The Not Necrophilia WIP [GUANO]

(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ Key player profiles ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

Kevin (Bay Area Phantom, 28 as of 1997, 6’8” 310lbs)

Jenni (future Executioner, 33 as of 1997, 5’3” 180lbs)

Tristian Flores (One half of the Yuppie Killers, 27, 5’7” 156lbs, process killer)

Rachel Ball (One half of the Yuppie Killers, 20, 5’6” 145lbs, product killer)

Disclaimer: this entire scene is goths vs preps. TW: choking/ strangulation, vomit, descriptions of grievous bodily harm, dead bodies uhmmmm if you don't like the terrifier movies you may not like this idk

૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

Kevin and Jenni arrive at Tristians home Mid winter of 1997 at 5am Saturday. The timing is based on the knowledge that Tristian, the more dangerous of the two, is alone as Rachel is in Portland this weekend. Kevin would have preferred to kill two birds with one stone but Jenni is not ready to hunt without Kevins prep or help. For now, she’s here to collect evidence and trophies. Upon breaking into the home, it’s quiet and irreparably trashed, a genuine low level hoarder home. 

“It smells like grease and shit in here…” Jenni scrunches her nose in an effort to block out the stench, wrapping her arms around herself. There’s an assortment of items, food packaging, tools, stains and stinking refuse littered on the floor from the kitchen to the small dining room, extending out into the rest of the home. The lights are dim and dying from being left on nonstop, cloaking the room in a brown yellow. Before they can get much further than the entry way located in the kitchen, Kevin hears faint noises, shifting his attention to the closed basement door. He nudges Jenni lightly, pointing at the basement door.

‘Going to check. Stay here, no collecting.’ Kevin squeezes her arm gently as he signs slow enough for her to understand. He descends into the dimly lit basement as Jenni does a cursory look around. 

It escalates like this:

Kevin approaches the bound body laying on the ground cautiously. The black plastic bag over it’s head pulling in with each noisy, wet inhale and blowing out with a painful moan. The buzzing of bright white, cracked leds above filling the brief silence between breaths. It reminds him of the heat of summer, cicadas screaming so loud you can’t even hear yourself think. The body is dressed in soft colors, cream two piece with a dark green blouse - dressed like Rachel. He starts picking through his plan once he deems the body a non threat, namely the fact that she isn’t supposed to be here. There were no signs of their relationship breaking down to the point that Tristian would take her as a victim. If it's not her, then the possibility of it being a victim is even lower. They’re not ones to leave their food unattended, following a process from capture to disposal that ensures someone is with the victim at all times. Kevin is kneeling with his thoughts a mile a minute, tumbling and flailing, the complete silence feeling more and more like a wall of pressure and damp heat. The body starts hyperventilating with what little strength it had left at his encroaching presence. And then, he’s tearing the plastic bag open to stare down at a dying woman that was not Rachel.Condensation from the sweltering room and her own breath coat her pale face. His raised hackles turn knifepoint sharp, bending back and pressing into his skin. It’s wrong, but he can’t be wrong, he-. 

Kevin hears shuffling from above, curses and loud thumps. Jenni’s alone. She’s supposed to be alone.

Before he can even think about moving, theres sharp pressure around his neck, under the fucking neck guard, the feeling of someone behind him as he’s being yanked across the concrete. The pressure goes from painful to excruciating as it bites into skin and scar tissue, slicing into his windpipe, unrelenting. The taste of blood and bile fills Kevin’s mouth as he paws at his neck for the wires being held taut and pulling ever harder with the support of the beam against his back, flipping the fencing mask and balaclava off in the process of trying to break free

“Got you, gotyougotyougotyou-” Tristians excited mantra rises above the blood and panic rushing through his ears. 

_________________________________________________________________________

An almost simultaneous series of events.

 Kevin was gone no longer than 30 seconds before a young woman turned the corner into the kitchen from the living room, looking confused and a bit disheveled. Jenni bristles initially, breath caught in her throat from panic. Noone else is supposed to be here, so where the hell did this bitch come from? Jenni quickly recovers, shifting to skeptical concern and makes no move to approach her. 

