#the slaughter family

[melodrama-ticcc]

.: 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 :.

abstract: bubba never learned the importance of acts of kindness and simple gestures. your new role in the family has begun to change that.

warnings: reader and bubba are platonic. brother/sister relationship, fluff and pure wholesomeness, brief mention of killing, i didn’t proofread because i am very lazy, sorry heheh.

—

solace is found in the tranquility of the bright, cheery sunflowers. their golden tincture and lofty height making them as warm and inviting as the summer sun. rays of sunshine emitting from their dark centers. their triumphant stocks grow thick and long, hairy spines catching the light of the midday sun above. their heads look to the sky as if to admire the faultless beauty in its cerulean colors and heavy heat of the dazzling star above them. leaves droop in a careless fashion, gifting some shade to the creatures below. it’s pretty, the way they shift and dance gently in the warm breeze that falters. only to return every so often with another soft gust.

they’re all-seeing, observers of all in a never ending spectacle. perhaps that is the reason they brought fourth the idea of contentment and peace. for they bare no judgement. complacent in their nature and the symbol of joy and happiness.

the sunflower fields were perhaps the only place on the homestead untouched by the wretched atrocities committed by this bloodlust family. less the human matter that compromised the soil’s fertilizer should be considered in that regard. but, what was unbeknownst to her wouldn’t bare her any harm.

the flowers come in varying lengths and sizes. some stemming to be taller than her, others rise just above her hip line, some greet her at eye level, and the smallest of them all barely reach the knees. the sun peaks through the foliage to glisten over the high points of the girl’s features. shining brilliantly against the bridge of her nose as she winces against the warmth of the texas sun. a soft smile befalls her chapped lips as she feels the warmth tickle against the skin of her face, down the length of her neck and glimmering prettily over her exposed collarbones. reaching upwards, she can just barely grasp the soft rays of the flowers. rubbing the velvety petals between the pads of her fingers delicately. they’re warm with the day’s sun. flashing in the golden colors of the heat from above. it’s pleasant and peaceful, euphoric in a way one might not expect to experience in a place like this. it is strange to find such a beautiful and inviting thing.

bubba never fully understood the value and importance of gentle gestures and tenderness. but perhaps, this was on account of how he’d been raised by his immoral and detached elder brothers. he found it difficult to express such elaborate displays of affection, strange to be benevolent and careful with others. the only time he’d ever experienced such was with grandpa, but that was on account of his disability and frailness. in other words, bubba hadn’t seen him as a threat.

for he feared more than he could bear to be sweet and soft. he feared more than he felt safe. the constant come and go of strangers had put him in a constant state of uncertainty and terror, a constant looming of paranoias. for he killed of fear, not malice. this young woman was no exception.

bubba watched as her arm twirled gracefully in the sunlight. cautiously from a short distance in that same sunflower field. often times he sought the advice and comfort of the flowers and their wisdom. frolicked in their own carefree and pleasant ways. it has been amongst the only times he would find peace of mind. an escape from the influx of insults and violence hurled his way by the family. a place where someone like him could truly be gleeful.

he watches as she reaches for the fragile flowers closer towards the ground. spinning it between her slender fingers as she brings the bud up to her nose. a quiet sniff, and a gentle smile. intrigued, he mimics her actions. carefully bending over to pluck a small sunflower from the soil, sitting back up, and bringing the head of the flower to his nose to smell for himself.

the smell of the earth fills bubba’s nostrils. the faintest hint of sweetness invading the warm smell. it’s soft and sweet, yet strikes him unexpectedly. he sniffles, not before dropping the flower as he sneezes. his foot moving to step on the plant accidentally. the fragrance twinges his nose, despite its pleasant smell. he’s stunned, spooked, and upset he’d destroyed something he found to be so pretty. groans of concern and sadness leave his mouth as he stares at the partially destroyed flower. only to look back up to find the girl slowly approaching him. offering him her own flower she’d picked only moments ago in the accident’s wake.

she’s terrified, still not fully accustomed to her new home life or family members. therefore cautious and unsure, just as he is. but she sees the vulnerability and display of softness bubba possesses. and a part of her almost feels pity, intertwined with the longing to be kind to such a lost soul.

her frail arm shaking, bubba hesitantly takes the flower from her hand. her gesture met with just as much caution and fear. but beneath that skin mask, he smiles. a disgruntled and amused laugh befalling his lips. his display of happiness is met with a bright smile. to which, the both find some degree of comfort. she moves to remove the mutilated flower from the ground below, examining it closely and shaking her head.

“ it ain’t ruined. ” she dusts the dirt from its petals and reveals a flower crushed and bent. it’s petals wilted and the middle plucked of some of its fuzz. the stem is cracked in half, but she prevails, holding it out to display it to him. “ it’s still beautiful, see for yourself. ”

bubba scoots closer to examine the damage he’d done, finding himself confused by what she meant. it was mangled and ugly, much like he saw himself. but she only pressed on, despite his sounds of disappointment.

“ it’s beautiful, to me. ” she whispers, clasping it to her chest. “ here — i’ll keep this one, the one i picked is a gift from me to you. ”

bubba only nods, staring in awe at the flower he held. he’d never been given a gift like this before. it felt, strange. it filled him with a great sense of joy and gratitude. that foreign feeling of safety and tranquility filling him as he stood with her. ah, perhaps she was his new favorite sibling.

their exchange is short, yet it became the moment he had began to learn the importance of simple kind gestures. maybe, the beginning of his understanding of gentleness. he felt a little less scared. and in the hot summer months when time had allowed it, they’d return to the sunflower fields to bask in its beauty and warmth. she’d braid flower crowns and place them atop his head, and they’d fill baskets with flowers to craft fancy bouquets for the dinner table each night. bubba even found it in him to gift flowers to his brothers, despite their unappreciative nature to the gift. despite that, he’d always feel great satisfaction when seeing the smile on y/n and sissy’s faces when he gave them a flower.

[ryo-creampuff]

the family beans are finally all here! go check out my etsy/ kofi, linked in my bio🫶

[sinister-surname]

She can be whatever she wants to be

Barbie (2023) Dir. Greta Gerwig

[bellonathedragonborn]

Heidi is related to the Slaughter family and to the Fenway Phantom.

I don’t make the rules.

[valeriannnn]

weakest link

[ilovefool]

NUBBINS SAWYER !!!

[sawyerslvt]

Bubba's First Time (Leatherface- TCM)

Summary: You get kidnapped by Johnny Slaughter at a bar and he brings you home to kill you. Leatherface ends up protecting you. To express your gratitude, you let him use you for his pleasure.  Word Count: 4,105 Warnings: MDNI, coercion, rough sex, smut

You’re screaming, flailing your arms around and fighting for your life as you get pulled inside the house. It was the dead of night and your kidnapper drove a long way to get here. You know your screams get lost in the darkness of the night, with not a soul nearby to hear your pleading cries. 

“I found me a real pretty one huh, old man?”. The man is speaking to an older man. “Quit your playing round’ boy! Get it over with, supper's ready”. The old man doesn't seem amused and you're yanked away towards a staircase leading to a basement. Before the man forces you down the steps, your eyes get drawn to a room. It had a dining table in the middle, food already placed and ready on the table. In one of the chairs sat a large man. He wore a strange looking mask, both elbows on the edge of the table with cutlery in each hand, ready to dig into his meal. You manage to make eye contact with him, knowing there is not much he could do for you. For all you knew, he could be a fate worse than what you were about to face in this basement. 

You look at him with your tearfilled, makeup smeared and terrified face.  With the short seconds you got to share with the beast, you noticed a strange look on his face. His face looked softened, his muscles relaxed and his eyes looked intrigued by your desperate state. He tilts his head and you can't help but feed yourself delusions, was it pity… or sympathy? 

The man tugs at you and you lose sight of the beast, hidden behind the walls. While being dragged down the stairs, his face was scarred into your mind. Your cries get more frantic, movements more hysterical but the man doesn't budge and you're met with a heavy slide door that leads down to the basement. 

Not much time passes before you're hooked with your tied wrists to the ceiling. “Stay still. This will only hurt for a minute”, the man wears a smug smirk and his voice has hints of mockery. You can tell this amuses him. You've run dry on tears and energy to fight back, so your response to his demand was a mere defeated bow of the head. The man lifts his knife to your throat but before he is able to slice, the same slide door reopens and the beast is stood by the entrance. 

“I'm almost done here, boy. I'll be up in a second”, his voice now irritated by the interruption. The beast takes heavy and confident stomps towards the two of you while letting out deep grunts. He halts in front of the man, still holding a knife to your throat. He finally lowers his knife and you feel it nick you, drawing some blood. “What's the matter with you, boy?!” the man snaps. The beast gets closer to him as if to intimidate him, or at the very least, making himself clear of his intentions without using his words. He gets in front of your hanging body, blocking and getting between you and the man wanting to kill you. “Oh I see, you want her to yourself?”. The beast nods and you're confused by the strange interaction. Other than the weird display and protection from the beast, you're left feeling eternally thankful for him saving your life. You're not sure how long the luck will last but for the moment, you let out a sigh of relief. 

“I'll leave for you to take care of her after dinner. Let's go before the old man makes a fuss”. The man heads up the stairs but before the brute follows along, he walks over to you. He is looking up at your exhausted expression and you manage to make eye contact. He was wearing the same expression from earlier… It was kind. He lays his large hands on either side of your waist and unhooks you from the ceiling. Although he had rough and large hands, his touch was soft and movement gentle. He slowly brings you down to the floor and you feel like a feather the way your feet were carefully placed onto the cold stone surface.

He continues holding your waist while you're drowned into each other's eyes. “...thank you”. You finally break the silence. Your voice is soft and quiet, like the squeak of a mouse. He lets out a low grunt and to your surprise pulls you in for a hug. Your eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, he didn't say anything, he keeps you in his arms and gives you a squeeze almost as an apology for what you've been through. That's how you interpreted it, and you let him hold you as you’re absorbing his warm apology. All too soon, his warmth is gone and as he walks away and shuts the sliding door behind him. You're left missing his touch.

After what felt like ages, you hear the sliding door open back up and your heart skips a beat, scared it might be your kidnapper. You feel a wave of relief hit as you’re met with the large figure of the gentle giant. You hadn't moved much since he had left. With your time in solitude, you were thinking of ways you could thank him and as the man was walking towards you, your thoughts grew wilder. You’re sitting on your feet with your hands on your thighs, looking up at him towering over you. You look like a dog greeting its owner. As if he read your mind, he rests one of his large hands on your head, petting you as he admires your beauty. You lean into his touch and it feels good to feel something other than fear For once, you feel safe.

You slowly make your way back on your feet, all while never breaking the alluring eye contact. Your hands travel up his body as you stand up but his body seems somewhat stiff, confused- but not complaining. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life”. Your voice is sensual and very suggestive. As your hands make your way to his big bulge, you feel him get stiffer but this time he also pulls away with a disapproving groan. He looks down and shakes his head slightly. "It's okay… I just want to express my gratitude”. Your voice is gentle as you reach for his bulge again, now growing due to your touch. Once again he hesitates and pulls away with the same disapproving grunt. 

