#and damien would catch it

[fleurlumii]

just a random thought but imagine that out of the entire D.A.M.N Crew, Lasko & Dear would be the first ones to get married (even though they're the final couple to form in the group)

[torchstelechos]

Say what you will about the DC timeline but we all know the truth, Jason Todd uses AO3 and has an account despite not understanding these new fangle technological advancements (hes fucking with Tim he understands what cookies are, it pisses off Tim more than anything else Jason has done)

[hammerbacks]

Timothy Dalton as Damien Roth in Charlie’s Angels 4.06 - Fallen Angel (1979)

[geeky-nightphilosopher]

I read somewhere that Christian Kane called Eliot Spencer a serial killer and my brain was like; "What? No he is not!"

And then- I remember Damien Monreau.

[neptunesenceladus]

Another thought on Gotham War.

especially in the first issue (battle lines), it really feels like they’re preparing to retire Bruce and either Batman completely retire or have someone else pick up the mantle (#Cass for Batman 2024)

[boopjuice]

Lantern was the first to approach him once the child had fallen asleep. He seemed awkward, afraid to make a noise and wake them up. It wasn't likely to happen, he was so exhausted from screaming Batman was pretty sure the poor guy would sleep through gunfire.

"So... What is it we should be doing?" He was sure Lantern could see his raised brow from through his cowl as he stumbled over his words. "I mean, we know what we should be doing. Trying to find a way to get out without destabilizing the cave, wait for Cyborg and the others to show up, find a way to signal out exact location. It's just... How do we do that from in here?"

He'd been thinking on that himself, before it became clear that none here had ever held even a happy child, let alone a terrified one. He stayed silent, debating the best course of action. He could summon the batplane, have it land on top of their position, but would Cyborg know that's what it meant? Would he be able to use the comms, choppy as they were underground, to tell him? More importantly, would the plane landing destabilize the pocket they were in? It was a risk he couldn't take, especially not with the baby on his chest.

The little one shivered a little, clenching tiny fists against his shoulder, and he reached over his shoulder to wrap the baby in his cape as best as he could.

"There's not much we can do. I have a small beacon, but it won't do much good until Cyborg's a little over a mile away, thanks to all this," he gestured at the collapsed cave. "All we can really do is wait."

"How did you do that?" Batman pulled the beacon out of his utility belt. It really was small. He'd designed them for Dick when he'd become Robin, in case he got trapped out of sight. He'd made sure the League systems could pick up on them too, even though Dick was off on his own now. Tim had one, now, and so had Jason. He pushed the thought away as he picked a spot to place the beacon.

"Do what?" he finally responded.

"How'd you get the kid to stop screaming? You aren't exactly known for your cuddly nature." It was Flash who answered, not Lantern, but he suspected they'd been asking the same question he wanted to avoid. Too many memories were buried there. His children, heartbroken after failing to save someone, terrified after their first and second and twentieth near death encounter, hurt and scared and unable to do anything about it.

"Gotham has a high population of homeless. Including children." The cave felt like it was holding it's breath as he dodged the real reason in favor of one that hurt him a little less, kept him from remembering his own failures.

"Some people there have morals. Some don't. You need to be able to keep children calm and quiet to free them, sometimes. And you need them to know they're safe after, no matter what happened."

He let the team's eyes follow him as he began to walk the perimeter again, still rocking the baby boy with olive skin and the start of dark hair on his head. He didn't tell them about the fall of the Grayson's and how many times he'd comforted Dick. Didn't tell them about Tim facing his uncle, and how he'd shaken. Didn't tell them about Jason. About the child he failed.

He just kept the baby asleep, humming and talking and running over how he could get him home safe. How he could save this child.

Can someone write a fic where Bruce is on a JL mission and they somehow get a baby that they need to take care of until they find their parents. And all the JL members just cannot stop this baby from crying (this is before Clark has Jon so he’s pretty clueless with babies still) and eventually Bruce is like, “give them to me.”

And the JL is like “uhh, we don’t know if we should trust BATMAN with a baby, but at this point… fuck it.” And hand the baby over to him.

And Batman tucks the baby into his chest and softly bounces them, talking to them gently in a deep rumbly voice. “It’s okay sweetheart. Shhh, you’re safe.” And eventually, the baby doesn’t just stop crying, but falls asleep.

And the JL just stand there, gobsmacked. Because what the fuck??? Why is the Batman so good with babies??? And the rest of the mission Batman just has the baby because a) they don’t want them to wake up and start fussing again. And b) because Batman looks genuinely happy (as happy as Batman can be without deeply horrifying the JL).

[taco-rambles]

DC XDP prompt: Danny falls out of a portal literally into Batmans arms in a JL meeting.

Feel free to play with this. I probably will write more, but I'm STUCK and don't know how to write the JL or anyone else for that matter.

XXX

The Justice League meeting had gone very well. For once there were no major crisis from anyone attending, and all of the regular members of the league were in attendance. A few of the second row hero’s had begged off for one reason or another, but nothing that was a threat of any real kind.

Batman was wary, and on edge as the meeting wrapped up. It was never this simple, it just couldn’t be. There was always some kind of threat to keep an eye on, but the worst thing that had come up during the meeting were routine security updates.

No one else seemed to be on edge from the far too calm, routine meeting, and Bruce had just about convinced himself that it was really just one of those meetings where nothing outrageous would happen. It was ideal even…

Then the alarms went off, in the specific modulation that indicated a magical incursion.

