Jul 3
A caregiver who murders a disabled person is not "poor and pitiable"
That is a murderer.
seen from Brazil
seen from Netherlands
seen from Australia
seen from Maldives
seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from Denmark
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Belgium
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
A caregiver who murders a disabled person is not "poor and pitiable"
That is a murderer.
Vampires SMP Swap AU
Less messy exploration of that starter vampires swap AU I was pondering about earlier ago! Featuring this AU's starting Coven members; Dr. Legundo and Avid, as well as human Scott Goldsmith, Owen, annnddd Shelby (she's basically in Drift's place here)
Bulleted AU Lore beneath the cut:
Avid is in place of Scott, so he is the Coven's leader; buuuttt it's a lot less stable because Avid is not a professional gaslighter like Mr. Goldsmith (though, he does pull the "I know exactly how you feel 🥺" card a lot...)
Avid's sire is Elle! In this AU she actually was a vampire and Avid didn't kill her right aware because she wasn't feral. They got to do their little experiments for a bit and at some point Avid's injury from childhood flared up and he had to ask Elle to turn him like he did with Shelby in the actual series. They never found that cure, but another group of monster hunters did show up and kill Elle and proceed to bury Avid in a hole for 200 years!!! Yippee!!
Still trying to decide the specifics on who turned the Doctor in this AU, but it was during the war and after he started doing medicine. After he turned he was used by the military as a weapon of mass destruction (higher kill count yay!!!) and came to the conclusion that the common denominator in every world conflict is - you guessed it! - humanity! So now after escaping he's trying to find a way to mass turn humans into vampires. Hence why he's in Oakhurst. Wasn't trapped there like the others, just showed up looking for a place to set up shop and do illegal medicine. Nothing to see here.
It's hard to tell in the pictures, but I think all of his teeth would be sharp, like a shark's instead of the normal fangs. I like the idea that there's more than three stages of vampirism, but you change irreversibly after a certain amount of blood consumed. You know, the amount you would get after shredding countless lives on the battlefield.
Scott's some spoiled rich kid from the Capital. Like, the "my parents have never even conceived of telling me no" kind of spoiled rich. And with his infinite money he basically exhausted every way of entertaining himself, and has somehow gotten bored enough to leave high society in favor of an abandoned town in the middle of the woods. Awesome.
He still terrorizes Avid in this AU. Doesn't matter that he's human and Avid isn't. Oh, and despite not initially believing in vampires, he's one of the ones pushing the rumors about them being in Oakhurst (he thinks it's funny).
Owen!!! Louis is human in this AU, but he was still the mayor of a town, just not Oakhurst. Still got killed after being framed, and ooohhh boy does that break Owen. But this time he doesn't have an unbridled hatred for humans. I mean, sure, the people who killed his lover were human. But so was Louis.
He has a similar dynamic with the Doctor here that he does in the actual series. Definitely DOES NOT want humanity to be "cured" the way Legs wants to. Vampires may not be humans, but killing people is still killing people. People that maybe have an Owen of their own who'd feel just like he does if they lost their Louis. Does that make sense? I don't know if it does.
I'm actually not sure if I'm going to change the backstories of the others. Cause like. They still work pretty well in the story. It's just their current arc that changes. Like Shelby can still be hunting bigfoot while being the Drift to Scott's Avid. But Idk.
Sorry if this was a lot. I'm on the hyper fixation train was we can all see. Tell me if you wanna here more, cause that's all for now!!
Uh-oh- you’ve been murdered! What detective archetype do you want on the case?
* cowboy cop who doesn’t play by the rules
* deceptively sweet looking old person
* eccentric noble/wealthy person
* edge lord haxxer
* grizzled noir PI who can’t let go
* intrepid reporter
* gay and/or neurodivergent consultant
* Omni disciplined academic
* Spunky meddling teenagers
* just some guy TM
* someone else
* see result
Uh-oh- you’ve been murdered! What detective archetype do you want on the case?
cowboy cop who doesn’t play by the rules
deceptively sweet looking old person
eccentric noble/wealthy person
edge lord haxxer
grizzled noir PI who can’t let go
intrepid reporter
gay and/or neurodivergent consultant
Omni disciplined academic
Spunky meddling teenagers
just some guy TM
someone else
see results
" I'm doing this beacuse I love you"
minted (explicit) | myg
title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here
—
—
Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked.
Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind.
And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst.
Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself.
But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat.
All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.
But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.
And today is no different.
You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks.
If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.
When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.
Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits.
It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.
Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans.
Another day. Another exchange.
In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.
After a while, you do try talking to him.
Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is.
One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house.
“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away.
When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.
Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.
“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.”
He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,
“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.”
When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly.
“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off.
Well.
Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.
Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart.
From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers.
You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together.
Taboo, even.
But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just…
“You always stare this long?”
Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”
To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”
“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span.
Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag.
Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day.
But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”
“Didn’t choose these.”
Ah. Way to assume things.
Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.
But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall.
“What.”
“I worry sometimes.”
His gaze lifts. “About me?”
“Yeah.”
You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to?
Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.
Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.”
Someone like him? What does that mean?
Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.
You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.”
Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.”
“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday.
These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest.
It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.
“Here they come!”
“Bunch of idiots this time.”
“What do you mean this time?”
Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.
After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact.
And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets.
Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.
Here it goes again.
As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.
No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—
Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.
Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”
“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”
“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”
Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.
More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter.
Then it’s done.
After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street.
“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans.
Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?”
Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too.
A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.
“You should find another place to sell, dear.”
In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?”
“Don’t underestimate your elders now.”
“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”
“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.
If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead.
At least they seem to be more fair.
After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought.
Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point.
Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.
Still so odd…
But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return.
Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.
By none other than your favorite set of hands.
What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand.
Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—”
“Course I don’t.”
That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again?
Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”
With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again.
What the hell is up with today?
Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now?
Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too.
Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.
Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first.
Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.
Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously.
You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached.
It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.”
You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.
Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time?
Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street.
It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.
When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.
Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.
Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.
Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.
God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.
“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”
“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.”
Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.”
Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one.
Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.”
He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence.
But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home?
Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.”
He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences.
“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.”
Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over?
His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.”
Ah.
This version of him is not good for you at all.
When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!”
Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk.
What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting.
And he looks impatient as hell.
Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived.
Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?”
Silence has never been so booming.
In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second.
Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question?
Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks.
After a condescending puff, he only smirks.
Then he takes one step. And another. And another.
The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it.
Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.”
Oh.
Why did… you kinda like that?
Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.”
This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence,
“Always took you for a good girl.”
Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.
Yoongi.
For a hardened soul, his name is so…
Tender.
For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once.
But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi.
As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.
The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.
“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right.
Left seems promising.
You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for.
It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared.
Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.
Find a meal.
Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.
A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.
But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby.
What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.
After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance.
Always facing the entrance.
Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out.
The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form.
With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down.
Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed.
But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months.
Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth.
At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the…
Ambiance.
Wait.
Dragons. A lot of them.
You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal.
But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass.
…Yoongi?
His jacket. The colors.
He’s in Dragon?
Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.
As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge.
Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere.
So what the hell is Dragon doing here?
From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers.
Hold on, what—
“What are you—”
A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past.
All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke.
And just like that, your reunion is over.
Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—
A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling.
Shit.
Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company.
Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often?
Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.
Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time.
Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here?
With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side.
Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase.
Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.
But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win.
Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful.
Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.
Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.
An inhale.
Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.
This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.
Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.
Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.
And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on?
Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—
Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.
But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.
Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?
You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.
He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight.
“Where’d they go?”
“Upstairs!”
Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now.
With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.
Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.
The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you.
What do you do? What even can you do?
Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance.
Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—
Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!”
It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.
Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—
Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.
“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.
Luckiest timing of your life.
“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!”
Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him.
Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do…
This one thing…
…
Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you.
And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck.
Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,
“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.”
“Excuse me?”
Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply,
“You shouldn’t be up here.”
What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?”
Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.
But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet.
“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.
But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward.
Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.
…Are you?
More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant.
God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now.
But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.”
Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”
“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.”
“I—I didn’t mean to—”
Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages.
You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill.
“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.”
Live with it. How poetic.
You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor.
“Are you coming or not?”
You’re gonna puke your guts out.
With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps.
Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling.
When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe.
The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs.
No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down?
Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same.
Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”
His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”
“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.”
Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
“Where’d he go?”
“It’s gone!”
Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.
As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now.
Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?”
He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit.
You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought.
This is going too well.
But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now.
Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.
But suddenly.
Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded.
And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,
“Looks like you’re in it now.”
Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime.
Yoongi’s right.
You’re in it now.
And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run.
You’re really doing this.
Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go.
At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.
Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”
Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front.
“Get back here!”
“You fuckers!”
Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?
When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns.
He’s grinning.
You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine.
And he’s… enjoying this?
You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—
You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees.
Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.
Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.
Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit.
Yoongi? He waited for you?
“Go!”
Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between.
An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.
Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck!
Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes.
Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face.
Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!
“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life.
Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no.
Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is—
Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd.
“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”
“You good?”
Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”
“Then keep up.”
Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.
If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.
Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside.
Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in.
And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear,
“Kiss me.”
“I said get out!”
“What?”
“Come here.”
You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—
“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.”
Oh.
You were just… Oh.
Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either.
“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”
You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”
What is he getting at you need to leave fast—
“Agust.”
…Huh?
Agust?
This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun.
When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight.
Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?
When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes.
And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever.
“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”
To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey.
“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”
Oh, fuck that.
Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.
He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck!
“You bastard—”
“You’ll live. Drive.”
“Fucking—fuck!”
The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.
He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day.
So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.
Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?
The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts.
Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory.
Did you both really make it this far?
Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do.
Rest. Sleep. Home.
With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three.
Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not.
“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.”
When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.”
“Just listen to me.”
“Why?”
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it,
“Good girl.”
And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right?
Right?
“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop.
That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—
Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it.
Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for?
Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up.
But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”
“Yeah—”
“Then get up. Get up.”
Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again.
What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all.
You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive.
Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district.
Han Station is a floating railway?
Holy shit, where are you?
Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head.
Oh.
The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—
Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward.
Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head.
You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?
“Come on!”
Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!
The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.
Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”
“No!”
“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”
Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore.
“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?
You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name!
“Agust!”
Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle.
He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”
After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt.
He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.
Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.
Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.
Just like that.
You made it out.
What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now.
Finally, finally, finally able to breathe.
But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.
As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection.
Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way.
You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,
“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”
But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry.
When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”
“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”
“Quiet.”
Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by.
Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time.
Your tangerines…
When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away.
No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal.
The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.
Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.
The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake.
“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.
Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.
Where are you now? Where are you getting off?
You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers.
But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.
You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.
“We’ll stay here.”
We? Stay?
“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.”
At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?”
“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.”
Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,
“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.”
Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.
Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.”
Mm.
After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow.
Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?
While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder.
This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have?
Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.
If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now.
Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust.
Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,
“Just wanted to.”
Your heart trips into the next beat.
On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.
And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.
Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train.
A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—”
“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.”
“Understood.”
Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling.
How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with?
…Who exactly did you save?
Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into.
Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman.
Right before sliding doors shut the world out.
—
—
⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist
a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ minted masterlist
Heathers (1988) dir. Michael Lehmann
[Part 1]
When Robert wakes up, it’s not somewhere he knows.
It’s not a warehouse. It’s not even a shitty basement. It’s actually a really nice room, but one he doesn’t recognize. He’s not even tied down, just laid on an extremely plush bed. He should be running, or something, but it’s so comfortable…
The event’s of last night pop into his head, and he’s up and running for the door.
It’s locked.
He feels around for the bobby pin he keeps behind his ear, nothing. He reaches for his belt, before realizing he’s in completely different clothes. A red sweater with a Harvard logo and black sweatpants with flame decals.
With nothing better to do, he studies his surroundings. There’s the bed, two nightstands on either side. One holds a dim lamp and a digital clock (the time reads 9:27 AM- how long was he out?), the other holding a bottle of painkillers and a class of water. There was a window covered with blackout curtains, a wardrobe, dresser, and vanity on the opposite wall next to a closet (whoever this room belonged to did not need that much clothing space). There was a door next to it that wasn’t locked and led into a bathroom.
Just where was he? What was his team’s plan? It couldn’t be holding him for ransom, SDN wouldn’t care about one dispatcher, especially one who gave them such a hard time. What was their angle?
Before he could question more, he heard the door being unlocked.
On instinct, he went to rush whoever was behind it and leave, but was held back by warm, strong arms.
“Not a good idea, Bobbo.” The familiar voice of Flambae made its way into his ear, and despite his better judgment he melted immediately. He doesn’t struggle when he’s sat on the bed again, a plate of warm pancakes and eggs sat on his lap.
Robert doesn’t touch them. “Flambae, what the fuck is happening right now?”
The former hero rolls his eyes. “Did you drink that much last night?” The bed dips beside him. “Well, you’re here so we can keep an eye on you. Who knows what could happen to a self-sacrificing normie like you when we’re not around?”
Robert does not like the implications of him being unable to defend himself.
“You know I’m more than capable-“
“No more conversation until you eat.”
Even after giving him his best ‘really?’ look, he doesn’t budge. So Robert sighs and digs into to the (extremely good) food in front of him.
As it turns out, all those things he noticed that he pushed aside? Yeah, he should’ve kept a closer eye on them.
The Z-team had apparently disappeared on him due to be threatened by a rising Red Ring copy. They didn’t want to put him in unnecessary danger (which was admittedly a sweet thought). They had been waiting for months for him to get out of the house and go somewhere they could easily access without arousing too much suspicion.
So now, Robert was locked in a room he didn’t know, in a house he didn’t recognize, not even sure they were still in Torrence, or even California.
But with nothing else to do, he waited.
Is it still considered Stockholm Syndrome if you were already in love before they kidnapped you?
Really, he shouldn’t still feel the way he did after they’ve kidnapped him and kept him locked up like a pet (speaking of pets, Malevola thankfully agreed to his request to have Beef with him- he wouldn’t be able to survive this without his dog). Even so, those stupid feelings are still there, and rapidly growing.
They don’t treat him like a prisoner, or a captive. They act like they’re guarding some precious artifact; and it really messes with Roberts head.
Eventually he’s allowed a TV in his room. He mostly watches the news, wondering if he’ll ever see his own face on the screen. All he sees though, is reports of a new vigilante-crime organization rising, calling themselves “The Ashes of Torrence”. It should freak him out, he should be disappointed- but all he can feel is pride (and maybe a dark sort of feeling forming in his heart, a growing obsession).
When they’re not out doing their vigilante shit, they’re in his room.
They bring him food, but they don’t feed him. They just eat with him. They’re not bringing food to a prisoner or a helpless child, just to someone they can’t risk letting outside.
He doesn’t have any of his old clothes, but clothes and accessories have been donated from the team. He doesn’t mind it really, especially when every piece smells like home.
Sometimes, late at night, the entire team will file into his room. Blood, smoke, and viscera covers the air (and sometimes their uniforms). He holds them on these nights, letting them feel his pulse, his heartbeat, his breathing. They need to know he’s alive.
A buried part of him starts rising to the surface, possessive. He’s the only one they get this way for. He was a fool for thinking they could ever replace him. They’ve been watching him like he’s a prize, protecting him like he’s a trophy. He should hate it, and maybe it does get much some days, but the truth is he starts to thrive.
TW, this next part is dark. Please be advised and read the tags. If you are uncomfortable, please do not read further.
There’s a report on the screen. A story about a higher up at SDN being found disemboweled at his desk. Specifically, the one who yelled at him when the Z-team was cut. Robert isn’t as scared as he thought he’d be. A sick look of pride graces his face. He had it coming, honestly.
Not even ten minutes later, the team portals into his room. There’s a box in Janelles hands, before being placed onto his lap. Robert has so, so many guesses on what could be inside as he opens it.
None of them are a bundle of organs.
Roberts world stops.
This is wrong.
They’re sick.
He should be screaming.
He should be asking them what’s wrong with them.
He should be doing anything, ANYTHING.
.
He smiles. A genuine, loving smile.
And then he laughs.
Not the low chuckle they’ve grown used to, nor the rare deep belly laugh they only hear on occasion. A maniacal laugh that would scare anyone else who wasn’t them, and even so they were mildly disturbed.
“You guys really shouldn’t have.”
Fracture, Maim, Kill.
yandere!slasher!floyd leech x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy relationship/behaviors, nsfw, non-con, gn for reader but afab anatomy is described, violence, murder, death, descriptions of blood/gore, multiple major character deaths, general slasher film vibes note - thank you to @peaches-and-pity-points for commissioning me!!
Beneath aluminum bleachers, you and Jade share a cigarette. You’re watching the basketball team run laps in the freezing cold not because it’s interesting but because you hate yourselves.