The room you're in had a mattress leaned up against the wall. It had some signs of usage in the form of mysterious spots and holes, but given your situation, you didn't think too much of it. You pull on it, making it fall to the ground with a thud, letting some dirt and dust fly into the air. The giant watches you curiously as you prop its edges parallel to the wall. You turn around and watch him still standing behind you. You scoot over to sit on the mattress with your back leaned against the wall, hands resting on either side of you. You look up at him as you tilt your head and smirk slightly. You’re spreading your legs slowly, letting your skirt reveal your panties to the man in front of you. He looks completely stunned but you can tell he doesn't want you to stop what you're doing. “Just watch me then”. Your words escape you somewhat desperately as your attraction to the beast grows like an uncontrollable virus.

You let your hand find its way to your aching clit over your already soaked panties. You slide your panties off of you and leave your wet slit exposed to the air. You feel your spine arch and head shoot back as your fingers come in contact with your nub. You start to slowly rub your clit and move your hips in circles while making sure your legs stay spread for the man to have the best view possible. As you pleasure yourself, you have your eyes shut focusing on the stimulation, until you hear the man grunt and move around. You bring your head back and see him kneeled down at the end of the mattress. He continues letting deep groans escape his throat and he inches closer to you on all fours, slowly, and without breaking eye contact. You watch as the giant is moving towards you, his big body casting a dark shadow over you, making you feel smaller than you've ever felt. His eyes narrowed like he was finally seeing you as the prey you were meant to be. You rub your clit harder, as the view of him in this position made it impossible to tame your wild mind. 

He stops right in front of you as he watches you pleasure yourself, licking his lips as if he was tasting your sweet pussy. You can't handle his lack of action so you grab his hand. He's confused by your touch but curious about you, allowing you to hold it. You hold onto his hand and start pulling it down to your pussy. You feel him protest and pull back again. "It's okay… you saw how I did it? Just do as I showed you and you’ll be fine” you try convincing and swaying his opinion with your gentle and sensual voice. You pull his hand but once again, he tries pulling away. “Look, I'll help you. Just please… I want you to touch me”, your voice is desperate and you want his long and thick fingers to fill your tight pussy. 

You consider him defeated as you feel his hand soften. You pull his hands towards your sensitive cunt for the third time and this time he allows you. You wrap your whole hand around his middle and index finger. His hands were so big and that's all you could really fit in your small grasp. You bring his hand closer until you feel his rough fingertips come in contact with your clit. Both of you let out a gasp as a result of the contact. You use his fingers to rub your nub and fuck, it felt so much better than your own fingers. You continue rubbing harder and faster and the beast's wonderful grunts fill your ears as if he was feeling pleasure himself. 

Without any direction from you, the beast unexpectedly pushes his index and middle finger into your hole. You let out a loud moan, making your own ears bleed. He doesn't understand what he's done but your reaction was something he was starting to get addicted to. He pulls his fingers back out and you hold his wrists, pulling on them to let him know that you wanted more. He pushes them back in, this time a little harder and you let out the same moan. You feel as the beast goes from hesitant and held back to him becoming progressively hungrier in his movements. He forces his big fingers into your hole, abusing it and you encourage him with your hysteric cries. He sees your white cream coat his fingers, confused by it, he brings it to his mouth and tastes your juices. You see his eyes widen as he's tasting you, licking his fingers clean before sticking them back into you to coat his fingers again, then licking them clean again.

He continues doing this many times until he realizes the best way to get the most of you was to bring his mouth to it. And that's exactly what he does, he lets his mouth find your pussy and immediately starts licking. He starts by giving you small licks, but the more he tastes you, the bigger the licks get. Until he finally started sucking as much of the juice as he could. He uses his hands to spread your pussy lips and sees your red and swollen clit stand out. Curious by it, he sucks on it and hears as your moans get as intense as ever. You grab his hair with both your hands and pull a little. That was all the signs he needed, now he was laser-focusing on your clit. He’s obsessed with your reactions and he sucks hard, he licks fast and sucks even more. “ff-ffuck mm gonna cum, please”. Your words escape in a broken scream but the beast doesn't stop. You feel your walls tighten and you cum in his mouth. He shows no signs of stopping and once he sees even more white cream leak out of your pussy, he licks it all clean. He shoves his tongue as deep as he can to taste as much of your sweet pussy as possible. You taste so good, he could never get enough and you moan loud as his tongue explores the inside of your sensitive hole.  

His mouth is killing you. The air is heavy and the scent of your wet cunt is filling the room, making him lick his lips again. Once he calms down you pull away from him, knowing he could stay between your legs for hours. You position yourself to sit back on your feet. You touch his bulge again and he watches you, giving you groans of approval. You start stroking the outside of his pants. He was already hard but you could tell it wasnt to its full potential, yet it felt massive. You subconsciously take a gulp, anticipating and preparing yourself for his big size as you pull his pants and underwear down at the same time. 

When his cock was fully exposed to you, you found yourself floored by his enormous size. Not only was it long, but the real shock was the thickness and girth of it. You've never seen anything comparable, just staring at it made your pussy throb. You can tell he’s fully confused by what you're doing, he has no idea about the purpose of the thing between his legs. “I wont touch it if you don't want me to. But can I please watch as you stroke it?”. Your plea is desperate and you're begging the gods above to have him accept your prayer. He looks down and a deep grunt escapes his throat and you can tell he’s confused by your request. He looks into your eyes as if to say ‘how?’ and you let a small giggle escape your lips. Has he really never done it before? 

“Alright big boy, I'll show you how”. You give him a comforting smile, showing that you're not judging him. If anything, this made it even better. You grab one of his hands again and wrap it around his own dick. You see him grasping his cock and you can't help but bite your lip, being presented with the sight of his big hand wrapped around his big cock. You hold his hand with both of your hands and start to slowly stroke alongside his shaft, up and down. The skin on his cock moving with your rhythm, massaging his member. He looks into your eyes and his breathing gets heavy. Once he gets into the rhythm you created for him, you let go all together. 

He continues stroking his cock, up and down, just like you showed him. “There you go, honey”. You see his eyes narrow and fill with hunger. He starts experimenting with different speeds at his own pace and you feel proud of him. You lean back towards the wall and spread your legs. You lick your fingers while looking into his eyes and bring your fingers back to your aching clit. You resume playing with your pussy and for the moment you sit in front of each other, both of you pleasuring yourselves as you watch each other. The beast gets more and more aggressive, the new sensation had him hooked and his movements were desperate. As he’s breathlessly stroking his cock, you grab his wrist with your hand, canceling his motion. He looks at you with lust filled eyes, excited for your next move. 

You remove his hand from his dick and replace it with both your hands. You squeeze it in between your hands and admire his full size, it was beautiful but intimidating. You're stroking his cock and you feel it twitch as you move up and down, twisting, pulling and massaging it. Occasionally, you let your soft fingers circle around his tip, giving him an unreal sensation. The beast lets out groans like you've never heard before… but you weren't done here. You feel your aching and neglected cunt scream and beg to be filled. You decide it's time to finally give her what she wanted. 

You pull on his shirt and direct his back to lay against the wall. You spread your legs and hover your opening over his cock as you rest your hands on his broad and strong shoulders. He holds your waist with both hands as he watches you grab his cock and align it with your entrance. Without giving him any time to prepare for you, you sink down on his cock. Both of you release loud gasps as you’re shocked by how well his tip alone filled you, and as he feels your warm and slippery insides. You don't go all the way down, you can't go all the way down but you continue bouncing up and down his tip, getting yourself wetter and slowly stretching yourself out for him. He lets out deep groans and you love how he's letting you know exactly how he feels. As you let your entrance play with his tip you take off your shirt. He looks at your tits and you see his eyes widen. You giggle a little to yourself and guide both his hands to play with your nipples. He gets the hang of it immediately and squeezes and pulls on your nipples. He didn't know what it felt like to you but by the way you moaned louder, he knew he had to continue doing it. 

You hear the brute let out a frustrated groan, he's growing impatient with you teasing his tip and wanting to feel you all through his length. You let out a loud moan, bordering on a scream and he forces you to sit on his cock. You look into his eyes with your mouth agape, surprised by his action. You're not nearly ready for his full length and girth but he doesn't care. He pushes you all the way on his cock, forcing himself deep inside you. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head and you go silent for a moment, trying to adjust to his size. He slowly pulls out, veeerryyy sloowwwllyyy and you feel every single inch of him as he's exiting your tight little pussy. With only a small bit of his tip still inside you, he thrusts back into you, hard and quick. You let out another scream and he lets out a deep grunt. 

After a couple pumps, he starts getting more consistent and regular with his thrusts. You're amazed by how naturally it came to him. You’re hovering over him and he forcefully bucks his hips into you, sliding in and out as the sounds of skin slapping echoes in the empty basement. “fuckkk, just like that. You're doing so good”, your voice is weak and breathless but he had to know how good this felt, how good he felt. He lets his hips rest back on the mattress and you sit all the way down on his dick. You feel full of him, his girth pressing against your tight insides. You move around a little and cup his face with your hands. He's still wearing that mask but all you see are his stunning eyes and beautiful lips. You can tell they're soft. 

As his cock is buried deep inside you, you lean in and kiss him. He's shocked and doesn't know what to do. He keeps his eyes open as he kisses you, but after seeing your closed eyes, he shuts them as well. He places his hands on your hips, squeezing it, feeling your tight pussy throb around his cock. He gets into the rhythm and you feel each other’s soft lips play with each other. You press into his face while still cupping it, your kiss gets increasingly more desperate as you start sliding up and down on his cock again. You continue riding his dick at a brutal pace, going faster and harder by the second. He helps you by pushing you down further everytime you bounce back up. You introduce your tongue to his mouth and he welcomes it, sucking and swirling it around his mouth. 

You break the kiss and press your forehead to his, not slowing down from the bouncing on his cock. “I'm so proud of you, big boy”. You smile and you look down on the base of his shaft being completely drenched with your pussy juice, and his cock pounding in and out of your soaked cunt. The pitch black hair around his balls being white because of your white cream coating it. The wet and sloppy sounds of his dick thrusting in you is filling the room, you're surprised by how it's still audible over both of your moaning, screaming and panting. The way he's pounding into you makes you question his virginity, you don't believe it, there is no way. His eyes are too confident, his thrusts are too perfect and his dick is way too good. 

He lifts you up from his cock and it makes a quiet ‘pop’ sound as his dick gets released from your pussy’s tight grip. He lays you down on the mattress and climbs on top of you. You can tell that he now knows what sex is, he knows exactly how to do it and you smile to yourself thinking of how the student has become the teacher. He slides his hands under your knee crease and let your legs fall over his broad shoulders. This way, he had a perfect view of your face as he pounds into you. He aligns his cock with your entrance and gives you a quick peck on the lips to prepare you for his cock. You smile at him, letting him know you're ready and you feel like you're about to burst. Every second without his cock inside you, was a second too long. 