Batman wasn’t the only one who’s hands went to weapons when the portal materialized above the meeting room table only a moment after the alarm went off. Swirling lazarus green had him ready for the fight even as the rest of the league went into defensive positions around the incursion.

“What…” Flash started to ask about a minute later when nothing had happened yet, the alarms still blaring.

That’s when something came flying out of the portal, at speed, back first.

Batman had a split second to decide to attack… or not. A split second to try to process the impressions and decide if this was an attack.

The portal closed as he cradled the small body that had crashed into his arms, the alarms silencing a moment later as the rest of the league tried to catch up, all of them wondering if this was some new threat.

Batman looked down at the child in his arms, a boy in his mid teens and small for his age, with white hair framing a frighteningly familiar looking face, gently pointed ears, and fangs in a mouth that gasped for breath against pain. The eyes were closed, twisted tight as the child clutched at his chest and belly, holding together severed flesh that leaked lazarus green blood from a clinical and too regular wound. Fingers tipped with small claws spasmed, tears coming from closed eyes.

“Batman?” Wonder Woman asked, Diana’s voice filled with concern as Bruce wrapped the child in his arms and stood up from where he had been knocked on his ass catching said child.

“Call down to medical. Severely wounded unknown,” he snapped, moving towards the door, only to stop as there was a flash of light in his arms, and the child suddenly gained a solid weight that was closer to human. The blood dripping from passed out hands was now brilliant red, fingertips blunt with chewed nails, the boy’s skin going from pale white to… a healthier tone.

Bruce consciously stopped cataloging his observations then, swiftly making his way to medical. Whatever this boy was, whether he intended to tug at Batman’s heart the way he was or not, was severely wounded and needed medical attention immediately.

He could process it all, and wonder why a child looking exactly like Damian Wayne had been thrown into his arms through a lazarus portal later.

XXXXX

An hour later, after a discreet call to his youngest just to be sure, Bruce watched the now sedated child in the medical cot, working on trying to face match the databases and find out if the child came from earth or not.

The searches primarily turned up Damian Wayne. Bruce knew for certain this child was not his son, but he was also running a DNA analysis because this Might be his son. It made a disheartening amount of sense for this boy to be another version of Damien, perhaps from another dimension, or some manner of clone, or perhaps Talia had simply hidden another child of his away… Bruce needed to narrow down the possibilities, to find the truth.

Of course, it was equally possible that this boy was some manner of mimic, taking on a form that would ensure his safety in unknown environment, a shape shifter intentionally injuring himself in order to infiltrate the Watchtower. Though that last theory didn’t make sense for a number of reasons. Most shape shifters would be secure enough in their abilities to simply try to mimic someone who already had access to the watch tower, to say nothing of the boy’s dramatic entrance.

Batman wasn’t thinking logically. Bruce couldn’t simply leave the boy here though. Not until he knew more, everything relevant by preference. The thought that this might be his son in any way was enough to keep him near, but he could already tell he was compromised.

He had already informed Diana and Clark, and both of them had agreed that he should stay nearby until they had the situation sorted out.

Bruce had been stuck in a circular though pattern for about fifteen minutes when a green form came into the room, J’onn looking at him calmly.

“Can you find anything out?” Batman asked without preamble, unable to bring himself to observe polite pleasantries when he was so unsettled.

“Nothing beyond surface thoughts. The boy’s mind is static and pain of the emotional kind,” J’onn stated after a moment.

Batman nodded, accepting the answer. J’onn’s abilities weren’t always the answer to everything, could indeed often be a crutch that led to the wrong answers. But they could also give the Justice League a starting point often enough.

“You should rest friend. It is unlikely that the boy will awaken soon…” J’onn cut himself off with a quiet look at the boy. “Or not. He’s coming around.”

Batman watched as the child’s eyes blinked open, drowsy expression turning to the two heros without much recognition. Bruce didn’t let himself react, kept himself in a calm pose even as his mind once more went into overdrive.

The boy had blue eyes, not green like Damian's.

[hello-eden]

Unexpected Hope

Damian has been disoriented all week. When he was told that stopping the ritual would have repercussions, he did not expect this. He had been dealing with the memories on his own but unfortunately he could not postpone this gala. 

He had been stopping a ritual that would end up summoning the being he now knows as Undergrowth. Damien does not regret that choice especially now that he has the context. Unfortunately it brought back his memories of Phantom.

He didn't quite understand they were memories for quite a while honestly he was a little bit concerned he got possessed. Thankfully after some compartmentalizing and a little bit of isolation, he figured out what was wrong. It did not help the confusion that comes with being a Midwestern teen and an assassin child put into one body but he has gotten the hang of it. 

Unfortunately Damian did not get long before he was forced back into the presence of his family. he had put off many public family events in the last few months so he was not able to get out of this event. he probably could have faked being sick but he'd much prefer to be able to pass off any of his symptoms from the memories as uncomfortableness being around strangers then be alone with his family. 

He's honestly very happy with his choice after he sees her. He doesn't recognize her at first with the dark auburn braided hair and the dress being something other than black but something made him turn around when he heard her rant.

She was giving a humanitarian speech to one of the investors. At first he got closer just to hear about it. It's always funny to see the faces of the imbeciles when people don't bow to their wishes.

Damien thought he finally found someone who was not a gold digger or a social climber. What made him really stop in his tracks was her body language. It was like a neon flashing sign opened up and said ‘hey this is Sam Mason’. 