Or, more accurately, you want to understand what’s so appealing about the team you cheer for.
“They suck ass anyway,” you blurt, smoke curling out from glossy lips. “Haven’t won a single game.”
“How cruel of Coach Vargas to put them through additional punishment.”
A few boys start to slow down, their breath fogging out in big, heaving gasps. They snap back into pace when Vargas’s encouraging shouts—“If you stop now, it’ll be five sets of sit-ups for everyone here! You want to be strong like me, don’t you? Don’t give up now!”—sail across the field. A chorus of exhausted moans follows.
“Like that’s gonna help them. They’re still losing regardless of how many ice baths Coach wants ’em to do.”
“But is this not peak male performance?” Jade gestures at the boys struggling to stand on their frostbitten legs. “Aren’t you just charmed?”
“Peak suffering’s more like it. I’d kill myself if I had to do that every day in the dead of winter.” Snuggling deeper into your woolen scarf, you take another long drag from the cigarette. It warms your insides and tickles the back of your throat.
“NRC’s basketball team would weep like babies if they knew the captain of the cheer team had such little faith in them.”
“And for good reason. They’re trash.”
“Why not strip down to your uniform and give them a cheer? It’ll boost morale.”
You elbow him harshly. “You’re too cocky for someone in the plant club.”
“Actually,” Jade corrects, “it’s horticulture. We focus on the science of cultivating plants. Very different things, you see.”
You roll your eyes at his shit-eating grin. “Whatever.”
“Ahem.”
Standing there, bundled head to toe in winter wear and looking like a shrouded corpse, is Student Council President Rollo Flamme. His eyes are narrowed in scalding disapproval. Only Rollo could set you aflame in the middle of a harsh, unforgiving winter.
“Ah, Student Council President, to what do we owe the interruption to our terrific twosome?” Jade hums, angelic as ever.
“A terrible twosome, I should say.” His nose wrinkles and he holds his gloved hand out, as if he expects you to willingly relinquish the smoking cigarette. “Don’t you know it’s forbidden to smoke on school property?”
You and Jade slowly turn to look at one another, a mirror to the other’s faux surprise. Because you’re both assholes and your favorite pastime is greying Rollo’s already shock-white hair, you exaggerate your disbelief.
“Oh dear… I’m afraid we had no idea. I certainly didn’t know of such a rule. Did you?”
You shake your head. “Our bad, Prez. You wanna get in on this? There’s always room for you.”
“We’ve been over this before. I have a zero-tolerance policy for—”
“Yes, yes. No tolerance for us sinful lot who taint the good name of Night Raven College. I’m sure they were all about purity back at Noble Bell, but us ravens do things differently here.”
“Indeed we do. We subscribe to the universal rule of ‘it’s not a crime unless you’re caught’.”
“That is an abhorrent rule. Although I can hardly call it such when its existence is inspired by deluded nonsense.” He checks the watch on his wrist and frowns. “Not only are you smoking on school grounds, you’re skipping class to do so. I won’t say it again. Put that filth out and return inside with me. I’ll be bringing the two of you to Headmaster Crowley.”
Ugh. Why does he care so much? He’d place number one in a school spirit contest, the way he’s hellbent on policing campus and dick-riding the rules.
“Can’t you give us a break just this once?” you ask, sweetening your voice into something honeyed and cloying. Rising to your feet, you drop the cigarette and crush it underfoot before covering the distance to Rollo. “If you let us off the hook, I’ll give you the best blowjob of your life. I bet those were banned back at your fancy-schmancy school. Too bad, so sad. I’ll make sure to spoil you plenty to make up for that.” You throw your arms around him and add in a secretive whisper, “Well, how about it, Prez? We can warm up together in the student council office…”
He rips himself out of your embrace. “You villain, have you no shame? You’ll be coming with me and that’s final.” He seizes your arm and drags you out from the bleachers.
“No one’s cumming with that killjoy attitude,” you grumble, dragging your feet.
“That goes for you as well, Jade Leech,” Rollo adds.
“Dear me. And here I thought you were going to have plenty of fun with (Name) in my stead that you’d forget all about me.”
“Now, Jade.”
“If you insist.” He falls into step beside you, speaking at a volume that disregards Rollo’s presence entirely. “I suppose that wasn’t enough to butter his bread. A pity.”
As you’re led across the frozen grounds, the basketball team glances your way. Floyd breaks out into a cackle at the sight of too-tall Jade following submissively after you and Rollo. Ace salutes out of solidarity (or relief that it’s not him on the receiving end of Rollo’s puritanical madness).
“I should hope you’ll learn from your mistakes, but seeing as we do this every other week… Clearly you have not.”
“Oh em gee, you think about me?”
“And he doesn’t even make you pay rent. How generous,” Jade says, snickering to himself.
Rollo opens his mouth to argue and then shuts it, choosing the pacifist route instead. “I greatly anticipate the coming holiday. A break from the both of you will do wonders for myself and the school.”
“Our reputation precedes us.”
“For all the wrong reasons.”
“That’s kinda the point. Gotta make a name for ourselves before graduation.”
Rollo dumps the both of you off at the Headmaster’s office. Just before he departs, you waggle your fingers at him and say, “Have a relaxing break, Prez. You know you can always text me.”
He doesn’t fall for the obvious hook you’re attempting to sink into his heart. “You would do well to read up on social etiquette,” he says, turning on his heel. “Your lack of decorum is as apparent as the blue in the sky.”
“Actually, it’s currently grey outside,” Jade oh-so-helpfully adds, but Rollo doesn’t fall for that one either.
“We’ll get him next time.”
“I have every amount of confidence in us,” Jade agrees with a stoic nod. “I believe we’re due to place him after this encounter.”
“I’m not sure…”
“Hmm.” You know it’s time to play your favorite morbid game whenever he has that glint in his eyes. “How about this line-up? Fracture, Maim, Kill: Rollo Flamme, Ace Trappola, and Floyd Leech.”
“First of all, I’m not touching your brother. Not even with a pole. He’d kick my ass if I even tried to break one of his bones, so that’s an automatic fuck no from me.”
“Aw. And I was so eager to hear the killer scenario you’d place him in.”
You roll your eyes and give him a shove. “Swap him out. He’s a no-go.”
“Very well. How about…” Jade rifles in his messenger bag and withdraws the sacred text: The FMK List, a detailed record of every Night Raven College student and where they fall within your ranking of how easy or hard they’d be to kill. Flipping a few pages, he lands on a name at random. “Ah, here we are. Sebek Zigvolt. He’s a tough one.”
“They all are. Oh, I forgot to tell you.” You lean in to share the steaming-hot goss with your delinquent-in-arms. “Rumor has it Rollo’s not so pristine. That’s the whole reason he’s here—transferred all the way to NRC to get away from whatever trouble he caused back at his old school.”
“So he’s a criminal?”
“How else do you get kicked outta school?”
“I suppose it’s not too far out from the realm of possibility. He is rather high-strung.” Jade grins, his face hot with excitement. “If we push him to the brink, do you think he’ll do to us whatever got him expelled in the first place?”
“Oh, sure. He’ll kill you, you four-eyed freak. I, on the other hand, will be kept alive because I’ve chewed my way into his stomach like a tapeworm. After all, the way to a guy’s heart is through his intestinal tract. Anyway, we could spend forever wondering what his crimes are. If the rumors are true, then he’s gotta be the type who fights it until the end. So I’ll go with maim.”
“Is that right? Interesting choice.” Jade clicks his mushroom pen and scribbles a few lines in his notebook. “And what of Sebek and Ace?”
“Sebek’s strong, too. Ace is…Ace. I guess I’d kill Sebek and fracture Ace. Or…wait, no. Sebek’s never really caused any problems for me. I guess I’ll fracture him. But Ace… He’s such an ass. He can die or whatever.”
“How ruthless.”
“What about you? How’re you ranking ’em?”
“Simple: I would kill Rollo, maim Sebek, and fracture Ace.”
“Not bad. Your reason?”
“Ace and Sebek carry with them a certain sense of pride. It’d be fun to stamp it out.”
“And Rollo doesn’t?”
“Oh, I’m sure he does. But he’s something of a lamb to me. We should put him out of his misery instead.”
“Feels like your thesis needs more work, man. I’m not really seeing the vision.”
“Then it’s a good thing winter break is coming up.”
