature grabbed the solid wood impromptu shield and snapped it into pieces with ease, the well-polished legs croaking and splintering in agony. The fiancé snarled and bit into the backrest, totally eviscerating Nobutoshi's defenses. "Hinata! The swords!" Nobu cried.

"I can't see!" was Hinata's response. And before Nobutoshi could despair, the demon suddenly jerked its body to the side, head bobbing at an angle off its crooked neck, footfalls frenzied. Nobu's brother-in-arms dropped the pieces of their own chair that they had smashed over the demon's head. Their unfocused eyes scanned the dark space between them, tensing and twisting their neck as if to pop it. The demon's hair and blood was already dissipated from their clawed fingers; as the demon's neck rebroke and realigned, Hinata's far-off eyes shifted to track their target. "I can feel him, though," they panted, blindly searching for another weapon with pawing hands. "I'll hold him off. Go!"

Nobutoshi didn't waste time-- he ran for the way Tachibana left, and the demon made to intercept him. Hinata was immediately upon the predator, grabbing the heavy table and shoving the whole thing, meals and all, into the creature's hips and legs with a resounding crash! The demon shouted out and punched a hole through the middle of the table. The force of its trajectory made it fold as though it naturally had hinges in its center.

Nobu careened around the corner and sprinted to their assigned room. Inside, Tachibana squealed with horror from where she stooped over the open drawer. She snatched up fabric-wrapped contraband, the ends of their sword carriers peering out from her clutching arms. She ran to the window, hurriedly thrust those contents outside. In its last moments of visibility, Nobu recognized the cloth that had vanished out the window: it was one of the spare blankets that Tachibana had set out. He immediately turned to the bedding and ripped them away, searching for where Hinata had rehidden their belongings.

"No!" Tachibana cried when the two nichirin blades were exposed, tucked away in that second location. All she had thrown outside were their empty sheathes-- she ran after Nobutoshi, her fists raining down on his arms and shoulders as she screamed hysterically. In the other room, the echoes and struggles of combat rang on.

He shrugged her off easily. With one hand, he caught both her wrists and pushed her back. The poor girl stumbled and fell with a cry, reaching for her ankle, but Nobutoshi didn't bother with humoring her crocodile tears. In fact, he rather hoped it hurt-- that she felt sorry for herself and wondered what she had done to deserve this, before realizing her true mistake.

She had chosen the demon over her fellow humanity. She fooled herself into thinking a monster could feel true sentiment for something they considered lesser. She could sit there and cry and feel sorry for herself all she wanted, but at least she would live long enough to learn her lesson. Nobu darted out the door to reunite with Hinata--

the demon had stepped into the hallway, as though synchronized with Nobutoshi. There was now a hole in the dining room wall, and another hole across from that one leading to the open outdoors. Nobutoshi couldn't help feeling that despite Hinata's best efforts, they had chosen a fight beyond their caliber. The demon chuckled to himself, murmuring "So feisty," as he hoisted himself with a single hand, vaulting out the second hole.

Nobutoshi drew a breath and exhaled it smoothly, treading forward on light feet as though he could sink through the floorboards if he wasn't careful. The silent, fluid footwork carried him like a dense fog through the hall and outside into the fight.

Filthy and sweaty once again, Hinata was barely holding their own. The handprint bruises on their arms and legs testified to near-misses and reversed grapples-- and as the demon dove on them, they spun and ducked and wove between and around the larger creature's limbs. Junko would have been proud to see their close-range improve, to see them follow the invisible winding vine of her fighting style. But Hinata was still sloppy and unbalanced, their chest heaving and shoulder blades flexing with a tension that couldn't be released without a sword. The demon cackled with delight as it grasped at thin air, terrorizing and harassing the human who had challenged it.

"Hinata!" Nobutoshi needed an opening, and Hinata gave it to him. They needed a sword, and he brought it for them. When the demon swung both fists hard, intending to hammer Hinata down into the ground, Hinata jolted back before teetering their weight forward, rushing the demonic fiancé and using its shoulders to leapfrog out of harm's way. Nobutoshi dropped nearly to a kneel, setting his companion's warm-hued blade down and lifting the aqua-tinged counterpart.