Damien walked over with hope in his chest that he was not alone. she eventually seemed to get tired of the man or maybe he was able to scramble an excuse and walk away. he couldn't quite hear but by the time he walked over there it was only her.

 “you seem to be quite passionate,” Damian says, trying to start a conversation and figuring out how to ask the hard question.

 What is he exactly supposed to say? ‘Hey, are you my best friend for my last life or hey do you remember being on my ghost hero vigilante team that ended up with all of us being Undead royalty.’

The girl looks him over, probably trying to figure out what he wants. 

“Are you here to argue?” She says angrily, obviously ready for another fight.

“Your speech reminds me of someone, have you ever heard of Samantha Mason” Damien says trying to be nonchalant.

Her eyes seem to widen and look him over again.

“Where'd you hear that name.” She ordered.

“I've heard enough of her rants to be able to pick it out from a crowd.”

 “Danny,”  She said softly her grabbing his hands and squeezing as she looked around to make sure no one saw. “what how I thought it was the only one” Hope seemed to be filling her eyes. 

“Hi Sam” Damien Whispers just as softly just as glad he is not alone. 

Without another word Sam drags them to the stairway rushing up to the floor upstairs and trying to find a room that isn't being used. She eventually finds one two floors above the room they were using for the gala and pushes him into what looks like a break room.

 “How the hell did you get your memories” Sam demands 

“Why are you yelling at me? You have your memories too obviously if you are recognizing your name” Damian says shouting back at her. 

Sam always has a way of catching him off guard. She was happy just a minute ago. 

“yeah well I did something stupid which means I know you did something stupid” Sam said pointing her finger at him.

“ Well I may have accidentally stumbled upon a ritual for summoning an ancient and when I stopped it the backlash gave me my memories back. ” Damien stumbled over their words trying to justify themselves. "What stupid thing did you do?”

“The girls in my stupid Prep School in my grade went through a very witchy phase. there was a slumber party and they were stupid enough to actually find real magic. I had a cut on my hand earlier in the day and try to freak them out by adding a little bit of my blood. apparently my protection spell is literally stuck into my soul, so things went down” Sam says just as hesitantly as Damien

 “you have zero leg to stand on okay fine we were both stupid” 

They both sat there in silence for a while, mostly just basking in each other's presents realizing they weren't alone anymore.

“it's good to have you back," Damian says, giving her a weak smile and running his hands through his hair.

He'd been trained out of all of his nervous ticks but it probably makes her more comfortable to see him just as nervous as she is.

“it's good to see you too da- do you have the same name?” both of them don't seem to realize at the same time that they didn't get each other's names. 

“Damien” he says as he pulls his hand out of his hair and puts his hand out for a handshake. 

“Sarah” she says, grabbing his hand and giving it a shake.

the two of them shake their hand for a moment before they look at each other's eyes and burst out giggling. 

Damien's really glad he decided to not pretend to be sick.

[nillial]

i finished ethersea

mentally preparing to finish ethersea

[aimedis]

redacted asmr headcanons pt.2

-while angel loves no one more than david, no one infuriates them more than he does (could apply to all mates)

-darlin’ tries to trip david every time he walks in front of them

-lasko is so obsessed with dear, he trails after them like a lost puppy all day (even when they're at damn)

-gavin is 100% addicted to sugar (he’s always eating candy and desserts and drinking sweet drinks)

-darlin’ is insanely ticklish but the only one knows is sam because no one else would dare get that close to them (sam comes up behind them and pokes their sides while they’re not paying attention and they flinch hella hard) ((he also tickles them when they’re in bed together))

-as a teen, darlin’s parents would not let them do anything without david (because they would undoubtedly get into trouble otherwise)

-vincent acts incredibly corny ironically just because it annoys/embarrasses lovely every time

-darlin’ is a pretzel purist (obsessed with them)

-if gavin is arguing with freelancer, giving him a lollipop with make him shut up 99% of the time 

-gavin and freelancer look at each other in sync and judge other people

-asher and baabe argue once a year

-freelancer and gavin fought like one time in their first year of dating and it made freelancer cry like a lot especially to damien (he told gavin after they made up “never let me catch you making my best friend cry again, do you hear me?”) 

-david and darlin’ are 100% siblings coded

-every other week david, asher, milo, and darlin gather together somewhere and talk about their mates and other stuff (mainly their mates) ((sturniolo triplets style))

bonus +

asher: “we’re shifters, of course, our love language is biting the shit out of each other”

milo: “we’re shifters, of course, i'll fight you if you touch my lower back no matter who you are”

darlin’: “we’re shifters, just because i respect the pack hierarchy, doesn’t mean i respect the people in said hierarchy”

david: “we’re shifters, of course, as alpha, i’m legally allowed to beat the shit out of all of you for the sake of “keeping the pack in line””

[laxxarian]

Graves Are A Gateway

After everything the Amity Park went through, they all became more used to Danny Phantom as Danny Fenton.

Now they're all just accustomed and adapted to the ghost fights and even advised Danny how to fight without destruction in the town while Danny's parents would go around building some ghost repellent in others home in case an actual evil ghost would come and also built a training room for Danny to practice his powers without destroying anything.

They discovered and enhanced Danny's powers and one of them seemed to intrigue Sam.

A power to go to a far place by using Danny's grave as his teleporter and they could build at least three graves for him at max.