The beast didn't believe in slow and steady. He wanted rough and hard and that's exactly how he entered you. As he forces his cock into you, you're shocked by how much deeper he could get from this position. You didn't know the female body could have something this deep inside her but you learn something new everyday… You lay your hands on his chest as he pounds into you and you feel your walls tighten. “F-fucckkk…I-mmm… Imma cum!!!” You can hardly breathe, let alone talk as he's deep inside you. He's making up for years of not feeling this sensation. He’s furious this feeling has been kept from him and he's channeling all that frustration into drilling his cock harder into you. You feel his cock twitch and you can tell he’s close as well. Even though he doesn't say it, you're slowly learning what his different grunts mean. The ones he's letting out right now definitely meant ‘I’m gonna cum in your tight pussy’. 

He lets out one last deep groan as he fills your pussy with his warm liquid. Continuing to pump into you to empty every single drop of himself. You moan so loud, it made your head spin and feeling his cum shoot deep inside you was a feeling unlike anything you've felt before. He slowly pulls out and you feel as the mixture of both your cum is leaking out of your abused hole. He watches as you squirm and shake from the trauma of the intense pleasure. 

He lays down next to you and you get on top of him, resting your ear to his chest, listening to his fast and irregular heartbeat. You hug his massive body and close your eyes. You lay in silence for a while, catching your breaths and soaking in each other's presence. You look up at him, giving him a passionate and soft kiss. “Thank you for saving my life”. 

credit for dividers: @y-onb @animatedglittergraphics-n-more @roseschoices <3

[mentha-vacciniumrainbow]

Cinnamon roll or weapon of mass destruction Carmine family edition!

I'm working on a lot of fanfictions, enjoy the memes in the meantime!

[lazylittledragon]

I love that Aunt Karlach has been a recurring character in your Astarion and Dorian comics. What are their relationships like with the other companions?

i REFUSE to believe that everyone goes their separate ways post-brain. they should be surgically attached to eachother. give me found family or give me nothing

i think karlach is there the most because she and dorian just get along REALLY well because of the adhd. also everyone else is probably busy with important things but she should get to chill after they fix her engine y'know? and after kit arrives she would just be around constantly to be a lovingly terrible influence.

i also have a ranking list for how much the companions can be trusted to take care of him

[krazieka2]

Lil comic about the kind of paralogues the Engage characters could have had hehe

Additional Bunet Paralogue:

[thesplashyeth]

recognizing the god of chaos

[melodrama-ticcc]

Incase you missed it, this one is a banger!

— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈𝐈

𝐒𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐌𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐲

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 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 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. ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵇᵘˢᵉ, ᵍʳᵃᵖʰⁱᶜ ᵛⁱᵒˡᵉⁿᶜᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᵖᵉ, ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵘⁱᶜⁱᵈᵉ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢⁱᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ.

—

The bitter scent of cow dung and wet earth taints the air as they drive through the countryside with the windows of Johnny’s truck rolled down, the crisp air of fall frisking in and nipping at their pink-tinctured cheeks. The hazy sun that shines above them is shrouded in an onslaught of melancholy-looking clouds, gray and fluffy. As though God himself knew it was to be a day of foreboding and augury.

He is intoxicatingly respectful, a pleasant counterpart, his actions nothing short of chivalrous. Even with his right hand rested atop her left knee and his twilight eyes shifting hastily from the road to the low cut of her top and her complacent countenance.

He seems prideful, that was simply in his nature, she knew that. But still, the smug and pompous visage he wore was nothing short of self-congratulatory. He knew well and good what he’d set out to do all this time, and his accomplishments continued to fuel the fire that fueled his innermost desires.

At first sure, he imagined what it would be like to kill her, to have her delectable body parts hanging on display in the cold room with the rest of his favorites. He debated what she’d taste like; would she be savory, sweet, tangy? Perhaps her difficult temper made her somewhat sour. Though maybe she’d be tough, chewy, her stubbornness giving her a rough mouth feel. Or, she was tender and soft, perfectly meaty on account of that finely toned body of hers. But he settled on spicy, with just the faintest modicum of sweet, like honey. It suited her well, that difficult personality intertwined with her pleasing appearance.

Inevitably he’d decided against devouring her early on, had a change of heart one might call it. For there had always been something special about her, a certain uniqueness that shared likeness with no other. She was perfectly imperfect, a wonderful mess.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Rebecca and her starlet veneer he was smitten by those big blonde curls and doll-like eyes. In them her crazy wrought, beckoning him like wailing red sirens. He knew, he always knew. It was her passion for carnage and the sanguine that possessed him to have such a desire to court her, for he saw the potential, the endless capabilities of what her savage fantasies could provide both him and the family. That had been the prime reason behind his efforts to expedite the process, get her to show her true colors before he’d indoctrinate her into the family tree. Of course, he’d never admit just how maddening she could be, how effortlessly heady. Just like he’d never be able to deduce how badly he’d needed companionship, someone to understand him. Or the way he dreamt about her so lewdly; her nude body drenched in someone else’s blood while he rutted into her and grazed over her skin with his blade. Her willingness to please and entice suited him perfectly, and all the while they’d live some kind of macabre and strangely ideal life. With her that perfect little trophy wife she wanted to be so much, and he the breadwinning man of the household. A perfect front to their hedonistic world of bloodshed and Slaughter.

He hadn’t always felt that way though. There was a trial period, so to speak. The times at which he stalked her attentively and sought out her short fused temper, the times he’d make her think she was going insane, and most especially the times he’d encourage her to embrace that erratic side she despises so much. All of it, it was all a test. A test that determined whether or not his suspicions were to be proven true, whether or not she was worthy of his salvation and attention. Once they had been, the rest would come with time.

Of course she’d piss him off just as much as any other member of his family would, when she’d get a lip and mouth off or strike him. It was disrespectful sure, but he found amusement in that, he liked it when his women fought back. Thrill of the hunt you could call it, he reveled in the adrenaline the chase gave him, it was a game and he loved playing it. That, and he was certain she’d become eager to cater to him in no time, this was only a part of the process.

And yet despite all that fussing she made, all the bold proclamations of hatred and detestation she’d voiced, she sat here in his passengers seat. Akin to the possessive hand rested over her knee and his sinful eye undressing her divine body in brief gazes of lust. He could’ve kept her in the cold room and toyed with her corpse whenever he pleased. Could have sex with it whenever he wanted. But that could have very well been a waste of potential. He’d said it before, she was different. Not like those adulterous girls he brought home for meat, no. She had the bad man in her like he did.

“I watched that movie you told me ‘bout, the one from the drive in, you ‘member?”

“You talkin’ ‘bout Psycho, darlin’?” He smiles.

“Yeah, I watched it.” Becca looks to her hands, watches as they fiddle with one another before she looks back up, then to him. “Liked it an awful lot, there’s just one thing about it, ya’ know, kinda rubs me the wrong way.”

“What’s that?” Johnny only chortles, glancing to her.

“Well, why’s it always gotta be the boys killin’ the girls.” She huffs, pausing only to be met with his intrigued attention. “I just, I hate it. Makin’ us out to be some helpless little thangs.”

“What you mean we?” Johnny shakes his head. “You ain’t a girl, you know that, surely.”

“What you gettin’ at?”

“Oh come on now pretty thing, you ain’t no girl. Girls are childish, immature, naive, girls ain’t able to hold the house together and make a home, a family, you know that. Girls ‘re what I bring home and use for meat. You’s smart, use that head of ya’s.” His statement is met with an image of both confusion and wonder, staring to him with curious eyes and a bewitched demeanor to her. Johnny only smiles, looking her over with those damn captivating eyes. “You a woman. Ain’t no girl, that’s what’s the difference.”

It must’ve clicked then, for the look on her face mirrored than of an epiphany. Her perspective shifting in that instance, eyes wide with adoration. He saw something in her. She knew it. No man had ever looked to her so seriously before, with so much reverence and praise.

“You right.” It’s matter-of-fact, a soft, gentle smile spreading over her features. She seems proud. “But why it’s got to be the girls gettin’ preyed on by those insignificant little boys, I can’t help but wonder, what if it were the other way around? What if the girls killed the boys, what if they were feared in the same regard boys were. I want that.”

“Darlin’, you have that.” Johnny laughs. “Not all girls are capable of such things, it’s too easy. Women, women are capable. It’s a rare thing ain’t it, you’s a rare thing. That’s what makes you so special. You gettin’ it now?”

Again his words of veneration are met with a proud smile, her chin tilting upwards in a prideful display. It feels good coming from him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Her voice is soft, mousy, a gentle nod as she stares out the windshield. “Yeah I am.” She grins. “Ya’ know, momma always wanted to be a movie star. Used to tell me I ruined that for her.”

“You look lots like a star, I think. Could be one if you really wanted to.”

“Daddy used to tell me that. Now I think he’d much rather keep me at home.” She lets out a mirthless laugh. “Think he’s scared of what I’d do, that I might turn into momma. Momma couldn’t do it though, she was never as good as me. She was a girl.” Johnny smiles a proud smile, cheeky even, unlike his typical, more ominous one.

There’s a long period of silence that follows, one fueled by the trepidation of their deep thoughts.

“Johnny, you ever dream ‘bout it?”

“All the time, why?”

“I reckon I always think ‘bout it,.”

“So why don’t you get on with it then?”

“Hm?”

“I mean actually doin’ it darlin’. Dreamin’ ain’t ever did anybody any good.”

“And just why should I tell you that?” Ah, there’s that difficult attitude he came to know. “You forget I still ain’t know what to think ‘bout you. I shared enough.”

“Ah, but you sit here with me ramblin’ on ‘bout how you’d kill a man, what is it, with that wood splitter of ya’s? Ya. You real good with that.”

“Why you.”

“Ya know, ain’t no use in stallin’. I reckon you get on with it. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little killin’, it’s just meat.”

“Quit it Johnny boy, easier said than done.”

“Then watch me do it.”

Doe eyes caught like a deer in headlights meet his stoic gaze, a clear indication of his gravitas. It might have seemed like the least daunting exchange between the two of them, only she would have never expected such a blatant counteroffer. In the meantime she isn’t certain what to make of it, earnestly considering it before her desire for autonomy provokes the demons in her.

“No. I can do it myself, thank you.” She speaks impertinently. She could, she would prove him wrong. She didn’t need a man to show her how to facilitate her dominance and sovereignty over those insignificant boys. This was yet another thing she could domineer control over. “We ain’t friends just yet, stay outta my business.” Well now he’s gone and got her all uppity.

“Suit ya’ self, but offers on the table.”