From that position, he darted forward in a burst of obscurity-- the demon couldn't have possibly seen it coming, couldn't even retaliate against Hinata in the sudden mist. It was only when Nobutoshi was right before the fiancé that the demon's eyes focused; the sword already completing the Fourth Form slash along the opening thread, the demon's head slipping effortlessly from his shoulders.

"Ah," the demon gasped, head bouncing off the ground and rolling from momentum. "... Huh?"

Nobutoshi straightened himself upright, flicking his sword to dispel the fading blood from his katana. "Hinata. We're done here." The crows, watching from their vantage point, took flight in a ruffle of feathers.

Hinata didn't reply, still and silent as a statue. Tachibana was the one who spoke up.

"No!" She screamed from her damaged home, hysterically clambering through the debris and stumbling into the outdoors, arms outstretched for the body of her once beloved. Her legs shook and she limped, favoring her twisted ankle; eventually she fell to her knees in order to scramble alongside the demon, gathering her dissolving dearly departed into her arms. "Ken! Ken, please, no! No, what will I do without you? Ken!"

"Fumi..." the demon's head breathed his parting word.

"Ken, don't leave us, please! I can't do this without you."

"But... you don't have to be scared of him anymore."

Tachibana's scorching, bewildered glare fell on Hinata, who flinched at the look alone. "Right?" They murmured, not all too sure of themself.

"I loved him," she spat angrily.

Hinata opened their mouth, then closed it. They looked between the demon and the woman who had offered the cannibal her and her sister's life in exchange for promised security and safety. The demon closed his eyes as the last of his body misted into the air, leaving the young woman to stare at her empty hands.

"Murderer," Tachibana whispered. The word was misplaced. Nobutoshi had been the one to decapitate her fiancé, but it was Hinata who had shown weakness first. They cringed as she rose to her feet, pointing accusingly. "You're a monster! You killer!"

Nobutoshi hadn't even been conscious of how swiftly he approached the argument. All he considered was how the Slayer flinched from the woman's encroaching hands, how Hinata desperately didn't want her to touch them, to infect them with her sorrow. He took Hinata's shoulder and moved them away; they didn't resist and fell into his shadow.

"Take that up with me," Nobu stated, unwavering in Tachibana's justifiable fury. "You're an ingrate and a fool, if you thought he would spare you."

"I'm ungrateful?" She laughed dolefully. "We took you in as our guests, and you killed my fiancé!"

"How many people of this town would you have fed to him, if it meant you got to keep that leverage over them?"

"Dont pretend you care about them!" she shrieked, "You don't care about me or my sister or anyone else who lives here! Who will take care of us now?! How will we sustain ourselves?" Tachibana bawled before her hand snapped out, slapping Nobutoshi hard across his sharp cheekbone.

Not that it hurt too badly. He had felt worse. But the way Hinata gasped made it seem as though she had dismembered the tsuguko. She hit him again, and again, and again, sobbing vehemently.

"Go away! Get away from us! You bastards, you're evil! Get out!" She incoherently yowled. She battered him ineffectively until she lacked energy to do so, crumpling in on her own trembling body. Nobutoshi looked down on her, then cast a glance to Hinata, who had snuck away to pick up their sword and the disposed sheaths. They couldn't bear to witness her suffering, and instead reached to clutch Nobutoshi's steady shoulder for stability.

As the demon slayers walked away, Tachibana buried her face in her palms to weep. They continued along the path's arching spine, her crying becoming lost to the wind; they passed through the sleeping town, its citizens blissfully unaware of the questions awaiting them in the morning.

"She was scared of him," Hinata said suddenly, their voice quiet and defensive. "They both were... but they still cared about him too. Because he was their--"

"I don't care," Nobutoshi interrupted. "And neither should you. If we stopped to moralize each and every demon we had to put a stop to, they would have the upper hand. They don't love. They don't stop to think about the effects they have on others."

Hinata hesitated before saying, "He was relieved she was there... she was a comfort to him."

Finally, Hinata let it go, or at least stopped mentioning it. They pouted quietly, sighing and stretching their limbs. "Are you okay?" Nobutoshi asked softly. They had, after all, distracted the demon for him. The dark handprints over their arms and legs had to ache, even if they were simply bruises.