And Sam suggested to build one in Gotham since Sam usually visits Gotham because of charity and all that and also in Metropolis since the hero there could help Danny if anything went wrong.

Sam doesn't know about Batman since she's more focused on the gothic themes.

The third one would be at his parents backyard so that Danny could go home quickly.

And so, it was decided.

One in Gotham.

One in Metropolis.

And one in Fenton Works.

)-(

One day, Sam went to Gotham and invited Danny and Tucker to test out the grave she built a few months back and the trio plans to meet at Wayne Enterprises. Sadly, Tucker can't go with Danny, not because he was busy, but because the grave only works for the owner which is Danny. Graves are a personal thing.

So Tucker took a plane instead and Danny went to his grave. But as he came out of his grave, he saw two men who looked like a thief, and the two were tied up by the people who were in costumes.

)-(

Robin (Damien) was right behind Danny's grave and saw the whole thing.

A ghost coming out of his half-dugged grave.

)-(

Before Danny came, Batman, Nightwing and Robin were on patrol. Nightwing is there to catch up.

And the three just saw a grave digger so they went and easily apprehended the criminals.

Nightwing read the tombstone for whose grave that they were to dig up, it was Danny Fenton's and he died quite young. Close to Damien's age.

Nightwing was mad and questioned the criminals while Batman called for the police and stuff while Robin was just right behind the grave when he saw the ghost boy coming out.

[cosmicpoutine]

timbern headcanons (mostly bernard)

some are 18+

bernard named the specials at his restaurant stupid bilogy shit like "mitochondria"

janet used to hum when she was distracted, and tim does that too to calm himself down, and once bernard notices, he starts humming tim to sleep after a long night of patrol.

because of the pain cult, bernard's pain tolerance is stupidly hight so they like to experiment with bdsm, but tim always goes easy because he's scared of triggering bernard.

they tried shibari once, but tim, out of pure bat instinct, would free himself within 5 seconds, so it just wasn't as fun (i mean, he does this for a living come on)

bernard has a bellybutton piercing

when bernard comes over, he makes extra food to make sure tim has left over for a few days.

soon bernard notices steph comes over to steal left overs so he makes even more food, then cass and duke also come over and soon enough bernard is feeding the entire batfam like a bunch of pidgeons

damien is suspiciously approving of bernard, but he's the youngest sibling, so he acts nice around bernard specifically to piss off tim.

bernard thinks damian is the sweetest kid he's ever met

whenever someone asks tim about the B necklace, he just says it's for barbie girl as a joke. eventually, he starts calling bernard barbie.

bernard is an avid listener of ayesha erotica

bernard walks really silently, not enough to catch a bat by surprise, but enough for tim to only notice bernard when he's already in the same room. he learned this from sneaking away from his parents.

tim and bernard go skating together, but bernard prefers longboards

they have adopted the cover art cat, but never named her so they call her "calico"

they did not know calico cats are 99% of the time females, so they referred to calico with male pronouns for the longest time until damian reminded both of them how stupid they are.

when bernard comes off work late, he usually looks for robin so they can have late dinner together in an empty parking lot

most rogues know bernard is connected to robin, but they quickly learn hes crazier than the bats and leave him alone.

bernard still has no filter so he will say insane shit in front of the bats and they all go suspicious of him for at least a week

bernard listens to true crime podcasts

timbern uses their engagement rings as earrings, partially because bernard can't have rings in the kitchen and tim can't wear rings as robin.

tim also wears his parents' wedding rings in the B necklace

[rustedhearts]

happy xmas (70s!steve harrington x fem!reader)

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿˚

summary: steve can't find a present for his girlfriend, so he asks the only other girl he knows: you. but searching for the perfect present for nancy turns into steve's chance to find the perfect present for you.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

❅ the most wonderful time of the year ❅ the only living boy in indiana

tags: ignore that I think I messed up my own timeline, I literally do not care, fluff, mutual pining.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

recommended listening: silver joy, damien jurado

⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹hawkins, indiana. december 23rd, 1975 ⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

Christmas break was a godsend this year. After your first semester in community college spent lugging textbooks from the library, and spending countless long evenings studying for exams, you needed the four blissful weeks at home. In silence. In bed.

Which is where you were, snuggled under a heavy pile of your warmest blankets pulled from the linen closet when the first snow fell—when the silence of your warm little home was interrupted by an incessant clanging. You shot up in bed, immediately craning to peer through your fogged-up bedroom window.

Your parents weren't due home until this evening. They still had to work, the poor bastards—but you had the whole place to yourself until then. And you planned on spending it alternating between your bed and the couch, where you'd spend an hour browsing through the TV guide for Christmas specials before deciding on one. Simply because you had absolutely nowhere to be and absolutely nothing to do.

Steve, on the other hand, did.

You huffed at the sight of him bounding down the front steps, kicking up tufts of snow as he went. He found the top of your head in the window and waved a gloved hand, beckoning you down. You groaned, fitfully kicking the covers to the end of your bed to march toward the window.

"Steve, I swear to God. I told you I'm having a day at home," you called down to him once the window was open.

The afternoon sun blared down on his wind-bitten cheeks, turned a rosy shade of pink. The wind billowed through his chestnut hair and pushed it off his forehead. God, he needed a new coat. New gloves, too. You spotted holes in both items, but knew well enough how much Steve cared about that wool-lined suede coat. Maybe your gift would be mending it for him. But lord knew how material Steve could be.