Downtown Newt holds a plethora of run down buildings, shabby edifices and rutty looking store fronts that appear to be downright unsuitable. Shrouded in overgrown greenery and uncut grass, the establishments scatter throughout the place on either side of the main road, and somewhere along that hauntingly abandoned strip is Lewis’. A small, albeit useful hardware store washed away in faded eggshell paint and a dingy old street sign. It’s exterior is beyond rotted, the warped wood of its structure flipping upwards against the bottom edges of the building and the ligneous textures strip and prod out at passerby’s. 7270 Hangs from rusted nails, the first seven drooping upside down and the zero missing it’s upper half. A silk web is weaved from the eves of the roof to the decaying wood of the wall, the widow that inhabits it intricately spinning it’s threads around a horse fly trapped in it’s web. It’s a shit house. At least from what Rebecca could tell.

As she steps out from the parked truck and slams shut the metal door, Becca shoves her hands into her trouser pockets and treads toward the front door of the establishment, Johnny quick on her heels before he takes the lead.

“We’ll be quick. Just need a few thing ‘fore we can head back home.”

The inside is just as dilapidated as the out, stained and chipped paint with rotted wood racks for aisles. For being a hardware store, the place hadn’t seen much attention in some time. Even the dim yellow lights struggle to do as their meant, flickering every so often and buzzing like the bumble bees that soar around the sunflower fields. As they enter, a bell chimes and the clerk glances up from the newspaper he reads at the derelict counter. His suspicious expression is a clear indicator of his cynicism. He drops the paper and raises one of those fluffy, gray brows. His eyes hold the tales of a thousand wise men, full of life and knowledge one could only begin to fathom. It’s as though he knows everything and everyone, looking in them as though he’d known them all his life. The top of his head is bald, the surrounding area covered in a short layer of gray hair. He’s a large man, rotund but not so big that it’s concerning. He looks to Johnny all most angrily, then to Becca with a knowing look.

“Welcome to Lewis’, ain’t seen you ‘round here before.” His thick mustache moves when he talks. The man rises from his chair, watching Johnny pluck some rope from the back aisles. “Must be new, I know everyone ‘round here.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, my daddy ‘n I moved here ‘bout a month ago from Tulsa. I’m Rebecca Payne, live in that old farmhouse up county road one seventy two.” There’s that southern hospitality and cheeky smile, a graceful charm about her as she steps to him and offers to shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you sir. Perhaps you’ve met my father, Raymond Payne?”

The man only laughs, a hearty chuckle that both confuses and alarms her. She drops her hand back to her side, curious as to his reaction. It’s odd, she can’t tell whether or not she likes or dislikes the man. Normally it would have taken her a matter of seconds to deter whether or not she felt inclined to trust someone. But this man was morally ambiguous. Though she knows one thing for certain; he has a strong distaste for Johnny.

“Uh huh. So you’s the ones livin’ up there with the Slaughters huh?”

“Pardon, yes, the Sawyers.”

“Right.” He calms. “Names Willie. Willie Lewis. S’nice to see a pretty face in these parts. Reckon I ain’t met yer’ father just yet, have ‘em come by sometime.”

“Real nice to meet you mister Lewis, this your place?” Rebecca’s look is dazzling and charismatic, her cunning persona out in the face of the stranger. Even so she can feel the ominous glare of Johnny’s eyes on her, a perpetually familiar feeling that draws itself in intense hatred and disdain.

“Sure is.” As he responds, Johnny comes walking through the two of them, tossing some rope, electrical wire and yellow work gloves on the counter. He gives her a bewildered glance, as though he’s annoyed about something. Before exchanging a look with Mister Lewis, one she cannot see but can only imagine is deadly given the displeasure on the man’s face as Johnny heads out the door.

“Grabbin’ my change, I’ll be back in.”

Just as soon as he’s out the door Mister Lewis leans in close, motioning with the wave of his hand for her to come near.

“Now you listen here girl, well and good.” With the same delighted smile on her lips she steps near, confusion laced in her brows as they screw upwards ever so slightly.

“Pardon?”

“You best stay away from that boy and them Sawyers all together you understand? They’s dangerous, ain’t all there those ones. You aughtta be real careful, ‘specially bein’ a looker like you. I been here some time, I know a thing or two ‘bout the folks ‘round here and summin’ ain’t right there I can tell ya’ that much.”

“Right.” Becca’s grin only grows, giving him a knowing look as she moves toward the ice box sat up on the counter and grabs two bottles of pop. She wonders what he means by that, the Sawyers. He seemed to be a loony old man, driven skeptical with old age and changing times. The Sawyers had seemed strange sure, a peculiar type of people. Unlike anyone she’s become acquainted with before. And Johnny well, he was Johnny. The homicidal maniac she’d come to be rather tolerable of. Still, the thought of what he’d meant does not fall on deaf ears, she lingers on it for a time.

“You know why they call this place Muerto County, huh?” She meets his gaze with a puzzled look. “‘S what those Spanish speakin’ people call death or summin’, this place is cursed. There’s a reason for that. Now you best heed my words girl, s’for ya’ own good.” Mister Lewis points a finger to her, his visage one of concern and patronization. To which she only chuckles and nods her head, glancing towards Johnny as he swings the door back open and steps inside.

“I’ll be real sure to keep that in mind sir, thank you.”

The remainder of the exchange is tense and stiff. It’s abundantly clear to her that Johnny is peeved about something, his dastardly semblance the final component in this puzzling conclusion. As she links her arm in his and hands him the open bottle of pop, the bubbly drink still fizzing and bubbling as the cool air oozes from its small lip, she raises her brows. Watching when he swings open the truck’s door and guides her inside.

“What’d that bastard say to you?” It’s only confirmation that he’s seething with unbridled rage, she’d only ever witnessed his heinous temper once. That time she’d been on the receiving end of his lunacy.

His inquiry is met with skepticism and hesitancy, as she brings the cold glass bottle to her lips to take a swig from that crispy tasting liquid. She’s matter-of-fact, without care. Sure Mister Lewis’ warning was odd and vague, but it didn’t much bother her.

“You mad?” Becca shakes her head. “‘S nothin’ Johnny boy, goin’ on ‘bout how you ‘n yer folks are dangerous or summin’, didn’t much care for his warnin’.” Her eyes narrow to him like a Hawk it’s prey, leaning forward just to get a better look at the bitterness written in his handsome features. “Tch, what’s he mean by that anyhow? Y’all hidin’ somethin’, huh?”

“It’s nothin’ girl.” He pauses as if to ponder. “I’ll kill that bastard.” The animosity and feral hunger for blood that seethes through his words become abundantly more clear in the wake of his fiery hot madness. Instinctively she moves to grip the wrist of the hand that held the truck door open, crushing the rough skin tightly in her grasp as she looks to him with warning. Her skin is as cool as ice, on account of that cold drink she’d been holding. And his as hot as fire, heat radiating off of him in thick waves. His gaze shoots to her and he feels as though he should just rip her grasp right off of him there, but she holds tightly, squeezing in a death grip that draws him from those irritable thoughts.

“And what goods killin’ him now aught to do, huh?” Now she’s angry, her brows furrowing downwards in a telling scowl.

“Becca, he disrespected me, he disrespected us, ‘nd the family!” He speaks in disbelief, as though it were something she should have known. His body looms over her as he inches closer, a hand grasping at her silky soft golden locks as he presses his forehead to hers with an ardent stare. “Better if you find out now — I ain’t take too kindly to bein’ disrespected. Tsk. He think he can talk you up like that ‘n then talk mess on the family well I don’t think so. Tryna pin you ‘gainst me, that’s what he doin’.” He spits, eyes trailing to the dirt ground before they flicker back to hers. There’s an intensity to them like she’s never seen before, a fervent passion for vengeance and the unattainable. They’re wild and deranged, poisoned with his own turbulent mind and bloodlust. “I’ll kill ‘em. I’ll kill ‘em if you want me to you just say the words darlin’.” The grip on her hair tightens, pulling at those smooth strands as she plants a foot to his stomach and kicks him back. He stumbles a tad, his grip faltering as he instead ops to hold onto the frame of the truck to steady himself.

“Quit it, killin’ ‘em now ain’t gon’ do nobody any good. It’d be suspicious, think rationally and quit actin’ on impulse boy. Now stop talkin’ like that ‘n get yer ass in the truck how ‘bout that?” She’s bothered, flustered even. Angered by his irrationality and apparent inability to think in a way that doesn’t throw caution to the wind, yet flattered by his apparent adoration and call to action. He’s a fine man. That’s settled it.

Johnny appears perturbed, upset and distraught at her unwillingness to accept his offer and enact such a flagrant act of violence alongside him. Perhaps he’d expected her to be more understanding, more open to the idea. He’d wanted more from her, felt entitled to her unwavering devotion and respect. He only wishes to impress her, cultivate that which he craves most inside. So naturally he feels all most betrayed, vexed, his expression one of both fury and hurt. He glares something ugly, huffing as he slams shut the car door and marches his way around to the drivers side. The remainder of their “date” is silent and uneventful, even when he drops her off, Johnny helping her from her seat in his typical fashion and bidding her farewell without so much as a word. Gentlemanly, but not without fault.

Her days are somewhat quiet after that, presumably because Johnny needed time to cool off from the dissatisfaction he found at her interjection. She knew better than to foil a man’s plan, it was always best to follow suit of them. But still, she felt partially responsible for Johnny’s wellbeing, and therefore thought it best to think practically. Something she’d found Johnny failed at when it came to his temper and sadistic urges. Still, the faults seem insignificant in light of how fit of a man he seemed to me. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, she could see herself alongside him.

But what a humorous little thought that was.

Johnny’s absence only stirred the complicated pot of controversy within her, concocting some deviant idea of an ideal world. One where she would cultivate a family of her own, and with it came the rush of those adulate emotions and the never ending pendulum of bitter resentment and desperate romance. A feeling that had become a new custom in her newfound self, though she had yet to adjust or counteract that insufferable phenomena of lost control. The fleeting feeling is all to familiar, and still just as agonizing. And still she found it difficult and tiring how he not once stopped by to see her, again, there was not a single trace of Johnny Sawyer.

With the influx of irrational feeling and fear of her own thoughts, the cravings quickly became the center of her attention. A twisted vision of of the grotesque and morbid, a delightful mess of her thoughts. She dreamt of the moment she’d enact it all, thriving in the phantom feeling of that cathartic act. In those moments her sovereignty would come rushing back to her in a euphoric affair of the sickening and deadly.

She’d thought about how she might find one, her first victim. Dreamt up what he would look like and how he would act. She pondered about the many interests he might have, what type of girls he was into, what he was studying, his goals and aspirations. She often settled on the physically brute, men that seemed so masculine and attractive, it made it all the more purposeful when she stole their own lives from them. She thought about how she’d wait until all the college kids came out on weekends to the bars in out in Pleugerville, how she’d get dressed up real nice in a short little dress with her makeup done all pretty and her hair blown out and messy. How she’d so effectively advertise herself as one of those sluts that whored themselves out to immature boys. She’d sit at the bar shooting whiskey, keeping a cautious eye on those who entered; who was in a group, who was alone, who was drunk and looking to score. It was easier to take advantage of those types it seemed.