“Don’t even remind me. My folks are gonna be out of town for their anniversary trip. I’ll be all alone.” You press your ear to the wall and listen. When it becomes clear that Crowley isn’t even in office to address your misbehavior, you motion for Jade to follow you down the hall. You’ll hide out in the library until the end of class. “And it feels like everyone else has big plans. I’ve got nothing. Can’t even throw a house party because who’s gonna be here for that?”
“In that case, you should spend the break with Floyd and me. Our mother has gotten us an in at the new ski resort that’s set to open next month.”
Your gait slows to take in this information. “That place is supposed to be uber-expensive and it’s not even available to the public yet. You’re telling me your mom got you ‘an in’ there? How is that even possible?”
“She and my father have something of a vast network.”
“Doing what?”
“It’s nothing extraordinary, really. Just business.” He holds the door open for you, inviting you into the comfortable silence of the library.
“Something tells me I should stop asking questions…”
“That would be wise.”
“And this is legit?”
“Very.” Jade then exaggerates a long sigh, his lips twisting into a mournful pout. “You must come. It just won’t be the same without my favorite fiend.”
“Like I had any other plans. Best fiends or not, you know I’m coming.”
“I’m certain it’ll be a very memorable trip.”
That was what Jade said, but two weeks later you’re high up in the mountains and standing in the resort’s lobby with a colorful cast of characters. The twins are here, of course, but then Ace, Sebek, and Rollo have apparently wormed their way into the group as well.
You yank Jade down to whisper in his ear. “Hey, quick fiend to fiend… What the fuck?”
“I figured it would be more entertaining this way. Now it’ll feel like a true party.”
“And you invited NRC’s resident narc? Are you serious?”
“You are rather fond of him, are you not? I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“In what world would I ever fuck him?”
“In what world would you ever fuck anyone?” he retorts, grinning behind a fan of his lithe fingers. “I pity you, oh, hopeless virgin.”
You shove him so hard he stumbles. When Jade invited you, you were under the impression you’d be joining him and Floyd. That’s why you made sure to pack all your best outfits for the week. If you’re going to be in pictures with the Leech twins, you need to look your best. No brag without appropriate swag.
Even though you’re bundled up to your throat, you’re overwhelmed with the sensation that you’ve been stripped bare, skinned down to your very bones. And it’s all because of that rotten Rollo Flamme! You weren’t planning to see him until next year—literally! World peace could’ve been achieved in the time you were apart.
Unfortunately, the world has gone to shit. All because Jade loves his laughs.
“I understand Ace being here. Basketball team correlation. But why are you guys here?”
Sebek folds his arms across his chest and huffs. “Let it be known that I have no intention of gallivanting recklessly with you party people. I’m only here to train. The snowy mountains are the best for that. It’s paramount to build proper resistance and strength in all conditions, especially those of particular harshness. This resort merely offers convenient amenities in between.”
“So you’re just here for the grind. Makes sense.” You turn your finger on Rollo next. “And you?”
Floyd’s arm is around you next. When he leans half his weight on you, you’re given a whiff of his cologne. Bright and tropical, it’s better suited for a sandy beach than the mountains, and you almost wish that’s where you were. “Jade ’n I thought it’d be funny to invite him along. Didn’t think he’d actually show up.”
“Because you sent a car to my house!” Rollo protests, scowling behind his handkerchief. The same handkerchief you and Jade immaturely call the wank cloth. “I could scarcely get a word in before the driver was instructing me to get inside. It felt dubiously cordial. More threat than anything.”
“Way to go, Prez. You went and got yourself kidnapped.” You shrug Floyd off, who giggles at your remark and Rollo’s scandalized gasp, and direct your attention to Ace next. “And I guess you’re just easy as a breeze, yeah?”
“And you’re not? Dude, this is a one-way ticket to swanky greatness!” He throws his arms up and gestures in sweeping fluidity at the finely furnished lobby. The receptionist behind the desk smiles patiently. “A whole brand-freaking-new resort to ourselves… And at no expense whatsoever. Of course I’m gonna take advantage of that! You’re telling me you wouldn’t?” But then he catches Jade and Floyd leering and he quickly adjusts for his audience. “I mean, I’m super grateful to be here. Thanks again for the opportunity. Appreciate it.” Chuckling boyishly, he fixes his hands into a heart and winks.
“That’s nothing compared to my plans,” Sebek says, though his tone is considerably louder than everyone combined. “Your gratitude is hollow, but I plan to make full use of this opportunity. It’s only right, seeing as I’m a guest at this establishment.”
“I would much prefer to go home.”
“For once, I’ve gotta agree with Bible Study. It’s so not the moves if we’re gonna be stuck in Miseryville: population me.”
“Whaaat? Don’t be like that.” Floyd slinks over to drag both of you into his orbit. “Stay and have a good time. You’ll like it, I promise.”
“Well, I think this is a delightful ensemble we’ve got, dysfunction and all. Shall we proceed to our rooms?” Jade spreads the envelopes containing the door keys like they’re a royal flush. “You never know if you’ll like it until you try it.” He slides a marked envelope into your unwilling hand.
“I have,” you grumble, allowing Floyd to pilot you and a begrudging Rollo towards the lift. “And he’s the number one hater of all things fun and exciting.”
Rollo scoffs. “I’ll have you know I’m capable of having fun.”
“Yeah, right. Your idea of that is getting home hours before curfew and watching ice melt or some other boring shit.”
“It’s certainly more respectable than the lawless idiocy you indulge in,” he snaps back, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Back in my hometown, we put on a masked festival every year. That might suit your definition of fun, for the record.”
“Like you’d ever actively participate in something like that.”
“C’mon, play nice,” Floyd interjects, giving the both of you warning squeezes.
“Not like I’d know anything about it. I’ve never been to your hometown. Flowerville, was it?”
Rollo deigns to respond to that, but only to correct you. “It’s the City of Flowers. You ought to visit sometime.”
It’s phrased almost like an invitation. As if he intends to tack “I’ll show you around” at the end of it. You cringe at the idea that he’d ever ask you on a date, much less a tour of his home city.
“Hee-hee. Don’t be so mean to each other. Else you’ll never enjoy your time here.” Floyd pats the both of you on the back and shoves you onwards.
Miffed to not have gotten the last word in, you decide he’s not worth your breath. At the very least, you can survive one more week with him. Then the rest of your winter break will be free of cold-hearted student council presidents.
The lot of you pile into the lift, with Sebek scoffing at your and Rollo’s silent treatment. “Childish,” he says. You roll your eyes and dig your phone out of your bag to check the internet connection here. As expected, it’s piss-poor because you’re not yet keyed into the resort’s network.
“Our mother has taken the liberty of booking individual rooms for each of us,” Jade explains once everyone has been spat out of the lift doors. “Sebek, Ace, and Floyd will reside on this floor in rooms 301, 302, and 303. The fourth floor is for Rollo, (Name), and me. Rooms 402, 403, and 404 respectively.”
“Why separate us between two floors? It’s asinine,” Sebek says.
“There’s plenty of space. Why not make use of it?”
“Don’tcha wanna explore? Can’t do that if we’re all cramped together.” Floyd pulls his card from his envelope with ease. “And it’s more interesting that way. Gives everyone a li’l freedom.”
“I don’t see how or why any of that is necessary if we’re going to be on our own anyway.” Sebek shakes his head.
“You won’t find me complaining. Let’s open this room up and see what we’re working with!” Ace glides past you to his room—302—and places the card right along the sensor. It flashes green and a happy click resounds before the door opens.
“Let’s take the next hour to get settled and unpacked. After that, we’ll meet for lunch and then go skiing. Make sure to dress warm,” Jade explains.
They file into their rooms, doors shutting behind them. Jade turns to you and Rollo and claps his hands. Any longer and that halo of his will start to crack, revealing the scheming devil beneath. Best not to give him more ammo than he already has.
“Now then, shall we be on our way?”
With that, you ride the lift to the next floor and beeline for Room 403. Rollo seems to share the sentiment, and for once it’s the singular thing you have in common.
It could be worse, you remind yourself, stepping into the cozy room. Think positive. Like hell I’m gonna let that loser ruin my winter break!
You drop your suitcase at the foot of the bed, shrug off your winter wear, and take in the tidy surroundings. It smells sterile in here—that tell-tale new something scent that all things have before they’re inevitably tarnished by time. From the basic landscape paintings, each one framed in silver portraits, to the patternless bedspread, there’s something about this clean, minimalistic aesthetic that feels out of place on these vast mountains. Upon pulling the curtains aside, you’re met with a stunning view of the sprawling, snow-topped peaks. It reminds you of a winter wonderland dusted with confectioner’s sugar.