He cinched his brows together and cupped his hands over his eyes as he called up to you. "But I'm havin' a crisis! You have to help me."

Your fingers were catching cold curled over the windowsill, sitting in piles of icicles and last night's snow. In only the pajamas you went to bed in, you were in no place to stand in the open window and argue.

"Jesus," you huffed. "Just...come up, I gotta get changed."

You pulled back into your bedroom and shimmied the window shut with a rusty shriek. Steve grinned and jogged up the front steps toward the door. You scowled as you threw the covers over your rumpled bed, knowing you would not be enjoying the comfort and warmth of those clean sheets today like you'd hoped.

Instead, you discarded your pajamas and tugged on a pair of jeans and a sweater as Steve slammed the front door and headed upstairs.

"Okay, so—" Steve flung the door open and flopped on the end of your bed, boots discarded downstairs. "—I've been to like every store in town and I cannot find a present for Nancy."

You dropped the balled up socks in your hand and turned around, eyes narrowed at the boy hunched on your bed. "I am not going Christmas shopping for your girlfriend."

The pink returned to Steve's cheeks, eyes rounded like dough balls. "What? Come on, you're the only other girl I know!"

You scoffed, sitting on the carpet to roll your socks on. "That is not true."

He huffed, playing with the loose strings on his gloved fingers. "Well, no, but...you're the only one who can, like, help me. You and Nancy are really similar, you'll know what she likes!"

You adjusted the seam over your toes and glanced at Steve in your periphery. He truly did sound desperate. But that didn't change the fact that you'd have to spend the day you set aside to sleep and relax shopping for another girl. Steve's girlfriend, no less. The girl you weren't sure was right for your best friend anyway. Never mind the fact that she was a total priss, you were pretty sure she had feelings for another guy.

And Steve, with all his jealousy and possession issues, didn't seem to see it.

"We are not alike," you mumbled, plucking at the cotton of your socks.

"Whatever," Steve huffed. "Just...can you help me? It's gotta be something nice."

A deep breath ballooned in your chest. When you released it, it flung the hair out of your eyes. Steve watched you intently, socked foot bouncing on the floor. The wood beneath it squeaked in that spot, and the carpet muffled the sound to morph it into a groan.

You pushed off the floor and crossed your arms. "Fine. But you're buying me a pretzel at the mall. And a Pepsi."

Steve leapt to his feet, gloved hands outstretched to grab you by the shoulders. The grin on his face nuzzled into your cheek where he pressed a loud kiss.

"Yes, thank you. I'll buy you two! Okay, come on, come on."

He rushed the open door and hurried back downstairs for his boots. You sighed, pulling your discarded gloves and earmuffs from their place on your dresser.

"Come onnn!" Steve called from the bottom of the steps.

"Oh my god, I'm coming!"

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧ ︵‿₊୨୧₊‿˚

"You know, why did you wait until two days before Christmas to ask me to help you, Steve?"

The pretzel you made Steve buy you before you even stepped foot into a store was perfectly soft and buttery. The salt tingled on your tongue beautifully, and it was almost enough to help smooth the irritation this whole dilemma caused.

Except it was two days before Christmas and the mall was packed. You had to shuffle through hordes of people and you were already sweating through your layers. Someone nearly pushed you near the candy store and a little girl sneezed on your shoes.

The pretzel was simply not enough to save you from all that.

"I thought I could find somethin' by myself." Steve shrugged, taking a sip of the Pepsi.

He got a large so you could share, but he was hogging most of it.

"What, nothing said Nancy to you?"

The pair of you rounded the corner near Orange Julius, where blenders whirred over the jingle of Christmas music emitting from Sears. The fluorescent lights were warmed with giant globes of soft white light and the trees of multi-colored bulbs. They had tinsel and garland and ornaments everywhere, and if you weren't so upset with Steve, you might've found it wonderful. Sears was your happy place, after all.

So if Nancy really was like you, she'd find something worthy of Christmas there, too.

"Not really. She's very....particular."

"Mm," you hummed, ripping off another bite of your pretzel. "Do you think I'm particular then?"

Steve shot you a look, brow quirked. "No, you're picky. There's a big difference."

"I am not!" you gasped, shoving at his padded arm. "I just...like what I like."

"Yeah. You're high maintenance."

You scowled into your pretzel, reaching over to snatch the Pepsi cup from his hand. "Hey."

"No, it's okay. It's what makes you, you," he assured, looping his arm around your shoulders to give you a shake, tucked into his side.

You huffed, attaching your mouth to the chewed-up straw. Steve's anxious affliction came in the form of an oral fixation, usually attached to a cigarette between his lips.

"I don't know how you put up with me," you droned dryly.

Steve chuckled, giving you a squeeze with his arm. "Ah, you're alright."

In Sears, you let Steve hold the Pepsi again as you roamed the aisles. You steered clear of appliances entirely, knowing Nancy likely didn't use hot rollers and certainly didn't need a blender for Christmas. You headed to the clothing department first, knowing from the catalog that came a few weeks ago that they had a pretty good selection this year.

"So, what's your budget, Harrington?"

Steve leaned against a stand and shrugged. "Dunno, whatever."

You raised a brow, peering at him over the neck of an argyle cable knit. "Oh, fancy man with his big boy job, huh?"

Steve rolled his eyes, gnawing on the straw again. "Whatever."