Rebecca thought about how she’d strut over in those heeled pumps and bend over just enough so that he could see her cleavage poking out of her little dress. How she’d twirl her hair and bat her lashes, blabbering incoherent nothings and enticing him to come home with her with the promise of giving him the night of his life. How she’d carefully look for the perfect opportunity to leave with him unnoticed by those in the bar and drive him back to the farmhouse just an hour away. How she’d watch the excitement or arousal yearn in his eyes and the slick smile spread across his face when she’d place him on the bed and step out with the simple excuse of giving her a minute. Only to watch the same eyes fret in terror as she came back in with an axe lurched over her head and her arms swinging the thing downward towards his bare chest. His eyes once so lustrous now turnt to a weeping mess as he cried and screamed, or at least that’s how it went sometimes.

Other times she’d ask them to step into the shower with her, reducing him to a helplessly nude and vulnerable state only to step back into the washroom with the axe gripped firmly in her right hand. Her left would draw back the curtain and she’d send the blade of her weapon barreling into his lewdly wet body. The way he would scream in agony and fear as she drew it back only to do it over and over again, it pooled the slick in between her legs and tingled her insides. She’d cut up his body until his intestines spilled outward and would laugh as he struggled to scoop them up into his trembling arms, then hack away his arms, then his legs, and remove that damned dick of his the way they gelded horses for their pestilent behaviors. Then finally the head, last so that he could watch as the woman he looked to as a piece of meat turned him into that very thing. A sorry excuse of a man, she’d never even look their way.

She’d think it up while she was getting ready in the mornings or winding down to sleep. While she was doing the dishes or cooking dinner, cleaning the house or working out in the fields. She’d wake up a sweaty mess with the tight feeling of anticipation in her core. And each time she’d get herself off on it, crossing her legs tight and winding them together in an embarrassing display of the sexually vulgar and insensitive. It was the best in the shower; when docile hands would tantalizingly gloss over her slick skin and spread the bubbles from her soap bar over the supple skin of her breasts and thighs. She’d wrap her legs about each other and squeeze them tightly, squirming in pleasure when the rush of her orgasm would come flooding in all at once. With it, the gruesome imagery of her victim’s corpse as he lay mutilated and bloody on the shower floor. Just as she pulls the axe from his severed head.

The thought crosses her mind more than once, more frequently with the day of her father’s departure arriving. He’d be gone for a few days, off to pick up the cattle they’d been prepping that farmland for for the last month and a half. It was the perfect opportunity to enact her sick little fantasy, to fulfill her wants and gain back what she’d lost. After the first kill she was sure the control garnered from it would be enough to set her straight in-spite of the growing affections she felt towards Johnny. She’d never go through with it, though.

A measly four days pass since she’d last seen him, and in that time the thoughts developed to be much more prevalent and intense. This combined with the incessant need to see him once more fosters a zealous infatuation and uncontrollable solicitude. Then, as soon as it had began, she heard the news over the radio station.

William “Willie” Lewis, a local and long-time member of the Muerto County community has been confirmed missing this morning by residents of the town of Newt. The sheriff’s department says Lewis, a businessman in the area was last seen closing his storefront off county road one seventy two three days ago. They are urging anyone with any information to come forward. Locals are now demanding information regarding the string of missing persons cases in the area of central Texas, believing the disappearance of Lewis to be related to these cases; authorities have no further information at this time.

The moment it had been said had been the moment she knew who was behind the supposed disappearance of mister Lewis. It was no question, not up for debate. It wasn’t very surprising either, he’d boldly confessed to being a vicious killer with a keen interest in murder and vengeance for those who disrespected him. Maybe she hadn’t quite understood the severity of it all; how serious he truly was. Of course she believed Johnny, but she never would have thought he’d actually do it. Rebecca wasn’t frightened by any means, but she was downright dumbstruck. And before too long she’s wandering up to the Sawyer’s porch in search of him, questions riddling her brain in a sort of perpetual state of shock and confusion. Confounded by her lack of understanding and commiserating thoughts.

The second he opens that door he’s different; reserved and uptight. He looks his usual self but she’s breathless, heart sputtering in a way that makes her think she’s floating, going through the motions. Ah, she’s missed him.

He doesn’t say anything, just glosses over her with a dazed kind of look. His dark eyes sparkling with the same intensity they always held, and she can’t help but gaze into them with a certain sense of longing, desperateness. Before he’s even through the doorway she’s opening her mouth to speak but she can’t find the words, only caught up in the way he looks to her with such purpose. Like a hungry animal does it’s prey. He the coyote and she the rabbit.

She struggles to find her voice like she never has before. For the very first time she feels bested by a man, so helplessly smitten with him like a school girl the school jock. She even forgets what she’s sauntered over here to query about, as if his actions didn’t even matter. To her they didn’t, he was just like her and that’s all she needed. He made her freakish dreams feel normal, made her feel understood, like it was all okay.

“You killed him.”

Becca just stands there, watching over his pretty features while her hands dangle at her sides and her fingers itch to graze over his rugged skin. She has yet to notice the crimson that spatters over the left side of his cheek and over his nose or the the bloodied mess that tainted his arms and stained those yellow work gloves he wore, the same ones he’d bought just days before.

“Yeah? You sound surprised.”

“No, no.” Her voice is gentle and soft, quieting to a whisper as she steps closer to him. Those velvety fingers reach up to trickle over the skin of his cheek, smearing the scarlet mess that rests upon it. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it, is all.”

“I don’t hesitate to do the things I like.” He speaks dryly, without affection. It wounds her and stings at her insides. “Guess that’s how we different after all.”

“Don’t.” Rebecca groans, her tone fading from that motherly timbre to become aggressive and cutthroat. “That’s where you’s wrong Johnny boy.” The hand that rested atop his cheek clutches a handful of his hair, pulling it toward her as she feels her temper rise. She doesn’t want him to trash this, this perfect little illusion.

“Yeah well, have yet to prove otherwise, doll face.”

“I said don’t god damnit!” She breaths out, pushing him back as she stammers toward the foot of the porch. Becca feels the emotions pricking at her insides, the burning sensation in her throat a clear predilection of her breach in sanity. “You’s ruinin’ it Johnny, just ruinin’ it.” The tears sting at her eyes, burning like hell when she tries so desperately to get herself together. She’d all but forgotten what it felt like to have it all taken away from her, forgotten how weak he made her in the wake of all those fanciful feelings. She could kill far better than he ever could, that she was sure of. But she hated that horrendous instinct of rejection that cudgeled in her. He was disappointed, she hated it when they were disappointed. It was the only other thing she couldn’t stand.

“Yeah? Tell me what it is I’m ruinin’ then darlin’, appears I’ve missed summin’.” The shit-eating grin she hates so damn much makes it’s appearance yet again, spreading over his face in a blood curdling display of patronization. The shakes begin, it starts with her arms, indicated by the balling of her fists at her sides. Then her legs, and then the rumbling and buzzing that cloud her cognitions. She can’t even hear her own thoughts, riding on the cusp of a breakdown instigated by this game of his.

“I can do it far better than you ever could you know that? You think I’m less than you, tch.”

“There’s my girl! Knew you was in there somewhere.” He laughs, stepping to her in long strides. His rough fingers intertwine themselves in the messy strands of her blonde hair, pulling at them with a fervid yank as he moves her head to his face. She groans, wincing enough to make the tears drip down her cheeks before she opens her eyes back up to see his own, fiery and uncouth with the same passion and fervidity she came to love so much. She liked it when he looked at her like that, with such unadulterated ardor. “Now, I’d like to see you try. Let’s say you put that theory to the test, huh?”

“Oh fuck off Johnny!” When she’s finally had enough she flails her arms toward him, pushing him back enough to get him to release his grasp on her as she stumbles down the steps. “I’ll prove it to you, just you watch.” She hates the way he makes her feel, all warm and tender inside. How the butterflies in her stomach flutter each time he looks at her or calls her his girl. She despises the way it makes her heart jump in her chest and the way it makes her knees shaky. “Now go to hell Johnny boy, may the lord have no mercy on your devilish soul.”

“Don’t worry,” he licks his teeth, beaming as she struts off in a bewildered state of rage and arousal. “I like it when you play hard to get. Gives me more of a challenge!”

She could do anything Johnny could.

And she could do it ten times better.

That night Rebecca had concluded she’d do just that, do what Johnny did better. After all, she’d itched to do it for so long, and it was just meat.

She’d prove him wrong.

“Three days kid, I’ll be out three days. Think you can handle that?” Raymond’s always been a man of few words; Rebecca knew just what he had meant.

“Yes daddy, I’ll be just fine.”

With a sardonic countenance and cynical proclamation he sighs knowingly, looking to the deck floor while buried deep in the paranoid cognitions of his precious daughter with her axe buried deep in that boy’s flesh. For Raymond Payne knew his daughter and the mental ails that troubled her. Despite his reluctancy to accept that. And with the ever growing tensions that had become custom in the household it was only fitting he be nervous about leaving her alone even if it had only been for a brief period. Despite how many times he’d told her or how much he’d prepared.

“You need anything, and I mean anything, you head on over to the Sawyers ‘n they’ll take care of ya’, Drayton’ll be by to check on ya’.”

“Alright daddy, quit yer’ worryin’ ‘n get on with it. Everythin’s gon be just fine, I promise you.”

“You ‘member what I told you?”

“Bout makin’ sure the troughs got hay ‘n water in ‘em and stayin’ in the house? Yes daddy, I got it.”

“Right, well,” he huffs, shifting his eyes from the ground below to her face. “I’ll be off, trailer’s here.”

“Goodbye daddy,” she plants a sweet kiss on his cheek, brushing a delicate hand over his shoulder. “I love ya’, see you in a few days.”

“Yeah,” he pulls her into an embrace, patting her back softly. “be good.”

She watches him walk down the driveway and get into the eighteen wheeler he’d rented solely for this purpose; starting it up and peeling out onto the main road. Those bulky wheels kick up clouds of dirt in curling waves, dusting over the driveway. When it clears she stands there, in a stoic state of rumination. Musing the moment she’d take the axe to a man’s throat and split him in two. She’d thought about it a lot those days, cooped up in her bedroom as she stared blankly at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Brushing through her smoothed hair with empty eyes and an emotionless expression. The same expression she wore now, void of any true indication of the morbid conceptions that passed through her head. She stood there for a time, drearily watching the weeds blow past the yard in the fall air. One moment she’s bracing the cold of the early morning and the next prepping the house to kill a man.

Every move is carefully articulated, from the axe hidden beneath a storage space she carved from the wood planks in the hall to the hatchets she hid throughout the entirety of the house’s interior as an alternative plan if things got messy. Even the plastic mats, which she so strategically laid out to avoid any unnecessary mess about the freshly moped floors. Then her look of the evening; a mini shift dress complete with those black pumps she seemed to enjoy so much. It’s neckline is high with the hem tailored just below her bum, slightly flared out at its end but form fitted to her torso. The fabric is a satin black, sleek and sultry, and it’s sleeveless style does well to elongate her elegant arms. Nude stockings accent the occasion, serving as a barrier for her skin against the brisk air of the night. Her hair is curled and astray, sprayed into some loose curls that appear much more like messy waves. Her bangs just barely covering those seductive eyes of hers that were shrouded in the blackness of her makeup, and her lips painted a dazzling merlot red.