Yeah, I definitely need to eat something.
Digging through your bag, you retrieve a granola bar and hope that will be enough to keep you sane until lunch. You spend the next hour struggling to connect to the Wi-Fi, staring out your window like a forlorn spouse missing their long-distance darling, and making sheet angels on the duvet. Time whittles down and, finally, someone knocks on your door.
You’re not expecting anyone, so it genuinely surprises you to find Rollo standing there.
“What do you want?”
He wrinkles his nose at your monotone. “I…would like to make amends.”
“Ooh, yuck. Sounds like you really had to force that out. Why?”
“Seeing as we’re not on school grounds and this is winter break—an affair entirely separate from academic business—I would like to extend my hand in a truce of sorts.”
“Again, why? If you’re not here to swap spit, then I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Is it not plain as day? I wish to find some actual peace during this week. Whatever it takes to ensure we can spend one week without hurling insults at each other. Which, for the record, is something you do far more than I.”
“Oh, you just think you’re sooo righteous with your little olive branch of friendship, don’t you?” Rolling your eyes, you bark out a harsh laugh. “I’ve got an even better proposal. We survive this week, we don’t speak again after this, and when we see each other at school we walk the other way. How about it? I’ll stay out of your receding hair if you stay out of my dazzling hair. Which, for the record, is something you could choose to focus on if you wanna look more approachable, you miserable ice demon.”
“Ha!” Rollo smiles coldly. “You’re impossible.”
“Don’t you realize life’s so much smoother when you’re not being a spoilsport all the time?” Allowing those words to hang in the air, you disappear inside the room to gather the essentials needed for skiing.
“Do you really think it brings me any shred of satisfaction to intrude upon your life?”
“I don’t know—maybe!” You glimpse yourself in the mirror and decide a last minute touch-up on your makeup will help. “Sometimes I think you like bothering me and Jade.” You pucker your lips and apply a new coat of glitter gloss.
“There’s a very simple solution to all of this that you appear to be overlooking.” And then his voice goes sly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you do this solely to earn a scolding from me. Surely not, yes?”
“Dream on!” You twist the cap onto your lip gloss tube and pretend it’s his neck. “It’s, like, hilarious you think you take up that much space in my head.”
“How you cherish me so,” he replies flatly, frowning. “Well, this was a waste of time. Conversations with you continue to prove pointlessly unproductive”
You pat and blend blush into your cheeks and then grab the rest of your winter stuff. “Listen, dictionary. While we’re here, let’s promise to be neutral. And then we can go back to hating each other’s guts. That sound good?”
“I suppose I can agree to that.” He extends his hand. “Shall we shake on it?”
You grip his hand and give it a firm, determined shake. “Starting right now, we’re friends.”
“Friends with you? What layer of Hell have I found myself in?” He squeezes your hand like he intends to crush it.
“Violence.” Your hand slides out of his with ease, and you pat him on the back. He grimaces. “Believe me, the feeling is very much mutual.”
Minutes later, you meet up with Jade and together the three of you make your way to the dining hall. He pulls you aside to ask for context behind your and Rollo’s sudden pairing.
“We’ve made a deal. I don’t mess with him and he doesn’t mess with me.”
“And how did you get him to agree to that?”
“With the best—and only—blowjob he’s ever gotten.”
“Mhm. Uh-huh.” Jade sounds very convinced. (Not.)
You elbow him. “You do it then, cherry-popped wannabe.”
“I am a proud virgin by choice.” He places his hand over his chest and beams.
Ace, Sebek, and Floyd are waiting for you at the table. It’s Floyd who waves you over, grinning easily.
“Over here, Shrimpy! Saved ya a seat.”
You forgot about that nickname. You don’t interact with Floyd nearly as often as you do with Jade, so you’ve never been able to understand why he calls you that. But at his excited beckoning, you abandon Jade’s side and join him, lowering into the seat he’s pulled out for you.
“Hey, thanks.”
“No prob.” He passes a menu to you. “Order whatever ya want. It’s on us.”
On that generous note, the rest of the day kicks off in cheerful fashion. Everyone enjoys a feast of delicious foods, stuffing themselves as if preparing for hibernation. To avoid the encroaching food coma, you gear up for skiing. Once everyone’s ready, Jade explains the basics and takes the group through a trial run. The bunny hills allow you to find your footing and better understand the gist of skiing, but at some point they become elementary and Floyd declares he wants a challenge. You and Ace are too busy taking photos and throwing snowballs at each other, Sebek and Rollo are dedicated to actually practicing, and Jade is already on his way to the ski lift, seeking a bigger slope.
Floyd sneaks up on you and Ace, breaking your snowy stalemate. “Heya. How’s about the three of us hit the slopes with Jade?”
“I’m down, but I dunno if (Name)’ll do that. Might be too much of a chicken to—”
“We’ll see who’s chicken when your skis cross.” You’re already gliding over to the lift.
“Wha—hey! Wait for me!” Ace hurries along after you, his movements clumsy.
Despite the sun still hanging high in the sky, the frosty winds bite at your skin once you’re seated on the lift. Floyd joins you and the both of you are brought up into the air. The conveyor system is so smooth you hardly hear the gears turning. It isn’t long until Sebek and Rollo shrink to pinpricks.
“Pretty, ain’t it?” Floyd asks, following your line of sight past the resort to the mountains beyond. It’s a stunning backdrop that leaves you speechless and, for the moment, immune to the icy breeze.
“Definitely beats the boredom I would’ve been suffering from if I’d stayed home. Like, seriously, you and Jade are way too lucky.”
“Meh. Mountain stuff isn’t really my thing, but it was Jade’s turn to choose for winter break. Guess I shoulda expected this.”
You turn to look at him. “Then what is your thing?”
“My thing? Whatever’s interesting, I guess.”
“That’s cool. Freezing my ass off isn’t, but if it’s with Jade I don’t mind it. Just means he’s gonna be freezing his ass off, too.”
Floyd blinks at you and then throws his head back to laugh. His breath materializes in the air as a glacial ghost. It really wasn’t that humorous, but then you’ve never understood Floyd and his unique behaviors. His sense of humor is probably just as twisted as Jade’s. You wonder if Jade’s ever introduced him to the FMK list. Probably not. Floyd’s too busy for that kind of nerd stuff, you think. He’s a popular jock who likes parties and sex, the exact opposite of your sly, secretive friend. He’d just think the two of you were weird if he knew, and you have a reputation to uphold as the cheer team’s resident virgin whore.
“’m glad you came. Wouldn’t be a vacation without Shrimpy.”
“Uh, thanks?” Although it feels less like a compliment and more like a threat. Like he’d hate you if you couldn’t provide him with enough entertainment.
The lift drops you and Floyd off at the very top. Ace and Jade join you seconds later. You race until sunset. Even though Floyd claimed the mountains weren’t a personal favorite of his, he learns quickly and wins a few races himself, placing second just behind his twin.
You and Ace are left warring between third and fourth, a competition that will never truly see a victor. Not when the temperature drops and the sun is steadily dipping below the horizon. You can’t feel your face by the time you make it back down to reunite with Rollo and Sebek, the latter of whom went off on his own course while the former pushed himself around on his skis. As fun as today was—you got to see Ace trip and eat snow, all captured on video—you’re not looking forward to five more days of freezing weather.
Thankfully, the resort provides warm, welcoming cover from the winds as they pick up speed. You’re relieved to shuck the heavy layers for soft, cozy clothes. A buffet has been prepared in advance and is waiting for everyone, beckoning you closer with its hearty fragrance. Once your boots are laced up, you follow the path you took for lunch to the dining hall.
“Hm.” Sebek breaks your concentration just as you’re piling your plate with food. He’s gazing out the window at the darkening sky. “It appears as though it may storm soon…”
“Just looks like we’re getting into the evening.”
“Unlike you, person of little knowledge,” Sebek states, and you roll your eyes, “I have spent ample time training myself in all manner of weather conditions.” His smug expression suggests he has a significant amount of pride for these skills. “Recognizing when a snowstorm is coming is nothing for someone like myself.”
“Congrats, weatherman. You want a medal for that?”
He makes a noise of disgruntlement. “Why, you—!”