You folded the sweater and placed it back on the table, pulling the gloves off your fingers with your teeth. You tucked them in your coat pocket and moved onto the next table, peering through the selection of fabrics and options. Steve followed quietly, glancing casually but absently. You pulled the Pepsi from his hands when the straw chewing became loud.

"What about this?" he asked, pulling a fuzzy pink sweater up like roadkill, plucked between two fingers. "You think she'd like this?"

You hid your smile behind a sip of Pepsi. "Um...I guess, yeah."

"Well...would you wear it?" Steve held it out by the shoulders, letting the sweater hang loose.

You looked it over, tipping your head. "Probably not. But I don't really wear pink, I think Nancy does."

"Oh, right."

Steve placed it back on the table in a rumpled ball. You huffed, shoving the cup against his chest.

"What are you, a heathen? Fold it, Harrington, Jesus."

He was quiet a moment, watching you fluff and fold an item you didn’t plan to buy.

"Are you sure you don't wear pink?"

"Have you seen me wear pink?"

Hearing his sharp intake of know-it-all breath, you whirled around and added an addendum. "After the age of seven?"

Steve closed his mouth. You plucked the cup from his hand and flashed a tight-lipped smile.

"Exactly. Come on, let's go over here."

He followed you across the snow-slicked tile, boots squeaking as he went. He watched you pause and tip your head at a brown coat in the men's section, only to turn back toward the women's. He eyed it as he followed you blindly.

"What about you?"

You felt the sleeve of a plum-colored cardigan. "What about me?"

"What do you like getting for Christmas?"

You tossed him a bewildered glance. "You know I love my Mrs. Harrington popcorn tin every year."

Steve chuckled, twisting the plastic straw of the Pepsi cup between two fingers. "Yeah, but...I don't know, what's one thing you've always really wanted, but never got?"

You watched him twist the straw, and hung the sweater back on the rack. "Um...I don't know."

"Oh, come on. Like...you know I've always wanted that one super rare press of The Stones'—"

"Yes, Steve, I know."

Steve ignored your eye roll, taking one large step forward toward the jewelry case you were peering into. “Well, so, what’s your rare press? The one thing you really want?”

You glanced at him through your lashes, head still angled toward the array of rings and bracelets. Your cheeks illuminated by the fluorescents, fingers collecting the glimmer of a strand of lit garland wrapped around the glass of the jewelry case—it all suddenly made Steve begin gnawing at the Pepsi straw again.

"Why are you asking me this?"

Steve huffed, leaning back against the warm case until you pushed him off. "Jesus, is it so hard for you to answer one question?"

You straightened up again and stepped away from the jewelry. Nancy seemed like a jewelry girl, but you were becoming increasingly more frustrated in your search—though at this point, your eyes were simply grazing items. Everything that piqued your interest didn't seem like something Nancy was worthy of. And the mere thought of your spite for the girl gave you pause.

So, how could Steve be so sweet in this moment when you were standing there plotting revenge on Nancy Wheeler through means of shitty Christmas gifts?

"Fine," you mumbled. "Um...you know that I always think it's the thought that counts—"

"God," Steve groaned, tipping his head back dramatically as he followed you into the next department. "Okay, Mother Teresa."

Your elbow jammed into his side and caused Steve to yelp. "I mean it! Sure, I might be particular—"

"Picky—"

"—but just the thought of someone thinking of me, or having me in mind when they find something...that's what makes a gift special. You know? Like when you went to that bookstore in Indianapolis and got me that journal. You didn't get it because you knew I wanted it, you got it because it made you think of me."

Steve swallowed, grinding his teeth over the flimsy plastic of the straw. You twirled a coat around on its hanger and inspected the back. As your hand swept over the tweed, Steve felt the bite of pretzel he took crawling its way back up.

"So..." He tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tasting the sweetness lining his cheeks. God, was he gonna be sick because of this?

And what was this? He knew it wasn't the normal, platonic ache all best friends of any gender felt. He knew it was abnormal, actually, to listen to you speak and suddenly feel so overcome with something that it made him want to flee. But what was that something?

It certainly couldn't be what he was thinking.

"Your rare press is...something thoughtful?"

You giggled, hanging the coat back up. The metal hanger shrieked over the rack. "No, I guess if I had to have a rare press, it'd be one of my grandma's handmade blankets. She made one for my mom and all her siblings when they went off to college or moved out, and...I don't know, I guess I'm still sad I'll never get my own now that she's gone."

When Steve only hummed, you turned to find him leaning against a tinsel-wrapped column near the aisle.

"I guess that's something thoughtful, too," you added.

Steve had the straw back in his mouth again, and he bobbed his head affirmatively. You turned away and scanned the store before you. You suddenly couldn't be here any longer, and when a bit of yellow caught your eye, you rushed for it.

It was a soft sweater, with embroidered flowers on the sleeves and tortoise shell buttons. You pulled one from the table and held it out to Steve, who had just caught up to you from across the store.

"What—"

"—here. Nancy looks nice in yellow. Something thoughtful, too."

Steve took the bundle of yellow in his grasp. You took the Pepsi cup, now mangled by his teeth and crushed by his hand, and took a sip through the gnawed opening.

"Come on, let's go pay. The lines are wrapped around already."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿ ˚

⊹₊ ˚ ₊�� christmas eve. ⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

You watched through the fog of your living room window as Steve's BMW pulled into his driveway. He wore his nicer coat that day, buttoned snugly against his throat. At the passenger side, he offered his hand to an equally-bundled Nancy, dark curls billowing in the afternoon breeze. Their breaths echoed whitely against the grey sky, noses and cheeks already wind-whipped pink.