At approximately seven o’clock Rebecca departs from her abode in her father’s old blue pickup, racing along the highway with the radio blasting slow songs from the early fifties. They’re the perfect substitute to quell her anxious thoughts and the paranoia that came with a nerve wracking first time. Yet despite this blatant observation she acts with a certain dignity and confidence, exuding the sophistication and courage of a feral animal. Hungry and vicious like the wolf.

Those animalistic eyes are searching for potentials the second she enters the parking lot of that old bar. It’s nestled up on the outskirts of Pleurgerville, within just a few miles of the local college and prime time spot for students and newly graduates alike. There, in the musty halls of that old brick building, illuminated by the purplish hues of the neon bar signs she takes the stage. Sat innocently with her legs folded over the other in a partly rusted bar stool with a disintegrating cushion. She orders a whiskey on the rocks, sipping quietly on the chilled liquid as her deadly gaze meets the eyes of the many men around her. They’re all just the same, young studs too moronic to handle a real woman, too immature to see through their own world of lies and self importance. She’d kill them all if she could, sever them all one by one and make the rest watch.

She bats her eyelashes and purses her lips, arches her back and accentuates her perky chest. They all approach her with the same sinful look in their faces, the one that tells her they’re all deserving of a visit from Satan himself. They all talk her up, at least, that’s what she lets them think. Her cool demeanor the perfect tool in getting them to fall so helplessly enthralled with her. They reek of liquor, cigarette smoke and the faintest hint of the cheap bathroom cologne. A stench that burns at her nostrils and churns her insides. All her suave small talk and hopes of attaining someone fall short in some way or another, and it becomes increasingly frustrating to gather a victim to enact this little plan of hers. They all share the same story; a college student looking for a quick hookup in their dorm. None of them are willing to venture her way, and it makes her all the more sick of them.

By the time her goldinger glass is empty, the last sip of watered down whiskey trickling down her throat, she’s about had enough of her endeavors. Eyes heavy with trounce and mind vibrating with the burden of succumbing to defeat. The notion of it all is much to dire to bare, the very concept of failure something that twists her gut and makes her feel weak and futile. And just as she begins to quake, her pretty limbs twitching in sheer desperateness, then comes the man with the emerald eyes.

His violently green irises dance about the bar before they land on her, all most as soon as her own did. It was strange, the second she’d locked eyes with him became the second she knew he’d be dead before the night was through. He looks to her in a starkly different manner than the other boys had, his own countenance one of ferality and desolation, he’s looking for an escape.

The vacant seat beside her becomes warm with his presence, not before he orders a whiskey, neat then turns to her, a suave but cunning smile gracing those features of his.

It’s strange but for a fleeting second she saw Johnny sitting beside her, the same veneer reflected in that mischievous grin. Emerald eyes is impossibly handsome, his features much like Johnny’s but without the imperfections his scars and bruises gave off. This man was well dressed too, a nice black blazer and dress slacks accompanying those designer shoes he wore. His hair is neatly tailored in a combed back fashion, slick with grease. He’s nice looking, sure, but he didn’t look like half the man Johnny was.

His name is Matthew, a businessman from out of town looking to escape the confines of his marriage and have his way with a young, pretty little filly. Lucky for her, she’d fit the part of his pathetic little fantasy.

He shared an uncanny likeness to Johnny and a personality that replicated much of Matthias’ behaviors. A no good boy looking to score a quick bang out of his wedlock. Of course, Matthias wasn’t married, only proclaimed her mother to be his one and only; a lie he told vigorously. Just as Matthias shattered Maggie’s, Matthew would break his poor wife’s heart, and that thought reminded her just how much she hated Matthias and all the men that ever did the same. Not to mention, he’d had such a sense of entitlement, as though she’d owed it to him to sleep with him. She hated that.

It isn’t his looks that draws her to him though, no, rather the pontifical nature in which he carries himself. With his head cocked high, his shoulders pushed back and an intoxicating degree of self-importance. A haughty attitude stems from his voice, accompanied by his turgid expression. Sure, he looked like Johnny. But he acted like Matthias, that was the most crucial thing of it all. Throughout the entirety of their evening together, it becomes more and more evident that Matthew is the ideal first victim. His disdain for girls, his pride and his dire selfishness would seal his fate with the devil. Rather than see him as Matthew, she perceives him to be that damned Matthias, especially with the way in which he so desperately throws himself to her. But that’s precisely what makes it so easy to get him so drunk, to the point where he’s falling over in his seat and slurring his speech like some imbecile.

The longer she indulges his conversation the more he drinks, and the more he drinks the easier it becomes to lure in her prey into thinking how great an idea it was to travel a whole hour away for a quick hookup. Through their interactions her animosity for the boy grows, turning feral with resentment and unadulterated anger. It resurfaces the fretful feelings from long ago, that which she harbored before Matthias himself had died. It was that same phenomenon, that same hatred, rekindled in this person, Matthias’ very own rival. And it didn’t take long for her to coax him into joining her for the evening in her isolated little farmhouse just an hour away from the motel he’d been staying at. She cares little about their conversation; turning it in and out of her sadistic and inhumane thoughts of human torture and mutilation. One thing she’s sure of though; he’s a piece of shit for seeking a hall pass like this, defiling his poor and unsuspecting wife. She’d be setting that woman free getting rid of this sorry excuse for a husband.

But then again, surely his wife must’ve done something to dissatisfy him or deter him. Perhaps she wasn’t the rightful woman Rebecca had made her out to be. She’d never let her man become so desperate, she knew how to keep them satiated. How pitiful.

It was all most too easy, so linear and straight forward. Like all the pieces of the puzzle had perfectly fallen into place the moment he stepped into that bar. He was the perfect first kill, a walking symbol of everything she despised most, the very type of male she strove to enact her revenge upon. Just as she’d fit the role in his own selfish fantasies, he so flawlessly made the part in her own. The stupid little man child that thought he could so seamlessly get into her pants, a ruiner of lives, a terrible partner, a walking sin. It was as though she were playing God, taking matters into her own hands and enacting his will.

He talks ceaselessly, on and on about his personal dilemmas and home life as if he’d meant to hold it above her head; as though he held some sort of precedence over her. His pride is just as much insufferable as his lust, and the way he speaks to her and looks her over with such disrespect and carelessness for her own humanity is disgusting. So much so, it’s a wonder how she hasn’t broken character and done something drastic. No, instead she listens in and out of static, carefully, her eyes glued to the highway as she resides in the blissful darkness that were her cognitions. She was daydreaming, thinking about it, the moment his fantasy would evolve into a nightmare and her fantasy a reality. Watching those dreamy emerald eyes swell with fear and utter agony was the moment she kept drawing back to, eagerly awaiting in deviant anticipation and yearning.

He’s a man that’s had everything handed to him throughout the entirety of his short life, a newly wed and appointed chairman of his father’s wealthy company. That only angers her worse, the way he so nonchalantly flaunts his blessings as though he was God’s gift. She’d love to wipe away that arrogant grin of his.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he enjoys talking about himself, caring close to nothing about what others had to share. Her word is of minuscule value to him, and he goes on and on as if his own were the gospel. From what she can gather he’s an intelligent man, but far too caught up in his own self importance. So much so that it makes him stupid and clueless. He enjoys watching college football, a former Longhorn and A&M alumni, and reading about the intricacies of American politics. He’s an ardent supporter of the separation of business and state, a passionate nut case whose sole intention as a corporate rep is to reap the benefits his patrons provide. He boasts about a wealthy sum of money and a large scale inherited business, stresses the emphasis on his hefty fortune and the ease in his way of life. He promises her diamond rings and gold earrings, a Tiffany necklace with a shiny gold chain. Tells her he’d treat her out to dinner at the finest restaurants in Europe and buy her the most beautiful dresses she’s ever seen. She wouldn’t have to worry about a thing, it was an all expenses paid job where all she’d been required to do was keep her mouth shut and sleep with him from time to time. It was clear what he’d once disclosed in the bar was only a front, this man was looking for other women to satisfy the void that his wife could not.

Rebecca didn’t understand it. The man could have all the riches in the world and still never have worked a single day in his life. His white collar lifestyle was nothing to that of her father or Johnny, real men who knew what hard work was. The men who knew how to protect and provide, the ones who knew what real women wanted. This man was a coward, a repulsive little boy with no idea what the real world was like. She’d be sure to savor torturing him to death.

“Well, here we are.” It’s pitch black headed up the dirt road to the farmhouse she learned to call home. A single carriage light flickering on and off on the porch beside the front door. The dim lights of the truck provide some sort of illumination, revealing the front of the old house and it’s newly renovated state. Flower boxes adorn every window, full of vibrant yellow sunflowers and a bird feeder dangles from the awning of the porch.

“You live all alone up here?”

“Oh, yes. Just me. Got some neighbors up the way a ways.” She lies through a placid smile, irritation bubbling when he doesn’t act to help her from her seat or even bother opening the truck door for her. He’s already marching up the steps as soon as the truck’s in park. She hated that.

Matthias used to behave in such a way that women were below him, as though they were meant to serve and cater to his every will. Which would have been fine, if it hadn’t been for his distinct lack of manners and nauseating sense of entitlement he carried with him. Becca’d never forget the way he threw her mother around or slammed doors in her face, left her to fend for her weak self in times of great need, or the way he so openly disregarded their partnership in bed and threw insults and backhanded comments her way every chance he got. Matthew reminded her of him in that regard, held little to no value for a woman and lacked the gentlemanly qualities a man should possess. It was expected she bed him, expected she do everything for him, expected she be the sensual adulteress he wanted her so badly to be. It only strengthened her dislike for him; first a cheat and second an arrogant brute, the world needed less of those.

Selfish. They were selfish, tainted by the work of the devil. The men like Matthias and Matthew that valued women on their willingness to handout their womanhood in sinful affairs of lust. It was disgusting how he acted, like he was so much bigger than her. The superior being, the worthier organism, a blooming magnolia in the middle of winter. She’d never expected a man of his status to be so insufferably dishonorable, anticipated much more the transient type like Matthias or the naive college boys whose only desire was to get their dick sucked by loose women.

But that was the thing; he was just like Matthias. If it weren’t for his looks, she wouldn’t have known the difference; for their personalities matched and their morals had remained alike. They carried about them the same energy, the same type of sickening madness that tore families apart and ruined lives. Matthew was Matthias, and Matthias was Matthew. Two sides of the same coin.

So, as she opened her own door and aided herself out of the driver’s seat, marching up the porch steps and watching Matthew with a piercing stare, she felt elated at the flashes of his image torn into pieces and gorged out, painted in its own blood. The scowl on her face is replaced with an eery smile, one in which her pretty eyes are plastered open wide and her teeth look plastic.