“Hey, are you okay? Do you need help?” And the flip switches, almost imperceptibly, save for the flash of the blade in the woman’s right hand as she strides towards Jenni. 

“Oh fuck-” Jenni starts backpedaling, almost falling backwards from floor garbage and a car battery, hitting the edge of a counter in her haste to put distance between them. Her fight response is slow on the come up, eyes darting around the room in a panic, looking for something to use. There’s so much shit in this house that she begins throwing anything she can grab on the kitchen counters at the woman who steadily approaches. Dishes, mixing bowls, salt shaker, hunks of wood; The air is cloying as Jenni pants and curses at her - now recognizing the girl as Rachel - steadying a toaster oven in her hand and throwing it overhand, full force. It buys Jenni enough time to snatch the hammer sticking out of the drawer to her left and bum rush Rachel as she recovers from the impact of metal and crumbs. Jenni slams into her with everything she has, yanking Rachel’s right hand out to the side and using her body to brace her fall while rearing the hammer back to strike. But she’s fast, snatching Jenni’s right hand mid-air before her skull gets cracked open.

“Get OFF!” Rachel screams in her face, bringing a knee up to Jenni’s ribs, but Jenni steadily presses down with her full weight, vision blurring from the effort and gritting her teeth. Both women struggle on the floor before Rachel gets her feet beneath herself and pushes up and out with her hips, finally dislodging Jenni. Not entirely but enough to finally kick Jenni into the tight space between cabinets. Rachel manages to get to her feet, but before she can attack, Jenni is swinging the hammer for her legs, claw side. She narrowly evades with a nasty slash, and then Jenni is stumbling to her feet, panting and laser focused.

“That sweater….that shit is so ugly.” Jenni huffs out, snatching an unbroken vase and immediately throwing it at Rachel, who sidesteps and charges Jenni again with a scream that bubbles up from her chest. 

And Jenni cracks a small smile, even as Rachel brings the cook’s knife down above her head and slams into Jenni, grappling once again. Smiles at the rush, the fear, even in the face of their equal inexperience fighting, she understands for a small moment. The hunt is exhilarating, it’s new, something she had been looking for when she became enamored with the mystery of Kevin.

She doesn’t smile when Rachel manages to slice open her shoulder by pounding the knife into the linoleum countertop. The immediate searing pain makes her hiss, erupting into a pained shout. Not the intended target, so Rachel retries, aiming for Jenni’s face. Fuck. 

It concludes like this:

By the time Kevin manages to get a glove between the wire and the mutilated skin of his neck, there’s large, black dots swimming in his vision. He’s moving on autopilot, pure survival as he leans forward, wires slicing into the thick leather but not enough to reach flesh. Tristian seethes at losing grip, being dragged forward. He shifts his stance, planting a foot forward and edging closer as he wraps the wire around his gloves, leaning his full weight back.

“Stay down! Stay fucking down!! I’ve got you, you fuckin-” He doesn’t finish, as Kevin had leaned and shifted enough between yanking Tristian forward and the wire adjustment to grab him by the ankle. His grip is sure and with a grunt of effort swings him around bodily. Trisitan barely makes a noise as he scrapes along the floor and connects with the support beam opposite of Kevin, practically caving his chest in with a loud crunch. 

Kevin takes a minute to properly get air into his burning lungs, tossing the garotte aside in disgust. It’s like boiling from the inside out, his skin sloughing off from how his adrenaline is fueling his rage. He stands slowly, properly dazed and wheezing between each breath, nevertheless stalking over to Tristian, who has yet to catch a breath through cracked ribs. Kevin rips the cardigan from around his neck, an ugly green thing, and wraps it around Tristians neck twice without a fight. Stomping down on his upper back, Kevin draws the cardigan taut, to the point of fibers snapping and stretching. He listens to Tristian flounder and struggle, clawing at the concrete as Kevin pulls tighter, fists digging into the fabric until his knuckles creak. Tristians head is lifted off the ground with the appearance of a gaping fish. And yet, despite the immense pain and lack of oxygen, heaving gasps mixed with blood, he continues pulling. Past the purpling of skin, bulging eyes, until he hears a sick, wet snap. Kevin holds a few more moments, just for good measure before dropping the ruined cardigan and Tristians broken neck to the floor. 