You let the curtains fall back into place when they disappeared through his front door.

"Honey, want to help me hang the popcorn?" your mother asked, holding a strand of popcorn and cranberry garland between two hands.

You pressed your socked feet into the carpet and met her near the tree. "Sure, mom."

And every walk around the tree to fix an ornament or fluff a branch, or tread to the dining room for a cube of cheese from the platter your parents set out for their friends later, came with a glance through the window toward Steve's house.

So, when the cheese began to curdle in your stomach, and the sound of Christmas carols crackling through your father's record player was not enough to distract you from what was going on next door, you went into the living room and peeked around the corner.

"Hey, mom? I think I'm gonna go lie down. Wake me when everyone's here?"

Your mother looked up from the tin of ornaments she was rifling through, placed on the floor at her knees. She had on her nicest tweed dress and white blouse, hair twisted and pinned neatly at the back of her head. The Christmas party was your parents' favorite event of the year. You wouldn't miss it out of heartache—but your body was calling you to bed.

"Oh, okay, sweetheart. Are you feeling alright?"

You nodded, flashing your most convincing smile. "Yeah, just tired from all that shopping yesterday. I'll see you guys in a bit."

And you crawled into bed, even in your dress. Tight-clad feet wiggled near the edge of the bed, nestled beneath the pile of blankets you abandoned yesterday. Their warmth weighed down on you blissfully. The crackle of your father's record player and the choir of the Christmas carols faded in the distance. The howl of the wind grew quiet as the afternoon lulled. It only whispered, softly, through the bareness of the trees and the cracks in your window.

Before you shut your eyes, you looked off toward the glass. The center fogged with the kiss between radiator heat and the frozen world outside. Snow gathered around the edges like lace border. From this angle, you could see only the spindly edges of the tree branch tops. How snow sat like dollops of whipped cream on their ends.

The world was quiet, cold, and empty. And it was exactly what you needed.

⊹₊ ˚ ₊⊹

Steve came when you were fast asleep. He knocked on the front door with a gloved fist, keeping his sloppily-wrapped gift behind his back. The grin on his face slipped when the door opened to your mother, who winced with a finger to her lips.

"Hi, Steven."

"Hi, Sandra. Is she around?"

"She's sleeping," she whispered, giving another wince.

Steve nodded, smile absent now. "Oh, okay. Um...do you mind if I just put this outside her door?"

Your mother looked at the lumpy shape in Steve's hands, wrapped in shiny red paper and a golden bow. Her wincing ceased instantly and she perked up with a grin.

"Oh, how lovely, Steven. You're such a sweet boy, you know?"

Steve chuckled, cheeks burning.

"You sure you don't want to just wait, give it to her tomorrow?" she asked.

Steve placed both hands around the present, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he gazed down. "Um...no, that's okay. Kind of wanted her to have it tonight, and we're going to my grandparents' in a bit."

"Well, alright. Come on in, you can head up."

Steve thanked your mother and stepped inside. He shook his boots off on the mat and unlaced them quickly. He shook your father's hand, complimented the festivities of your home's first floor, and tiptoed toward the staircase.

The hallway darkened near your bedroom. He paused outside of the door, listening to the sounds of your home for a moment. Your parents conversing downstairs over the jazzy toot of a Christmas song. The heater rattling a little at the end of the hall. You gave no sign of life on the other side of the door.

So, Steve found himself opening it. Quietly, knowing it tended to whine on the hinges at a certain distance. He opened it just enough to slip through, and then found himself standing there. In the center of your bedroom, socked feet weighing down the carpet. You used to draw shapes in the fibers when you were younger, lying on your stomachs with your feet kicking behind you. You'd write each other messages in the pink, giggling when you guessed them exactly.

In your bed— cheek squished against a plaid pillow, hair fussed about, mouth open to breathe softly—you looked just like that little girl again. The one who called him Stevie. The one he spent afternoons that felt like years with.

It's strange how different time felt when you were children. How much more if it you had. How simple and unperverted it was, not yet burdened with the difficulties of life and that odd, aching feeling.

As Steve placed the lumpy present wrapped messily in red at the foot of your bed, he imagined that little girl opening it when she woke, and the smile on her face that he would never see.

It left him with an even bigger ache in his chest as he slipped back into the hallway and headed down for his boots.

But it would have pleased him to know that when you woke at four o'clock, and your bedroom was nearly dark with evening, you shuffled to sit and stared at that red present in wonder. You brought it to your lap and ran your finger over the scratchy glitter of the bright, gold bow.

There was a sticky note taped to the top, complete with what you instantly recognized as Steve's scraggly handwriting.

Your rare press.

— Steve

You chuckled softly, and tore the paper as carefully as you could. Before all of it had even been removed, goosebumps traveled beneath the sleeves of your dress. A gasp left your mouth, and you discarded the paper toward the other side of your bed to leave only your rare press in your hands.

Stripes of purple—an array of dark to light, boysenberry, violet, mauve, lavender—wove through gaps the size of tiny, feminine fingers. It was soft and heavy in your palms, exactly the weight of the one strewn over the couch in the living room. With the wavy edges of a Harrington afghan, seen in the many rooms touched by his grandmother.

Though yours was gone, Steve had one that loved to offer her magic hand.