“Here, allow me to show you up to my room.” The formality in her speech is all the more deterring. And it is then that she realizes the severity of her anger, the slight trepidation in her stature as she jumbles with the keys and unlocks the front door a clear indication. There, she’d proceed down the foyer, flickering the yellow lights in the hall on before promptly swiveling to the left. She leaves Matthew in her wake, who follows, albeit timidly, very slowly. Treading with a certain degree of caution at the peculiar changes in her mannerisms.

The house is well put together, furnished with a sort of womanly touch that gave it a cozy feel. That much is clear, but it the suspicion raises in the man’s head; there was no way she’d lived here alone. There was something about it, he was sure she must’ve had a husband.

“So, you live up here all alone do you?” His voice calls from behind, echoing against the halls of the home as she begins up the staircase. In her steps she halts, her own suspicion raising as her brow quirks upwards.

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” Inchmeal she turns around, a seamless movement that catches him off guard, especially with that of her off putting appearance. It’s odd, she seems all most feral, lost, and it’s then he feels the beating in his chest thud against his ribs. His gaze widens, watching as she gestures for him to follow. “Come.”

Nothing could stand in between a man and his sexual desires, Rebecca knew that. And so, without a second thought her delicate fingers are gradually unzipping the back of her little black dress. Letting the straps droop down her shoulders and the entire thing become putty around her body. The glimpse of lunacy in her fades, her prior deportment returning just as soon as it had vanished. She clasps the garment to her partially nude frame, luring him with a gentle wink and a mousy encouragement.

“You’ll have to excuse me while I get undressed, you’ll find I’m not accustomed to these types of things. I’ll understand if you change your mind, but, please, I’d love you to have me, I’m a virgin, you know?” She smiles sardonically, her lashes fluttering and eyes glinting in innocence, just as she begins to move up the steps. “My room is straight down the hall, I’ll be in the wash room. Make yourself, comfortable.”

The water is hot, singeing her velveteen skin and melting away her sin. A cocktail of steamed water and black makeup residue drip down the length of her body to wash down the drain, and the faint hum of her angelic voice sings and allures him in a near distance.

He’s laid there on the duvet of her plush bedding, belt undone and dick in hand as he thinks about the temptation of those groomed feet wrapped around the length of his hard cock. He watches the door frame, awaiting her to come out or call for him. Sure, she’s strange, but it’s part of what makes her special, captivating, like the breathless beauty she was.

“Matthias! Why don’t you just come join me!”

The faint, muffled call of her sweet southern drawl behind the sound of running water is all it takes, all it takes for him to shamelessly remove himself of his clothing and toss them to the floor as he moves to join her in the washroom. There the space is thick and muggy, clouded in a misted layer of warm steam. That which fogs up the mirrors and air, forcing him to navigate through a calming atmosphere of the exhilarating unknown and coital. His bare feet brush against the warm tile floors and the shag rugs, even kicking up her shedded dress and black panties. But when he draws back the curtain to see an empty tub, her absence draws a sense of paranoia and confusion in him. One that curdles his nervous stomach and antagonizes the lingering feeling of sexual release and venereal anticipation.

“Hey uh, pretty girl, where’d you run off to?” He teases, a hand still firm on his dick. Tracing up and down in haggard motions, eagerly awaiting the moment her nude body revealed itself to him.

“Oh! Hop on in, had to grab an extra towel, I’ll join you just a second, baby!”

It burns his skin, the stinging eliciting groans of pain and he sharply adjusts himself to turn down the temperature on the handle. As the water runs cold, his tingling skin is soothed, and his mind traverses to much more prevalent matters. Like the fantasy of her precious wet feet pressed against his lips and slipping into his mouth.

Much of her body is still soaked, droplets of now frigid water resting against the skin of her shoulders and the high points of her stoic face. Her bell bottoms are dampened with the wetness of her bathed skin and her wet torso soaks the blue tank top she’d just slipped into. Thick strands of darkened blonde locks coat her face in cold water, as she grabs the wood handle of one of the hatchets she’d set aside and that axe she’d hidden in the floor boards of the hall just in time to make out his groans of pain from the water scorching his exposed skin. Ah, it was all going according to plan.

“Hey, baby?”

“Yeah hot stuff, what is it?”

A feminine hand pulls back the curtain ever so slightly, enacting with such elegance and grace. Dainty fingers and reaching for him and grazing over the slick skin of his chest just softly. The tips of her nails dragging over it in soft traces, she draws her fingertips down further, and further, until she’s sure she’s reached that area just above his manhood. Then, with a delicate hand she takes the length of it into her palm, grasping at it softly and running her thumb carefully over its tip before she calls out to him with such a sweet tone of voice.

“You gonna stab me with this?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Surely you won’t need all this?” She teases, her grasp tightening ever so slightly, fingers gently massaging at it as it grows in size.

“Nah, but you gon’ take all of it.”

“I don’t think I’d know what to do with it, but I have an idea.” Her grip clasps down, crushing the thing in her fist as he groans out in pain and jerks backwards.

“You grippin’ it a lil’ tight there, this some sort of weird sex thing?”

“Nah, just need a good grip on it is all.” In one breakneck motion, her hand pulls him forward by his length and the other comes swinging downward with the hatchet to sever the appendage from his body. Warmth spews over her arms as she drops the thing to the floor, his screams of terror and hurt tickling at her insides in a pleasurable way. The thick of his blood coats her and sprays about the shower curtain, only alluding to that tingly feeling within, she’s aroused.

Just as soon as it happens, the curtain is drawn. The sound of the little metal beads gliding against a metallic rod sounding like the cacophony of ricocheting bullets. Like the red velvet drapes in the beautiful amphitheaters of Manhattan, there’s a clear shot of center stage. In it; an attractive male with a decent nude physique, his face that of horror-struck petrifaction. A strong boy in a most vulnerable predicament, his most lewd parts on full display for her viewing pleasure. Of course, it’s the conveyance of emotion that delights her, leaves her wanting more, the way his face turns ugly with fear and the way he becomes so weak in the presence of a true woman like her. She’d reduced him to nothing but a coward, revealed him for his true self; a helpless little boy whose been nothing short of spoiled.

“Now tell me, are you gon’ take all of this?”

The way her palms grip the splintering wood of her axe stings, those tiny fragments burrowing themselves into her fragile hands. It’s wonderful, the sensation of it all. The way the splinters in her palm dig in the tighter she holds the body of that weapon, the way he cowers beneath her, the multitude of her control.

There it was, it was all coming back to her.

The blade hoisted over her head shadows her sadistic smile. And then, it’s lodged halfway through his right shoulder.

The blissful sound of breaking skin and the slicing of flesh sounds more pretty than she could have hoped, a satisfying sound of a loud crack and tingling squelches. It’s all most lewd, the timbre of thick red spurting out onto the tub’s floor. It’s so carnivorous, a vibrant scarlet hue that intertwines nicely with the cool water that circles near the drain. And then his screams of agony, a rapturous blister of piercing octaves.

The rhapsodic smile plastered over her lips is irreplaceable; entirely unforgettable, a pretty grin full of derangement and intense joy. The corners of her mouth twitch violently, her cheeks aching in lew of her strained veneer. Those elegant brows twist up in delectation, a prime contrast of the scowl she donned just minutes before.

It’s all most too much for one woman to handle, the visceral scenery of it all a sensory overload for the body and mind. Pleasurable contractions cause a yearning feeling in between her legs, one of which would only be satiated by the one thing she desired most; watching him suffer and die at her own hand.

With a foot planted against the edge of the tub and a steady grip she rips the blade from his body, leaving a trail of blood and a pleasing pop as it’s released from the meat of his shoulder. Again, with the strong swing of her arms the blade wedges itself into the left side of his ribs, then his chest, and his bicep, and then his thigh.

Crimson splatters itself over her wet face and body, tainting her perfect image. It drips down the walls of the washroom, soaking the shower curtain and the tile floors as it pours in abundance down the drain. He’s wailing, begging and pleading between screams and cries of pain and suffering. Just what she wanted, obedience, submission.

“Please! Where the fuck am I? What do you want? What’re you doing to me? I’ll give you anything, anything you want! Just leave me the fuck alone you sick freak!”

The way he’s so helpless and begging at her feet makes the space between her legs pool with slick, pumping the adrenaline in her and arousing her just as all the times she imagined it prior. He is at her disposal, and his fate lies in her hands. The very fact alone makes her eager with anticipation of what’s to come, the pleasurable sensations building with each passing moment.

“Oh baby, you ain’t goin’ anywhere?” Becca snorts. “I’m sick of stupid boys like you thinkin’ they can just walk all over me, tch. You’s all the same, entitled little shits who break girl’s hearts ‘cause ya can’t keep it in ya’ pants. Tsk, you ain’t even hold the door open for me, what kinda man is that? I know the type all to well, all you’s do is ruin lives and walk all over girls like they some kinda objects? Nah, nah. And you know? It’s so funny how easy it is to manipulate y’all’s. Dress like a slut, give you big eyes and twirls my hair a little bit. A couple oh baby, oh babys and you’s wrapped around my finger. Pathetic. And now, look, whose the weak one, the one subject to my accord. Ain’t that summin’?”

Perhaps it had slipped her mind to keep the barrage of attacks going, but within an instant he’s pushed her backwards as he’s stumbled down the hall, something that pisses her off more than she knows. The feeling of his grubby hands against her chest a disgusting one that lingers and infuriates her. How dare he. Now, now the psychosis begins.

It all comes rushing in so fast, all most too quickly for her own comprehension. The influx of emotions and feelings, one moment she’s reveling in the satisfaction of an easy first kill and the next spiraling down a neverending nightmare.

“Fuck!”

Falling backwards her back smacks against the wet floor and her head thwacks backwards to crack against the floor. It’s a momentary stun that feels like an eternity, as she gathers herself up enough to get back up again. Her limbs tremble, legs and arms violently shaking in her typical display of mania and bygone control.

“You’ll regret that.”

A trail of blood and wet leads down toward the staircase, the tracks going cold down the steps. It’s then that the concern comes in, a faint worry blossoming in her gut. She bends down to examine it, only to feel the sharp pain of something cold injected into her shoulder.

“Die you bitch!”

A quick groan of pain and she’s turnt around to face him for the coward he is, a scowl lacing her features once more. Dark brows furrow downward and her eyes go dark, something sinister and malignant written in them. They reek of danger and peril, a clear sign of her hellish rage. Her tremoring, wet body saunters toward his cowering figure, her lowered head unmoving as she hovers over him.

There is something so exciting in the way he shivers and cries in fear and pain, his petrified body and conviction of terror enough to bring fourth the curdling in the pit of her stomach. It’s erotic, the way it tenses her insides and contorts her muscles in odd sorts of ways. She could get off and watching him suffer, get off on the sight of his mangled body and screams of despair; knowing she was the cause of it all.