“Now, now,” Jade says, swanning into the room with a grin that tells you he’s up to no good. As usual. “Snowstorm or not, let’s enjoy a well-deserved meal together.”
Sebek harrumphs and turns away to grab a plate for himself. You stick your tongue out at him.
“Man, what a workout! Finally some food—I’m starving,” Ace laments as he drags himself into the room. Rollo is close behind.
Floyd laughs. “Who cares if it’s gonna storm? Not like we’re gonna be out there anyway.” He plucks a curly fry from your plate and pops it in his mouth. You shoot him a dirty look and hold your plate away from him.
“It would be a wrench in some of our outdoor activities, should that happen,” Jade muses. “Well! In that case, we should all play some games to strengthen our bond as a group. It’ll drive the storm away.”
“Beat it back with the power of friendship,” you add in sardonic agreement, to which Jade nods.
“Whatcha have in mind?” Ace asks, taking a seat beside you.
“Perhaps some truth or dare to start the night? When that fails to entertain, we can swap scary stories.”
“You small fry better have some good dares or it’ll be squeezings for all of ya.” Floyd plops into the seat across from you, with Sebek at his right and Jade at his left.
Rollo takes the empty seat next to you and, as per your agreement, you offer cordial nods of acknowledgement to the other. The exact portrait of perfect neutrality.
Truth or dare kicks off just as you expected. It’s all stupid, harmless fun. Like daring Sebek to predict more of this supposed incoming storm by building a snowman outside or making Ace confess one of his most embarrassing truths. The game turns sour when Jade asks Rollo, “Truth or dare?” in that too-sweet-to-be-evil lilt. Rollo makes his selection and is hit with: “I dare you to kiss (Name).”
“What?” the both of you blurt, turning to stare at him in disbelief.
“Jade, come on…” Suddenly, everyone’s watching you like you’re an actor they expect to put on a riveting performance. “You can come up with something better than that, right?”
“Would you prefer to kiss him instead?”
“That’s not funny—”
“I refuse to kiss (Name) anywhere without their explicit permission. More than that, I have no interest in doing so, so I must decline,” Rollo states, shaking his head. He doesn’t seem to be as outwardly affected by Jade’s verbal attacks as you are, but maybe that’s because Jade isn’t his best friend. “You’ll have me do something else or I’ll quit playing altogether.”
It feels like he’s being even more of an asshole to you than he normally is. And this time there’s nothing lighthearted about it. It’s as if you’ve been pushed onto a plate, subjected to the whims of fork and knife. He’s going to cut into you at this rate and, from the look of it, he’s eagerly anticipating the moment you succumb.
“If you’re not gonna do it, I’ll do it,” Floyd announces, standing up to lean over the table. You don’t have any time to react before he’s grabbing your chin and smashing his mouth right on yours. The kiss lasts a few more seconds, just enough for him to run his tongue along your bottom lip, before you return to Earth. You shove his chest so hard he staggers back. Grinning smugly with lightless eyes, he licks his lips. Aghast, you touch your own while Floyd laughs and laughs and laughs. “You should see your face, Shrimpy! You look just like a beached fish!”
You don’t dare pull out your pocket mirror to confirm because it feels like you’re on the verge of tears. Glancing at Jade, hoping he’ll rescue you from this horrible situation, you find he’s gazing right back. Waiting for your next move so that he can twist you into another punchline.
“What the hell! It wasn’t your turn.”
“Got tired of waitin’. Bein’ impatient paid off, though. I got to see Shrimpy squirm.” His eyes crinkle with sick mirth. Like there’s joy to be found in crushing bugs and playing with the mush.
An uncomfortable silence descends, swift as a guillotine and just as painful. Everyone’s looking between you and Floyd, but your eyes are pinned on Jade.
Not fucking funny, you want to say—really chew into him—but the words won’t come.
“You planned to tell stories, did you not?” Rollo speaks up, thereby breaking the thickening tension and saving you in turn. You’ve never been more thankful for his existence, which is a strange feeling. You, grateful for Rollo Flamme? What is the world coming to?
“Ah, that’s right. I did have a particularly good one in mind. It’s very fitting for the weather we’re currently experiencing.”
“Yeah, I was getting tired of truth or dare anyways,” Ace bemoans, rubbing his cheeks. Another dare of his involved chubby-bunnying as many finger foods as he could. Though his battle was valiant, it left him with a soreness he’ll be feeling throughout the night. “Let’s get on with the stories.”
“If it’s stories we’re to be exchanging, then there’s no one better than that of Malleus and all his success!”
“Not interested, Croc.”
“How dare you not take interest in the great Malleus! Have you no sense?!”
“You can regale us with that after mine,” Jade says. Though his words are pacifying in nature, you suspect he just wants to poke fun at Sebek’s blatant idolization of your upperclassman. “Mine is about a monster—one who dwells on these very mountains. Or so it’s been said.”
“Ooh, this’ll be good.”
“Well, anything’s better than that troublesome game…” Rollo murmurs into his handkerchief.
“A monster? Yeah, right. Those don’t exist.”
“I fail to see how entertaining a monster story is when there are countless tales to be told of Malleus!”
A big gust of wind batters the windows and effectively silences their chatter. You turn in your seat to watch the glass panes rattling in their frames. The sound reminds you of something—or someone—trapped and scrabbling to get out, banging on the windows until their knuckles break and bleed. You’re beginning to wonder if what Sebek said is true—that there really is a snowstorm coming. The tiny snow flecks waltzing in the wind give off the appearance of a peaceful winter scene. Surely it won’t morph into a whiteout?
“There’s a certain legend told here. Those who are betrayed in flesh and blood are destined to return frostbitten and vengeful. Monsters who roam the barren mountains in search of the one who crossed them…” As Jade speaks, he gestures like a magician, stringing the story together from the spookiest of threads. Everyone sits, rapt with attention. “This specific monster is ravenous, you see. Never satisfied. Eternally empty. It would lure prey in with warmth and light during long days of unabating cold and darkness. And just when they were comfortable… Snap!” He slams his foot down on the floor, startling a spellbound Sebek and Ace. Even Rollo’s eyes widen. “They were swept away, never to be seen again. Who might this monster be, you’re asking?”
No one’s asking that.
“Why, it’s simple. Humans.”
Immediately, the unsettling atmosphere dissipates. Jade hums, quite pleased with himself despite the lukewarm reactions.
“Dude, what a letdown. If I wanted to hear a story about morals or whatever, I’d just pick up a fable.” Ace pushes out from the table and stands. “Welp. I’m out.”
“Whaaat? Crabby too scared to stick around? Did Jade’s story scare ya that bad?”
“Uh, hardly. If anything, that was a major snoozefest.”
“I must agree. There’s no such thing as reanimated corpses or monsters.” Rollo waves his hand about. “It’s all frivolous nonsense.”
“No matter what way you tell it, zombie stories are just old.”
Sebek nods in assent. “Are the dead not granted the right to rest peacefully?”
“Some never rest at all.” Jade smiles. “So I would take care on your way back. The howling winds might just swallow you whole before you can scream…”
With that ominous message, the group retreats for bed. You’ve a big day ahead of you tomorrow based on the itinerary Jade’s written up. You take a hot shower to wash the exhaustion off you, taking extra care to brush your teeth twice to scrub the taste of Floyd away, and then flop into bed. The snow picks up outside, piling high and pressing in against the windows. It doesn’t seem so beautiful anymore and with the pitch-black void peering in you feel prickly. So you get up, pull the curtains shut, and retreat under the covers.
Your dreams are filled with frozen bodies and an angry, starving mountain that wants you and your friends gone. A dozen hands push at the windows, leaving frosty prints in their wake. You think you hear a shout, but it’s snatched away in the wind. There are no monsters here. Only humans.
But isn’t that just as dangerous, if not more so?
BAM BAM BAM
Startled awake, you bolt up in bed. A cold sweat has broken out over your clammy skin. Squinting through the dark, attempting to soothe yourself from the nightmare, you wonder if you imagined that horrible banging. A minute passes. You become intimately acquainted with your heartbeat and the static buzzing in your ears—proof that your body is alive and functioning.
Feeling around, you grasp the remote and click the TV on for some light. A nature documentary flashes on. You’ve no idea of the time, and when you pat the bedside table in search of your phone you turn up empty.
Did I drop it somewhere?