"I'm sure she was," Nobutoshi snapped. "She protected him. All those people died because of their selfishness. Now they know what it feels like to lose someone close to them."

"Just sore... and realizing I left my uniform behind," they sighed, rolling their joints. "He wasn't a great fighter, but he sure packed a wallop... lifted me right over his head and threw me. That was... pretty cool, actually. But now I want a really hot bath and a long sleep, and then to wake up perfectly fine."

Nobutoshi snickered at their optimism. "We can get you another set of clothes. I should have napped while we were there... it would have also been nice if there was anything that wasn't dosed at dinner." He added this just in case Hinata needed reminder of the treachery they faced.

The two carried on in mutual quiet until Hinata jogged ahead of Nobutoshi and dropped to a knee. "Get on."

Nobu stopped. "What?"

"You can take a nap while I carry you."

"You just said you were sore. You can't carry me."

"Can too. I hurt, but I'm awake and energized."

"That doesnt make sense. We don't even know if we'll be going the same direction." Nobutoshi mumbled. "What if my destination is out of your way?"

"That's okay," they said with an assured nod. "I may not have been able to help Tachibana... but I can at least help you, Nobu. I want to feel good about something after all this."

"You have too guilty a conscience," Nobu chuckled. But they insisted with a backwards glance, so Nobutoshi cautiously tucked his sword aside and slipped his legs over Hinata's bent arms. They stood and he clutched his wrists around the other Slayer's collarbone. The view was different at their height. They straightened their straining limbs and resumed their pace, clamping Nobu's weight to their back. True to their word, they shouldered his burden without so much as a stumble.

And though Nobutoshi couldn't say for sure that Junko had been right all along, one thing felt certain. With the Final Selection nearly a year behind them, Hinata still proved to be a dependable ally. Perhaps they could even be considered a reliable friend. He rested his head on their shoulder, letting his hot and heavy eyelids fall closed.

[thehipovercor]

This isn't about Cor lore but it's spooky and related:

I live in the approximate area of the US Appalachia region and it's a very popular location for "backwoods horror stories." Lots of personal tales or short fiction about going camping and seeing some weird thing and hearing it scream like nothing human but also nothing animal, yeah? And yes the not-deer lol

I have a weird relationship with it all! I'm both a skeptic and cautiously eager to see one of these weird things that people probably shouldn't see. There's all these stories, and then there's my multitude of cousins telling me their stories about the awful things they've seen in our own holler (a holler, or "hollow," is an Appalachian neighborhood in between mountains but not quite in a lovely picturesque valley), and I have never seen any of these critters.

I have been in my driveway, going to deliver some loose leaf tea to one of my many cousins sitting in his car, in the thickest awfullest pitch-black night ever. The only light was from the house/porch and the car's headlights. He rolls his window down to accept this tea drug deal and he pauses before taking the stuff and he says to me with one of those "i'm dying but playing it cool" smiles, "Liv, turn around. There's one behind you." Ah, beans. I did not turn around, rather I told him to take the tea so he could go home five minutes away. "Liv, turn around." no lol "It's behind you, over there." I never said no to him, I just insisted he take his tea. I think I had to toss it on his lap before I deliberately turned to go inside in such a way that I Would Not turn in the direction he said to look.

Gamers, I don't think I could have physically looked lol. I could have confirmed or denied a not-deer or some horrible relative gremlin and I physically could not turn around. It wasn't like... I refused? I did refuse, but my brain was focused on "BUDDY JUST TAKE THE TEA" instead of "i die out here, huh? what does It look like?"

SO ANYWAY this is why my spooky Falsum guys love the woods, I wanna recreate the feeling of dread in a safe way and have an in-universe explanation for some Things (like hide-behinds, or perhaps crawlers) out there, but there are plenty of Other Things that lurk that even scare a really brave Scout that they won't talk about except to warn. O'-! The difference between some Corda playing pranks on campers and a different supernatural beast feeding off human fear!