After several crackling, painful breaths, Kevin vomits bile and blood, just barely missing Tristians body.

_________________________________________________________________________

The hammer clatters to the floor, lost due to a lucky, yet uncoordinated, deep slice through the hand. Jenni is grinding her teeth down in a half scream, torn between trying to kick her feet out and keeping the knife from pressing into her chest. Rachel bares down her weight as she clutches the knife in both hands, expression grim yet frantic, determined to bury it in Jenni’s chest.

“Let it go, pig.” Rachel hisses down at Jenni, resting the pointed blade over her heart. 

Jenni, instead, spits directly into Rachels eye at the insult; a moment, an opening when she flinches back, allowing Jenni the chance to kick with everything left in her, feeling a couple Rachels ribs give under her boots at the impact. Down she goes with a shriek, clutching her side but never releasing her grip on the knife. Jenni is steadily kicking out, dragging herself across the counter to a corner, towards a large bottle she couldn’t reach. All she can think and pray about is bleach bleach bleach, something to burn, something to put distance between them.

In a flash, Jenni is dumping the contents of the bottle over Rachel, throwing it at her head, then jumping over the edge of the counter to root around the floor for something new and sharp. Rachel starts screaming bloody murder, true guttural screeching that makes Jenni cautiously peek around the corner, a large serrated blade in hand. She witnesses Rachel smoking and melting before her eyes, the bottle which she now identifies as sulfuric acid drain cleaner rolling towards her from where Rachel writhes and claws at her bloodied, mushy face. The kitchen knife she wields occasionally stabbing out into the air as she bashes around between cabinets. It’s like watching something from out of this fucking world, it hits Jenni in a part not yet hardened. Mere moments, brief and inconsequential, the urge to survive conquers all.

Jenni knows she has the upper hand now, watching what’s left of Rachel's eyes bulge and melt from her skull. But the upper hand doesn’t come with a well thought out plan of attack, evidenced by how Jenni rushes in to stab wildly, half collapsing on top of Rachel. A horrible idea honestly, the open wound in Jenni’s hand immediately burning from contact with the acid, Rachel’s uncoordinated jabs and peeling skin made it difficult for Jenni to get a grip on her attacking hand. It all deteriorates, exhilaration quickly fizzles out into exhaustion and nausea, pain ebbing sharply at the edges; Jenni is searching for a way to end this and it comes with a hail mary stab into Rachels neck.

Arterial spray arcs and drenches Jenni, ruining her already damp and chemical burned shirt. She tries to pull the blade out but further rips it through skin and tendon due to its serrated nature, leaving it partially sawed into Rachel’s trachea. And there Jenni sits, straddled over Rachels still warm, twitching, clutching corpse, inner thighs starting to burn from the acid eating into her stockings. Adrenaline slowly, slowly fades, Jenni knocks the corpse's hands off her and gingerly makes her way to the sink to rinse off the still burning wound in her hand. She takes a minute to lean  her arms against the counter, head down, square breathing, out, hold, in, hold. Kevin made sure she-

“Fuck.” He never came back up. Through all that shit, Kevin didn’t make a reappearance. Her heart sinks, and then her stomach drops when she hears the thump-shuffle of someone coming up the basement stairs. She starts opening the drawers closest to her, searching for something new, something sharp. She’s met with garbage and broken bullshit and deep dread, slamming and opening new drawers to rifle through frantically. Until, she sees it shining up to her from layers of craft paper and old food. A revolver, smooth and sleek, the weight of it foreign in Jenni’s hands.

The footsteps seem to echo throughout the house now, a countdown until confrontation. She limps until she’s standing in front of the basement door, drawing back the hammer like she’s seen on T.V until it clicks, then points the barrel to the door. Heart pounding in her ears, everything that isn’t the door dissolves from Jenni’s sight. Square breathing, in, hold, out, hold, pain in her side, legs shaking, in, hold,out, hold-

The door swings open abruptly, revealing Kevin looking worse for wear with a body slung over his shoulder. For all his troubles, he's greeted by the barrel of a gun and a deafening click.