“I’m going to love watching you die.” Cold. It’s cold. Her words are sharp and deadly, evocative of the apathetic devil within her.

In times like these, where her vigorously convulsing body is on the brink of an insane collapse that she’s at her strongest, her most powerful. In times where her control is thwarted and in it’s place a perpetual state of mania, indicates by her frenzied demeanor and vehement determination for vengeance. This time though, the loss of her composure has not dissipated just yet. She’s on the cusp of getting that control back, and she’s delighted with the feeling. It even sends her lurching toward the sensual furor the act stirred in her, chasing the sweet feeling of release as she drives the weapon into him.

The axe swings over her head and down to his shivering body, slicing through the hand that reaches to cease the incoming blow. He’s crying, much like a child whines for their mother and begs for aide. And again, she’s swinging down the axe to thwart into his mangled body, hacking into the flesh of his torso and watching the blood spill into a coagulated pool. His screams tickle her innermost fantasies, and despite her enchanted state and the thrill she experiences in the act her face is stilled, frozen in a state of anger.

The act itself comes easy to her, it’s simple, like a second nature, like learning to ride a bike. It’s a calm, calculated act that instills a sense of duty within her, quells the urge for the sanguinary that bludgeoned in her all that time. It’s something satiating, like the void within her had been filled after all this time.

“That’s it, cry for me.”

The tears that stream down his face excite her, and it’s with it the smile returns to her winsome features. He sobs like a baby, screaming for help with no avail. Those pointless wails are meaningless to her, and are met with the sickening grin she fronts while watching him writhe in pain.

“Oh baby, we ain’t done yet.”

But as it would seem, puny little Matthew had some fight left in him. For he stood, his quaking body struggling to withstand the trauma she’d enacted upon it. She hadn’t known what to expect, but the last thing was the way he grappled her and knocked the axe to the ground.

It’s no question that she’s strong, stronger than him especially in his weakened state. But she doesn’t expect him to push back so hard, underestimating the strength left in him as she’s sent tumbling backwards down the stairs. Her world goes black then, the faint sounds of whines and cries and heavy footsteps down the wood steps fading from her hearing, and then her eyes shut.

When Rebecca awakes there’s no telling how much time has passed, but her body is still soaked in water and blood and she can still hear the sound of running water from the wash room upstairs. She’s left with a splitting headache and a bruised body aching from the tumble down the staircase, the bannister wood is snapped where the back of her head smacked it, and there’s cold water and a bloodied mess left all over the house.

Slowly, her eyes flutter open, wincing shut all most as soon as they open in response to that throbbing ache in her head. A grown is elicited from her lips, and she’s slowly able to sit up. It takes time, but as she awakes from the hit she’s able to scrunch her eyes open to begin examining the scene. In a dazed state the realization hasn’t dawned on her, but the absence of her special victim is something not yet forgotten.

“Fuck! Fucking fuck!” She screams.

The panic comes crashing down like a freight train, her hands desperately coming to clasp at her face and lace into her matted hair. Pulling, tearing and squeezing in heaping handfuls, her eyes widen in fear and the fruition of impending doom. Her body wobbles involuntarily, movements erratic and timid. She’d ruined it, ruined it all.

There’s nothing left of Matthew but endless trails of blood, the front door left wide open with the cool draft blowing in.

“Shit!”

She’s screaming, searching forthrightly for his naked body. Tearing apart every inch of the house’s interior before venturing out into the night, axe in hand. The paranoia is a familiar feeling, that of the fleeting control she’d sought out to take back in the very act she’d failed at. Now, the fear of being caught looms over her like a plague, and when there is no trail to follow, no signs of the man she’d been certain she’d kill, the beast rears it’s head and she’s collapsed to her knees in the hard dirt of the front drive.

Wailing incoherencies up at the sky she cries ugly, salt crusted tears and snot dripping down her face. Her shaking hands grasp at the skin on her face, picking and tearing at it in an attempt to make the paranoia disappear. Then her hair, yanking in handfuls and thrashing her agitated figure about the dirt. All she’d wanted was that control, the feeling she knew was possible from watching his helpless body writhe in pain and die at her hand. She’d only got the pleasure of feeling half of that, a measly dose.

You killed him, you killed him, he’s dead, he’s dead, it’s all according to plan.

She chants the mantra quietly to herself, eyes bloodshot wide as she stares to the dazzling moon above her. A desperate attempt to quell the feral urges in her, to silence the demons, the bad man.

After some time she goes silent, quivering quietly as she watches the moon and grazes through the turbulent thoughts in her head.

There is only one thing she knows to do.

“Johnny! Johnny please, Johnny!” Bare footed and cold, she runs through the ridged dirt and brush that separate the properties, spanning over the plains as she screams for him. The property is quiet, nothing but the soft clanking of clattering pots and pans dangling from the trees and the old yellow porch light illuminating the front screen door.

“Johnny! Johnny come out please, Johnny! I need you!” She cries, sobbing out for him. She swings open the screen and pounds on the wood door, wailing to herself, practically throwing herself against the thing. “Johnny please I need you, I need your help, Johnny!” The cry is desperate, needy, a plead for help. “I fucked up Johnny I fucked up!” She backs up, prodding at her dampened hair and resting her hands atop her head as she paces the porch. “Johnny!”

Click!

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, his eyes clouded with sleep and suspicion in his mien. And without a second thought she’s flung herself onto him, hanging her limbs over his bare shoulders and crying violently.

“Johnny, Johnny listen man you gotta help me man, you gotta help me I-” She pauses, swollen eyes finally able to make contact with his own. “I messed up real bad, I fucked it up, I fucked it all up. He’s gone I, I don’t know where he went. You gotta help me, please.” Through strained whines and hyperventilations she relays her message. It’s a wonder he can make out what she’s saying between those cries of shame and ballistics. She groans, looking to their feet and coughing up the tears caught in her throat. “I let ‘em get away, that fuckin’ cocksucker, he fuckin’ got away.”

“Alright,” Johnny looks to her, a rough hand gripping her cheek when his rugged thumb moves to wipe the wet that drips from those pretty eyes. His hand forces her face up, and it’s with a supercilious sentiment that he examines her features, her desperate state. Observing her with a sort of contentment, satisfaction. Those half lidded eyes meeting hers with a certain degree of knowing, a mutual understanding. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

—

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭! - 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

@yixxes @bdudette @nerdykat101 @kaymarnun

[razorvine]

Johnny do my yard work please.

Okay not DBD but still pretty cool @hugs-and-stabbies did a pic of Johnny from the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre game.. He's the pretty boy on the Family(Killer) side of the game... I joked with them about he looked like someone you hire to do the yard work and they made this.

[sinister-surname]

So I was going to make a post jokingly saying that my brand of masculinity and how I identify with it is doing the Leatherface chainsaw dance from the end of TCM1, but it got me thinking about why I adore that scene so much.

Behind the scenes trivia aside (yes I know most people say it was A: Gunnar Hansen elated to be done filming or B: Psyching himself up to yeet the chainsaw and finally be rid of carrying it, but the fact is Tobe Hooper consciously chose to keep it in and saw narrative merit in doing so) I think you can break it down to a few elements.

First of all, and it's been said a lot, for as manic and terrifying as it is its oddly beautiful. Leatherface, an emotionally and developmentally stunted serial killer and cannibal dressed up in his suit, silhouetted against the rising morning sun, the silence of the dawning day held hostage and in awe to the chorus of the saw, we may know he's just madly thrashing about in frustration that Sally got away but in that moment there is something deeply alluring and unsettling that entrances us: humanity.

I like to highlight when talking about why Leatherface is, while maybe not my favourite slasher overall, the one I find the scariest, that unlike the embodiment of evil that is Michael, the stone-cold no-selling of Jason or the cartoonish villainy of Freddy, Leatherface may not be real but he could be, and I think it's that disturbing reality that makes the chainsaw dance so awe inspiring; we see in that moment a grim facsimile of humanity, of the kinship we may not believe Leatherface and the Sawyers belong to but do.

Maybe that's why Texas Chainsaw is known for really, thematically, setting a lot of its scares in broad daylight; The Sawyers aren't a bunch of boogeymen who only come out at night, they rise with the bloody morning sun just like you or I, all to the sound of the saw.

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

HELLO HELLO

Would you by any chance be willing to write some small headcannons for the Sawyers (TCM), Stu Macher, and Billy Loomis?

Specifically, how they would comfort their S/O who has just been dropped by their lifelong best friends. (This same thing happened to me and I need help coping 😔)

ANYWAYS

Remember to take care of yourself!! Get lots of rest, eat, drink water, and relax ❤️

I would love to!! Also fuck them they’re missing out

Comfort! S/o with Shitty Friends x The Sawyer Family + Scream 1 Killers!

Nubbins Sawyer

-“Well y-ya want me to k-kill em y/n?”

-“Nubbins NO!”

-lil disappointed but accepts

-he isn’t great with feelings

-brings you roadkill to make you feel better

-“Y-y/n look! I g-gots you a d-dead bird!”

-lmao

-he’s like a cat with that shit man

-super clingy and cuddles with you if you feel like it

Chop Top Sawyer

-goes on a rant about how they don’t deserve you

-also volunteers to murder them

-tbh not super great at comforting or sympathetic

-“Why are you hurt y/n? You don’t even need em’! You got me!”

Drayton Sawyer

-“Well, I can tell you this much. Those kids are damn fools if they dropped you.”

-he gives you a short hug then shoos you away to do your chores

-smiles, he’s surprisingly sweet about it

-Uncle Dray has a rare soft spot for ya

-makes your favorite dinner that night

-to cheer you up

Bubba Sawyer

-best comforter

-squeals and grunts in reactions when you tell him

-big bear hugs

-will hug you for hours

-he makes some flowers for you in a pretty bow

-he does things with you that your friends normally did, like gaming, painting nails, any activity like that

Nancy Slaughter

-she rolls her eyes at them

-“You’re a perfectly fine kid. Thems’ mommas ain’t raise em right.”

-gives you a grandma hug and you choke on her perfume

Sissy Slaughter

-she thinks it’s stupid

-she tells you they are stupid for giving up a wonderful person like you

-lists all your great qualities

-she cheers you up verbally the best I think

-secretly kills one

-she’d lean up and give you a hug

-and have a hangout that night

Johnny Slaughter

-“Y/n, them kids just stupid bastards.”

-he’d also give you a quick hug

-he would give you some heavy whiskey if you wanted it

-he would also kill then even if you told him not to

-he would talk about how annoying they were to kill 💀

Stu Macher

-also secretly kills them

-talks about how dumb they were anyway and how great you are

-they don’t deserve you anyway and they are going to regret dropping you

-cuddles you

-similar to chop top tbh

Billy Loomis

-he would ask where they live 💀

-kills them in secret as ghost face too

-he would give you lots of kisses

-cuddles, attention

-would make sure you’re just as happy without them

-smirks a bit when the tv announcement comes on that they’ve died under “mysterious circumstances”

[francobarbi]