[eatmangoesnekkid]

A Mantra on Courage by India Ame’ye, Author (2013, Iowa)

You probably never imagined that you would become the woman you are today. Curious. Questioning. Audaciously full of desire. Insatiable. Growing in heart and finances. Feeling more. Sensitive and precise. Expecting more from life. Jubilant in your sensuality. Expanding in capacity. Creating your inner and outer realities. Life is now a cornucopia of sweetness, generosity, and grace. The voice inside your body is a soft one. As the heavy layers and density fall away overtime, you transcendentally undulate to Etta James in pure awe of who you have become and how lighthearted you have become. The little girl who grew up in the hood, in a middle-class neighborhood, in the backwoods country, or in a patriarchal country, the one who was afraid of the full range of her sounds, (her vocal range), or the shapes her body makes when she innocently walks, or her (real) dreams, would evolve into the woman you are. Maturing into that woman, the wellspring and embodying HER (it), makes you a force of nature. But the path to greatness and truthful mastery can be terrifying and lonely. I know this to be true. When you have no template for what you are doing, when you can’t see the forest for the trees, when you walk through fog so thick that you no longer see your hands and all you want to do is run backwards to where it’s comfortable and predictable, where the path is manicured and clear, don’t! Keep going, Ma. All of it or none of it. I can tell you I have been there many times. I can say that courage is an essential nutrient that pays off in dividends eventually. New creation of new narratives requires your courage. The rewards are on the other side of you not giving up before the miracles leak out into the world. -India Ame’ye, Author

[spacefinch]

The MSB kids are adventuring in the backwoods of Walkerville. What would they do there?

Phoebe and Carlos enjoy looking for birds of any kind. Same goes for any other animal. There's always something interesting to see!

Tim practices his tree-climbing skills (deciduous trees are good for that sort of thing.)

Phoebe and Ralphie have a tree house that Grandpa Tennelli built. The entire gang uses it as their HQ for forest adventures.

The tree house is built around the branches of a big oak tree, and has the following things:

A small observation deck for bird-watching

Field guides on the local flora and fauna

Comfy furniture

A bucket attached to a pulley (for deliveries)

A rope ladder for those who are not good climbers (but you have to say the password if you want the ladder lowered)

Nature art on the walls, courtesy of Tim

A snack stash

(During the winter only) a supply of snowballs to throw at passers-by

(During summer only) a supply of water balloons and squirt guns to soak passers-by

Tim likes to spend time out in nature drawing. He'll just bring his art stuff, find a place to sit, and just hang out for hours, drawing the plants and animals around him.

Arnold likes collecting rocks near the creek in the woods. He's even found a few fossils!

Other backwoods activities:

Blackberry picking (during the summer). Ralphie and Phoebe always eat more berries than they put in their buckets. Carlos has been poked by the blackberry bushes so often that he refuses to pick berries unless he's wearing his creature power suit gloves (if they're tough enough to withstand a hawk's talons, they're tough enough for berry bushes.)

Looking for salamanders, frogs, and newts. (One of Wanda's favorite things to do while hiking.)

Jumping into leaf piles (during the fall).

Creature adventuring with the Wild Kratts team, if they're in the neighborhood.

Fishing in the stream. The fishing isn't super great compared to Bass Lake, but the kids have caught some interesting river fish.

Walking on fallen logs!

Rock-climbing (or to be more accurate, carefully walking across a bunch of boulders). Some of the rocks form a bridge of stepping-stones across the stream.

Collecting acorns and pinecones

One time, the kids had an obstacle course relay race through the woods. (This was during an Olympics year.)

Camping (it's quite in-tents).

Stargazing. The best places to do it are A) in the meadow and B) from the top of a tree.

Catching fireflies during the early summertime.

Snowball fights! (During the winter)

[sea-salted-wolverine]

I scared the absolute bejesus out of a Doordash driver last night.

I have the largest driveway and the only visible house number on my road. Also my road is only legally a public road, which means that it has a road sign on a dirt track that disappears into the woods, so this poor doordash driver is already starting at a higher than background levels of intimidating.

There is only one person on my road who regularly gets Doordash, and she gets it quite a bit. Plus its a dead end road and I know all the vehicles that regularly come down it and who they belong to so its really easy to figure out that the lost stranger is more than likely looking for their drop off.