“-God! Sorry, Fuck, oh my god!!”  Jenni is doubling over, mouth covered in shock. She almost blew a hole in him, jesus christ. What the fuck would she have done then? She just keeps rewinding it in her mind making panicked little sounds. 

“I’m sorry oh my god, I didn’t know it was you… I almost shot you.” The words tumble out her mouth, voice trembling because she was half a step to three dead bodies.

She can’t comprehend the weird face he makes at that, a slight incline of his head. Kevin, seemingly unphased by it all, steps into the kitchen to survey the carnage. His eyes sweep over Rachel’s mutilated corpse, regarding the knife sticking out of her throat.  Her work was far from efficient or thought out, but she survived at any cost and even ensured the woman was good and dead. Overkill, maybe, but imagining what Jenni endured and eventually conquered without him stirs something warm within. A start to something that will consume.

And this is how it boils over:

He takes a minute to stare at Jenni with something she can’t place in his eyes.

She tries to focus on the drying tear tracks running down his face or what is absolutely his own blood staining the front of his thermal. But her heart is still jackhammering and he’s pinning her with some dark intent until he speaks.

“Wouldn’t've minded if you did. Grab her. Over here.” she winces at the state of his voice, grating every word out had to be painful. She quickly gathers Rachels corpse up to drag her by the feet to a nearby room,every ache and pain making itself present in the short walk backwards. She gracelessly piles Rachel atop Tristan's relative clean body, glancing away from how his neck bends up and out at a sickening angle. She’d never seen skin turn that color before.

No time to dwell as Kevin is gentling her towards the bed to take a seat next to him, intent on checking for serious injuries. The blood caking her skin and clothes has started to dry, Kevins’s fingers dragging through it as he holds her face. The reverence in his gaze is missed by Jenni as she’s now close enough to see how his throat was torn to ribbons. 

“Fuck, dude..” she grimaces, taking his face in hand instead. She tries to be ginger as she observes the extent of the lacerations, sluggishly oozing blood.

“I think this needs stitches…We need to wrap it the hell up, like now.” 

Kevin huffs out a laugh of all things, leaving Jenni bewildered at his nonchalance. 

“Your throat is open-”

“I think the blood brings out your eyes.” His turn to wince at his voice. But it works at deflating Jenni, brows drawn tight in concern and exasperation. Kevin knows its fondness in disguise. 

“I should've sent you to hell.” It earns her a little smile and a signed ‘not yet’. He’s then wrapping her damaged hand in a mix of gauze and fabric tightly and asking a question of his own.

 “‘er face?” referring to Rachel.

“...oh, yeah, uh, I threw the drain cleaner on her.” She states plainly. “ Wouldnt fuck off.”

Full lips press against her the skin of her wrist, then her forehead, gloved yet warm hands cradling her jaw. She watches him lick Rachel’s blood off his lips before kissing her.

“ᑲᑕᐊᐧᓯᓯᐣ. I’m proud of you.” The low whisper hits Jenni like lightning, right between the eyes and zipping up and down her spine. The earnest praise quickly wraps her in a heady cloud of wanting more, more praise, more compliments, more of being kissed properly. Rational thought falls out the bottom, the taste of blood in her mouth be damned. 

She pulls back from him, open mouth slick with a mixture of fluids ranging from sweetly acrid to pure copper. “What does that mean? Say it again.” There's a hoarse 

edge of pleading to her voice that she’ll be embarrassed about at a later date. For now, she watches Kevin remove his gloves, one with his hand and another with his teeth, hands pristine until he clutches her. It reminds her briefly of how Rachel clawed at her in the final moments. In contrast, his hands roam, tugging at ruined clothing and pressing into her. His eyes glint with amber hunger and pride, pushing the meaning of that word and many more into her mouth with his tongue. Her understanding is instant, moaning in delight between the taste and smell of blood, the deep forest, winding her hands through the curls of his hair. She begs between heated breaths to understand more, hear more, more, more, more. Kevin wants nothing more than to give, ruining what’s left of her clothes and drowning her in praise.

 (ok stopping here for now uhmmmm teehee)

 (ᑲᑕᐊᐧᓯᓯᐣ = katawasisin = it looks beautiful)

(ok stopping here for now uhmmmm teehee, I'll update later when I have all the sex bits written out)