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

It opens like this:

Kevin and Jenni arrive at Tristian's 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, its initially quiet and trashed, smelling of death and grease. 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 informs Jenni, reminding her to stay put and be vigilant as he goes to inspect. He descends into the dimly lit basement as Jenni does a cursory look around. 

It escalates like this:

Kevin approaches the bound body lying on the ground cautiously. The black plastic bag over its head pulling in with each noisy, wet inhale and blowing out with a painful moan, the buzzing of yellowed cracked LEDs above filling the brief silence between breaths. It’s 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, the body 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. His hackles raise; something is 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, there's 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 taught 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-” Tristian's 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 turns the corner into the kitchen from the living room, looking confused and a bit disheveled. Jenni bristles initially, breath caught in her throat from initial panic. But she quickly recovers, shifting to concern. “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 hitting the edge of a counter in her haste to put distance between them. Her fight response is slow on the come up but eventually sharpens her reactions as she begins throwing anything she can grab on the kitchen counters at the woman who steadily approaches. Dishes, mixing bowls,  The air is cloying as Jenni curses at her - now recognizing her as Rachel - taking a moment to steady 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!” She brings 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, hissing at the pain. Jenni’s thoughts clouded her for a moment, just enough for Rachel to pin her back against the counter and fight past Jenni’s grip on her arm to stab down. 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 shifted enough between yanking Tristian forward and the wire adjustment to grab him by the ankle, pull, and swing him bodily around. Tristian barely makes a noise as he scrapes along the floor and connects with the support beam opposite of Kevin, practically caving his chest in. 

Kevin takes a minute to properly get air into his burning lungs, tossing the garotte aside in disgust. 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 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 and harder, until Tristians head is lifted off the ground. 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 Tristian's broken neck to the floor.

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

_________________________________________________________________________

The hammer clatters to the floor, lost due to a lucky yet uncoordinated yet deep slice through the hand from Rachel. 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 steady kicking out, dragging herself across the counter to a corner, towards a large bottle she couldn’t reach. All she can think about is bleach, bleach, bleach, something to burn, something to put distance between them.

In a flash, Jenni is dumping the contents for 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. 

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 sloughing skin made it difficult for Jenni to get a grip on her attacking hand. It all deteriorates into pain, exhilaration quickly turning into exhaustion and nausea; 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 knocking the corpses hands off her and gingerly making her way to the sink to rinse off the still burning wound in her hand. She takes a moment to lean against the counter, head down, square breathing, out, hold, in, hold. Kevin made sure she-

“Fuck.” He never came back up. Through all the banging and screaming, 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, 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, reflecting Jenni’s dread, 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 the deafening click of an unloaded gun.

“-God! Sorry, Fuck, oh my god!!”  Jenni is doubling over, mouth covered in shock. She almost blew a hole in him, Jesus Christ. 

Kevin, seemingly unphased, 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:

Kevin stares 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 he’s pinning her with some dark intent until he speaks.

“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 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. Before she can even ask, he’s 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. “ Wouldn't fuck off.”

Full lips press against her forehead, gloved yet warm hands cradling her jaw. 

“I'm glad you survived. ᑲᑕᐊᐧᓯᓯᐣ, incredible, I’m proud of you.” His words, hushed and hoarse, hit 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.” Theres an 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.

 (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)