When they get lost, they turn around in my driveway, while staring at my house number trying to figure out where the hell they are. This is also where they get stuck in the wintertime if they don't have 4WD. (Yes, this happens alot, I'm considering putting up a sign)

But it hasn't snowed yet and I was out in my driveway last night when the doordash driver went past my place looking lost. And then again, squinting at my house number.

So I straighten up from the project I'm working on, to see if he figures it out, or if he comes up to ask me for directions.

But the thing I'm working on is a beaver carcass.

So this poor dude looks at me and my skinless rodent the size of a toddler, and my knives and my messy hands and I can see him reevaluate his financial priorities. I really hope my neighbor tips well.

[15-lizards]

More southern ASOIAF headcanons for my mental health

Robb: star football player who gets drafted for a D1 college. He is absolutely the sweetheart of the SEC world. Definitely the next Joe Burrow. Has a million followers on insta and all of his posts are professionally edited. On the outside there’s nothing wrong with him but he actually has a dark secret (he’s just dating theon). Margaery is absolutely his sorority girl gf before they both realize they’re gay.

Arya: absolutely insane. Begs Ned to go along on hunting trips and can shoot a rifle like a grown man. She’s one of those kids that eats the heart of the first deer they kill. Runs around barefoot in the backwoods and the gravel roads. Sustains herself on bug juice from the gas station and honeysuckle plants that grow outside the house. Just true southern trash I love her.

Dany: Weird horse girl to the MAX turned highschool overachiever. Still rides horses but had a breakdown and a personality 180 after middle school and is now class president bc she wanted to make friends. Is in like three thousand clubs and is somehow the head of all of them. She has such a nice speaking voice but her accent only slips out when she’s angry. Ridiculously active in the local community. We all know that girl. We all know she needs Xanax and we love her.

Catelyn: Facebook mom. Keeps their suburban front lawn looking SPOTLESS. Always cheering Robb on at his games, makes the rest of the Starks dress in the school colors and take family pictures. Doesn’t like to gossip unless that person deserves it but when she does she absolutely tears them apart. Always hosts the neighborhood block parties. Ends up feeding half the neighborhood children when her kids bring them home after they were out playing when the streetlights come on.

Theon: Drug dealer who lives in the backwoods I’m sorry. He barely graduated highschool and likes to chew dip so thick you can’t understand what he’s saying. Actually kind of smart but didn’t care enough about school. Always showed up in his stupid lifted truck. Always smells like either cigarette smoke or weed. Just gives off dirty vibes but he was always pretty chill to hang around with surprisingly. Always had weird respect for the smart kids or the ones who didn’t want to do drugs. Somehow this is all appealing to Robb

Cersei: Evil Facebook mom. Passive aggressive to your face like she isn’t even going to be fake nice. Everyone’s always kissing her ass in her comments section as she humble brags about Myrcella being on the honor roll or Joffrey making the baseball team (the Lannisters have the stadium named after them). She knows if you don’t show up to church and makes sure all of her friends (who she hates) know about it too when they have brunch afterwards. But she is so fine. True southern milf. All of Joff’s classmates never shut up about his mean hot mom.

Davos: Your nicest old man neighbor ever. He’s Theon’s closest neighbor (two miles down the road) and is always trying to set him on the right path. Will def lend you money if you need it. No one’s really sure what he does for a living but he’s probably good at it. Always letting the nearby kids run around in his yard while he keeps an eye on them from the porch. He woodworks in his spare time. Everyone nearby has a swing set or a crib or a table he carved for them. Also gives the wisest, most sage advice ever uttered by anyone ever. He dropped out so he can’t read very well but Shireen always walks down the road after school to teach him :,)

Lysa: god she is just. Batshit crazy. Slightly normal until you walk into her ugly suburban mansion (that her old ass husband paid for) and she starts talking about Qanon. Such a conspiracy theorist and Robin is most definitely not vaxxed because those give you autism duh. Tries to return clothes she got like three years ago to Target and gets mad when they won’t refund her. Gives fast food workers a hard time. Or any service workers really.