The TV skips a few beats, glitching past a baby fawn being unknowingly stalked by a fox and taking you right to the commercial break. It happens again and then again until, eventually, you give up and shut the damn thing off.
Useless, you think, staring blankly into the shadows. Your vision gradually adjusts. Down the hall, cracked open only slightly, is the door. A thin sliver of light spills in, revealing the outline of another person.
At first you think your eyes are deceiving you, but then the silhouette shifts in a way that’s too uncanny to be anything but another living creature. You remain stock-still in bed, mulling over everything and nothing all at once. A creeping sensation rolls over your body. Someone’s inside your room and they shouldn’t be here, and you’ve no idea how they managed to get in but they are and now—
There’s more movement. A shuffling of feet. The door shuts and locks slowly, deliberately, and then you’re trapped inside with a stranger.
What to do? There’s only one way out. If you ran past them, they could grab you, pin you down, strangle you. How did they even get access to your room? There shouldn’t be another keycard to your room, right? But it’s too late to think any further—the shadow is descending, and a hand claps over your mouth before you can scream.
“Shh!” he hisses, and you can feel him shaking. “Be quiet. Just… Just please.”
You’d recognize that cadence anywhere despite its fearful wobble.
“If you promise not to yell, I’ll move my hand.”
Confused but obeying his cryptic warning, you nod. As promised, he lifts his hand. “What the fuck, Ace?” you whisper, reaching to click on the light. He catches your arm in the dark. “Seriously, what’s going on? Why are you—how did you—my room?”
“It’s not what it looks like, I swear! Just… Okay, listen.” He takes a deep breath. “Dude, something’s not right here.”
“Huh?” And then: “That’s it? Are you really letting Jade’s lame-ass story get to you?”
“Not that. I… I think we gotta get outta here.”
“What? No way! It’s blizzarding like crazy out there. Where are we gonna go?”
“I don’t know!” he stresses. “It can’t be here. The staff—they’re… All of them…”
“Out with it.” You’re sitting up now, the annoyance sapped from your voice and replaced with mounting dread.
“They’re not here anymore. Like, they’re gone. As in, they left. Dunno when, but no one’s here. It’s just us.”
“So they went home? What’s so bad about that?”
“I-It’s Sebek,” he says, switching subjects. You can hear how sick he sounds, just barely holding in his distress. “His door was open and he—I woke up because I heard something coming from his room. These walls are way too thin. Someone was opening my door and I hid, and then they left and eventually—” He stops himself to breathe, to finally reach the point in his roundabout retelling. “Sebek’s dead.”
At first, you think he’s messing with you. Sebek, the strongest of you all, is dead? How is that even possible at this luxury resort, where the most dangerous thing is the elements outside?
“If this is some gross joke, then I—”
“It’s not. (Name), I’m not joking. He… When I went inside his room to check on him, he—” Ace swallows hard. “Someone killed him. And I know they did because his neck was—it was… They—”
Knock, knock, knock.
You and Ace fall silent. He grabs your shoulder and drags you out of bed and onto the floor as quietly and slowly as he can manage.
“You don’t think someone broke into the resort, do you?”
“I don’t know. I went to the lobby and snooped around until I found the spare card to unlock your room. Had to warn someone, at the very least, y’know?”
“Then…who’s at the door? If Sebek’s dead…” Your eyes go wide. “What about Floyd? Is he okay? Jade and Rollo are here on my floor, but you guys—”
“Dunno.”
Too many people are unaccounted for. You don’t like this. You don’t like this one bit.
Dulling your frazzled nerves, you stand up despite Ace’s silent protests and tiptoe to the door. A quick peek through the peephole confirms it’s Jade and, though he’s been nothing but a bully today, you don’t want him to get axed. So you unlock the door.
“There’s someone in the resort.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding… How? What happened? Ace told me that Sebek—”
“There’s simply no time. We must group up and—”
“What about Floyd? Rollo? We’ve gotta call the authorities!”
“I’m afraid the line to the town below has been cut. And the connection’s been rather…unstable since the storm started.” Aiming for lightheartedness, he tries a stressed smile. “What a trip, hm?”
“And it’s only been one day… Fuck. This is bad. We’ve gotta call someone.”
Ace rises to his full height and you can see the grave look on his face. It makes his skin sink on his bones, as if he’s aged overnight. “Well, I’m not staying put while some lunatic goes around chopping people to bits! I’m outta here.”
“We’ve gotta stick together!”
But Ace brushes past you and Jade, locked onto his solo mission.
“I’ll retrieve him,” Jade says. “There’s nowhere we can go beyond this resort, but at the very least we can find somewhere to hide until morning. And, if he’s going to be running off on his own, we might as well take a trip to the kitchen for some weapons.” He beams. “We won’t be caught unawares.”
“Good idea. Okay, yeah, do that. I’ll check on Rollo.”
Thankfully, Rollo is perfectly fine. Although, like you, he also heard a loud banging, claiming it disturbed him from his writing. Whatever that means. But after a perfunctory check, all is well and you can breathe easy. You fill Rollo in on the situation and decide it’s best to remain paired up for the time being until things are safe. Your petty squabbling is meaningless in the face of real danger.
Rollo ducks into his room briefly and returns with a map of the resort. “It’s too treacherous to risk going outside, but if we follow this layout we should find ourselves in the security room. Surely that has the means to contact someone even in a snowstorm as ruthless as this.”
The both of you set off, taking care around every turn. Rollo stops you just before you can set foot on the stairs leading down into the lobby. At the very bottom, twisted and bent into an unnatural shape, is the crumpled body of Ace. You shake him off and hurry down the steps to reach him.
“Ace? Oh, shit! Ace!”
But he’s not moving, and it’s then when you notice thick, dark blood pooling out from his head. Horrified, you stumble back, your hands flying up to cover your mouth.
“He must’ve tripped in his rush. Broke his leg in the tumble and fractured his neck.” Rollo muses, peering at him with a grim frown. “This shouldn’t have happened if Jade was accompanying him… Unless he was pushed.”
Fracture… He was fractured. And Sebek was…
“Seriously, don’t say that. There’s no way some psycho killer is hunting us all down. No way in hell!” You turn away and cross over to the desk, bracing yourself against it. “We’re so dead. Please, no, I don’t wanna die here.”
“We should keep moving. Whatever happened, it ended in death. We can’t let that repeat.” Rollo takes you by the arm and gently coaxes you away from the nightmare laying shattered before you. Your brittle legs shuffle along aimlessly.
Is there really a murderer in the resort? Have they been here the entire time, waiting in an empty room, plotting on everyone’s arrival? Was what Jade said about monsters true? Is there a creature out there seeking violence to feed its thirst for revenge?
Just as you round the corner, Jade comes staggering out of the security room, his face awash in primal terror and sweat. He clutches his side, his shirt slick and stained crimson. You feel your heart plummet all the way down to your stomach.
“J-Jade—”
You move to break free from Rollo, but he holds firm. Twisting to look at him, your eyes wide and questioning, you search Rollo’s unfaltering expression. He seems to study Jade for a long minute before coming to a conclusion you’ve yet to ascertain yourself.
“What happened?” he asks instead, watching but not moving any closer as Jade sinks to the ground.
His unease is palpable because it has you hesitating when Jade groans out a feeble, “Something gave Ace a shove and then went after me. There wasn’t any time.” Shaking Rollo off, ignoring the blaring alarm bells, you drop down to fuss over him. He smiles weakly, grateful.
“Did you see them?” Rollo’s being strangely clinical about this, but you suppose it’s to be expected in this moment of heightened caution. “Any notable features? Did you manage to drive them away?”
While you help to put pressure on his wound, you can hear the question he’s not asking: How come you’re still alive and the others aren’t?
Jade grunts. “It’s…no use.”
“Don’t say that. Come on—get up.” When he doesn’t say anything and his eyes start to flutter shut, glazed over in death, you pat his cheek. “Jade? Jade, stop! Come on, come on… Wake up!” But he’s already gone still.
“I don’t understand,” you hear Rollo say just as you hurry to scrub the tears from your eyes. “How could any of this happen in such a short time? No one knew unless someone… Were you posting about this place?”
“No! I’m not the one responsible for this!”
“I wasn’t implying that.”
You almost argue back, but then you take a pause. “Look, we’re the only two people here right now. We don’t know where Floyd is. And everyone else is—w-we have to stick together. Please.”
“We have no choice.” He holds his hand out and helps you up. “I…don’t find you all that repellent, you know. I’m only hard on you because I—”
“Rollo, wait—behind you!”
You look past him just in time to view the hooded figure emerging from the hall. So, too, does Rollo, but he doesn’t manage to process the looming threat in time. He pushes you out of the way, and you fall back on your rear with a thump. The axe swings in a malicious arc, lodging itself right in his abdomen. You freeze. The tears that had been falling for Jade come pouring out for Rollo in terrified streams, and you snap back to yourself just as his body hits the floor with a hard smack. The stranger stands over his writhing body and twists the axe free from his guts, silent like stale air in a cemetery.
Blood oozes out of the severe wound like damaged floodgates. He claws at the ground to pull himself up and away, and you catch sight of the traumatized glaze in his green eyes just as he’s swallowed up in the stranger’s shadow. Rollo isn’t even granted time to cry or curse out his attacker, for the axe comes down upon his back next, cutting seamlessly through skin and sinew until it grinds against the bony ridges of his spine. You yell so loud it shreds your vocal chords, incoherent words high and garbled with raw, unfiltered fear.
With a sickening crack and a disturbing squelch, the axe digs into the pulp of Rollo Flamme. And you realize, in a flash of coherency, what this means. The list. They’ve all died in ways according to the list. But the only two who know about that would be you and Jade, and Jade’s dead!
The stranger hefts the axe up and looks right at you through the small, shadowed slit in his ski mask. Blood and muscle stick to the blade like prosciutto. His dark clothes are soaked through with gore; the fabric clings to his musculature. Instinct kicks in when he takes a measured step towards you and, just as he lunges, you stumble into a sprint, screaming for help all the while.
You tear down the hall in a blind rush, bursting out into the lobby. He swings at you, missing by a hair. The axe embeds itself in the wall beside you, chipping the porcelain tiles. You push through the doors and emerge outside, the winds whipping about in chaotic howls. Snow blinds you with searing white. Shielding your face with your hand, you stagger on, your feet sinking up to your calves in the snow. It bites at your exposed skin, cold rushing through your pajamas like you’re a hollow doll. You can’t hear anything over the wind, but you swear you catch the muffled sound of manic laughter.
One foot in front of the other, you tell yourself in loops, shuffling along. Your skeleton vibrates beneath your skin. Your foot catches on something under a snow drift, causing you to flop face-first into the white. You don’t realize you’ve twisted your ankle, pain numbed by the ice, until someone’s hand is on your shoulder, freeing you from a burial in the snow.
You fight them with your eyes closed because the wind is too sharp, and everything is so dreadfully frozen. Glacial fingers curl into your wrist. In your mind, you’re throwing punches faster than the speed of light. And either you’re too cold to feel them land or they’re not landing at all.
You’re dragged through the snow, half-alive, your heart slowly, sluggishly pumping.
You think you see Floyd when you crack an eye open, but that can’t be right.
He wouldn’t do this.
You wake wrapped in a fluffy robe, the cold all but bled from your corpse.
Or…not a corpse. You’re still alive.
The memories rush in all at once, and before you can sit up someone’s hand is around your throat. Near-death still clinging, you blink up at the face of Floyd. And, just beyond, sitting at your bedside and wrapping your injured ankle, is Jade. Alive and uninjured.
“Oh, good. You’re up!” He grins and pinches your cheek. “Thought ya died on me. Would’ve been real fuckin’ boring if ya did.”
“W-What…?”
“Come now, Floyd. The poor thing’s just regained consciousness. Don’t you think you ought to be just a touch gentler?”
“Ah, my bad.” He releases your cheek.
“What happened? There was a killer and—”
“Y’know, you sure are morbid, Shrimpy.” Floyd sits up and is now flipping through a notebook. The very notebook containing every detail about the FMK list and the ways in which your classmates would be hypothetically murdered. “Never woulda guessed since you’re so cute. Guess that just makes you even cuter, huh.” He tosses it over his shoulder, suddenly bored. “Kinda lame you didn’t wanna rank me. What? Didja think I’d be mad? Over a little thing like that? C’mon.”
“What?” You look to Jade for assistance.
“I hope you’ll forgive me,” he says in a remorseless tone. “I showed Floyd our list and he found it so entertaining he wanted to put it into practice.”
“Mhm. Wasn’t all that fun, though. They died so quickly.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust. Before you know it, he’s back on you. “In the end, it got me Shrimpy so I’m not gonna complain.”
“What do you mean by…that?”
“I’m sayin’ I killed ’em all thanks to your little list. Well, Jade got to Crabby before I could. And I woulda killed you myself, but it’d make Jade cry if he lost his friend.”
“Oh, I’d be inconsolable.” He sniffles, wiping away a crocodile tear.
“And I like you too much to let you go to waste right now. ’Sides, Jade says you’re a virgin down there.” He cups you through the robe before you can shut your legs.
“N-No! Wait, stop… Stop! Don’t touch me!” Even though there isn’t a trace of blood or murder on him, his hands still held the axe. He still killed your classmates. “I don’t understand. Jade, why would you—fuck!” You choke on a rising sob when Jade squeezes your ankle in a rough stranglehold. “H-Hurts!”
“I would imagine.”
Your glassy eyes pan over to Floyd next. “W-Why…?”
“Why do I like ya? I just do. And when someone doesn’t like ya back, doesn’t it make ya want ’em even more? Pretty funny, too. Cheer captain’s never gotten laid, but ya sure like to pretend ya have. Don’tcha want the experience? I can give it to ya. I’ll be your only experience. Ain’t I nice?”
You shake your head at him.
“Aw, don’t be scared.” His voice drops an octave. “It’s gonna hurt if you struggle.”
You look between the both of them. Jade’s finished his work on your ankle wrapping and is now turning his attention to the abandoned FMK notebook. The betrayal rips into your heart. Jade, your best friend since first year… And Floyd, the athlete you cheered for… You want to wake up from this nightmare. Your friend and his brother aren’t killers, and you’re not stuck here in this lonely resort on the mountains. The stress swells and spills over. Floyd leans in to lick you, savoring both the salty taste and the way it makes you squirm.
“Always thought bendin’ ya over and goin’ at it after practice. You’d probably call me a pervert, wouldn’t ya?”
Your chest heaves with a sob, and you yelp when he rips your robe open, revealing your naked body to his salivating eyes.
“But I can’t help it. You make me so fuckin’ hard, you know that? I hung your picture up in my room and everythin’. Stole your uniform once. You always smell so damn nice, even when you’ve been jumpin’ around in those tiny skirts.”
“You’re a fucking freak!” you crow out, tugging against his hands when they close around your wrists. “Let go of me.”
“Hee-hee. You gonna hit me next? Kick me? Go on—call me a mean name again.” You grit your teeth, feeling pathetic and terrified all at once. There’s only so much you can do. Jade won’t save you, and Floyd’s moods come and go in an erratic forecast of natural disasters. Without decorum, he traces two fingers along your labia before sinking them inside. It feels weird and wrong. You thrash beneath him, kicking your leg out when those fingers curl up and brush a squishy part no one’s ever touched before. His eyes light up with sadistic glee, and within seconds he’s stretching you and bullying your clit with his other hand. The pleasure electrifies your already heated nerves, leaving you struggling to tamp down the blubbery moan.
“N-No, not there. Please—ugh!” With your hand now freed, you use it to weakly bat at his chest. He laughs and grabs hold of it.
“Hey, if you keep bein’ bad, I’m not gonna prepare ya anymore. I’ll just stick it in. That what you want?”
“I-I don’t want any of this! Floyd, p-please. You can’t… S-Stop it. I… I’m scared.”
“Really? Cuz to me it looks like your pussy’s droolin’ for it.”
He yanks his fingers out and, much to your horror, they’re dripping in your slick. There’s nothing hot about any of this! Maybe if Floyd wasn’t such an asshole to begin with—long before winter break even began—you might’ve included him in some of your late-night fantasies. Now there’s nothing to be felt for him but revulsion. He’s gross and sick and cruel, and he killed your classmates all because it was fun—because he wanted to follow the fiction scribbled in Jade’s notebook.
“There’s no rush anyways,” he adds, shoving them back inside so you jump. “We’ve got the whole week to ourselves. I’m gonna play with every part of you, so be good and I won’t kill ya.”
Death would be kinder than this. Because at least in death you don’t have to look him in the face and bear witness to the twisted depths of his perversion.