Dolorous Edd: That man is a Waffle House employee. Trains Jon how to cook while taking an order while smoking a cigarette all at once. Cleans up questionable needles in the bathroom and needs to take a smoke break outside afterwards. You have never seen a man look so jaded yet make you the most fire fucking hashbrowns you have ever eaten in your life. No one knows what he does off the clock he’s a mystery. He just comes in, complains, makes waffles, leaves. Has thrown hands with a customer. Multiple times. Never loses.

[sagewhite]

Alright, alright, alright I take it back! I put some more thought into that silly Welcome Home stoner AU

This is for fun! For sillies!

Wally: Is a pothead. Think smoking with Bob Ross, he is chill and a good listener. On occasion he does too much and goes a little too far and he is a panicked overthinker. 10/10 on a good day.

Prefers a bong. Once made a hollowed out apple into a bong.

Julie: Will narc on you. Don't let her know anything. Don't even offer it to her. Sober as the day she sewn.

Eddie: I see Eddie as the big brother type. He def gets high, but is very chill about it. He has to be lol.

Prefers joints. Uses it to replace cigarettes as Frank dislikes it, he was a chain smoker.

Frank: Anxious stoner. Eddie is his only smoking body.

Prefers joints as well. Enjoys it with his coffee or tea.

Sally: She a social smoke doesn't really smoke in private. Even so will only do a few puffs. Likes to sit with the smoke circle though!

Prefers mushrooms tbh.

Poppy: Mama bakes. She loves working with Barnaby because she gets a big cut from each sale they make on her baked goods. They work well together.

Prefers to not smoke much, likes her cookies.

Barnaby: The Plug. FAT BLUNTS THE SIZE OF YOUR FINGER!!! Where does he even get backwoods wrappers??? Dude is high 24/7. His pipe be loud.

Prefers anything and everything. Smokes with Wally usually.

Howdy: The seemingly innocent bodega owner is Barnabys supplier. As growing would cause too much attention on Barnaby he buys from Howdy who gets shipments from his family in an undisclosed location. You name it, they've got it.

Y/N: Handles the delivery and payment process for Barnaby. Is known around the neighborhood for being Barnabys second best friend, but really Barnaby and Howdy keep a close eye on you. They trust you, of course they do, but don't try running off with their money. They'll find you. Poppy keeps them off your back and friendly towards you.

[average-joseph]

I have been living in the midwest for the past x years and I have never heard of half of the dishes on that list. I am going to be doing some extensive and frantic googling for the next fifteen minutes...

I live on a farm in a very rural town so these foods are pretty common here. My tip if you want to try these is to drive out to the most backwoods barely considered a neighborhood town and eat at the one restaurant they have that's a sit down place. I guarantee it will have at least one of those lol.

[kanguin]

I mean this is all well and good, totally do quash conspiracy type videos and posts, but like if you live in the US, and probably many other parts of the world, your history textbooks are definitely partially biased or censored.

In the US, which I'll use as an example because I know this from living here, going to school here, and having worked in middle and high school education for a few years, textbook manufacturing and sales is a heavily monopolized industry with only a few publishers covering textbook sales for most US schools. Large chunks of information about Columbus, slavery, the truth of the AIDS epidemic, and the mass extermination of native peoples through biological warfare and intentional mass murder of wild animals are modified, sanitized, or outright omitted by US history textbooks and school curriculums. Less and less as time moves on, thankfully, but just a decade ago it was still pretty bad from my own experience as a student. YMMV depending on where your school is located with regards to censorship.

However, even in more diverse, progressive school districts, history teachers are statistically more likely to be bigoted, nationalistic, and/or conservative men with a love of history for the wrong reasons. Speaking from personal experience as a former substitute teacher that serviced schools from the backwoods to the ritzy neighborhoods for 3 years, I genuinely disliked most history teachers I had to work with. Ngl I'm still bitter to this day that a history teacher I reported for racist misconduct with multiple student witnesses over a long period of time is still teaching.

So it's good, actually, to be skeptical of your history teachers, textbooks, and curriculum, but the coverups are never about hidden lost civilizations or shadow governments. It's always about changing the narrative on violent acts in favor of those in social power, aka straight, cis, able-bodied white men. It's never about burying the lead on secret information, it's always about hiding the bodies and relocating the knife to make the murderers look like the good guys.

[meilleurholidays]

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