You brought the blanket to your chest and hugged it close. Wonderfully, it smelled like Steve.

Leftover Winston, a warm amber musk, and the woodsy pine of a Christmas tree.

It was enough to make you get out of bed and lay the layers of blankets neatly. And folded just-so over the end of your mattress, you placed your purple present for all to see.

And it smelled wonderfully of Steve.

[ludwig-van-gaythoven]

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader)

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Underage smoking, underage drinking, implied ED

Parts

Part 1// Part2// Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6

School trips were never really your thing. Sure it was good to be out of classes but to you it just seemed like an extension of school and honestly you’d rather be anywhere else.

One of the teachers thought it would be a bright idea to take you all out of school for a week to spend it in a forest ‘immersed in nature’. Possibly their tactic to get everyone to stop being at eachother a throats especially after the whole Cady incident a few months back.

It didn’t help that your best friends Janis and Damien both ended up getting sick at the last minute so couldn’t come with you , now you had to stay in your shared cabin alone. At least you didn’t have to room with a random person the whole trip, small mercies I guess.

The coach drive there was boring. You sat near the front, making sure to put your bag on the seat next to yours so nobody tried to sit with you. Of course Queen Regina and her minions took ownership of the back of the coach, that’s why you decided to sit upfront. Best to stay out of the firing line.

It’s not that you hated Regina, you understand why she’s the way she is. It’s a smart move to position yourself at the top of the food chain to avoid being mauled. Your tactic has always been to just steer clear of the food chain entirely which has worked so far.

The coach finally comes to a stop after a few hours and everyone shoves their way off and mills around in groups before a teacher starts to call out names and lodge numbers so people can go and unpack.

As soon as you turn the corner you hear Regina’s shriek of horror.

“Eww, what the fuck are these. I thought we were staying in chalets”

You roll you eyes. The cabins were clean, neat, maybe a little rustic. Of course Regina would still have to be dramatic about it.

“I’m sure forcing us to stay in one of these is some form of neglect.” She snarks at Mrs Norbury as she takes her hot pink suitcase over to her accommodation.

Luckily you get assigned one of the cabins at the edge of the forest, it’ll be quiet. Unfortunately it’s the next cabin over from the plastics. Not that they’ll even notice you there, I’m not sure any of them even know your name. It feels safe to be invisible, if not a bit lonely.

Once everyone is settled, a teacher comes round to each cabin explaining that tonight you can just get settled. No hiking or activities today, just a campfire and dinner later. That suits you perfectly. You sit on the creaky bed in your cabin, pull out your Switch console and start to get lost in a game. Hours pass before dinner call and you make your way, alone to the campfire.

You sit on your own, out of the way of all the different high school cliques. At this point you wish Janis and Damien were here. It feels vulnerable sitting alone.

To distract yourself you watch the other groups like a documentary maker. Noting the way they interact, the tension between them and the clique next to them. However nobody quite catches your eye like Regina.

She’s like a lioness. She has this invisible hold over everyone. They can all fuck about in their own groups but as soon as someone steps a foot out of place she roars and swishes her mane and everyone scampers back to obedience.

Currently she’s sitting at a bench with Gretchen and Karen, they’re talking enthusiastically about their plans for the trip; makeovers, cabin decoration, girly shit. Regina seems zoned out, she’s been pushing the same bit of food around her plate for a good 15 minutes. Every few minutes it’s like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, rearranging everything until teachers tell us to go back to our cabins and rest for the evening. You’re not sure you saw her eat a single thing, the food is probably not up to her standards.

Regina stands and suddenly seems snapped out of her trance, flashing a grin and summoning Karen and Gretchen back to the cabin with her.

You follow, a good distance behind. No point getting too close to danger, and slip back to your Cabin unnoticed.

There’s not much to do alone in a forest so you end up putting on a movie and start a new page in your sketchbook. Janis and Damien are the only ones to know you draw. That’s how you ended up speaking with Janis in the first place. If that news ever got back to Regina she’d probably have something to finally pick on you for, but so far you aren’t even on her radar.

You lose a lot of time sketching out some of the trees you can see out of the window, lots of tall, looming pines fill the page, you start to sketch a lion between the trees.

Eventually darkness creates a blanket around the forest. There’s a soft glow from many lamps outside of cabin doors, but past that, the forest seems endless in the dark. It’s 10:30pm. Teachers are fast asleep. Students definitely are not.

You hear snickering coming from the plastics cabin. Their lights are still on, not that you care at all.

Since all the teachers are asleep you decide that it’s probably safe to sneak out and have a cigarette. You stand down the side of the cabin so that your silhouette is obscured slightly by a bush and hunt through your pockets for a lighter. Finally you light the cigarette, trying to blow the smoke downwind, away from the teachers window.

“Karen! Fuck! Would you just stop puking, shut up!”

You watch from the shadow as Karen falls out of the door and begins to heave into the bush next to their window. Gretchen follows quickly, shaking Karen by the shoulders, desperately trying to get her to shut up so they don’t wake anyone. Regina steps out too, slightly loosing balance and nearly falling down the steps after them.

Clearly they’re all drunk. Someone must have snuck alcohol in.

Regina tries to keep a composed look but you see panic flash across her face briefly as her eyes scan around them, watching for any witnesses. You stay completely still against the cabin wall.

Karen finally stops for a second and they grab her by the arms to try and get her back inside. Their balance isn’t very good either and on the way in Regina’s foot connects briefly with a terracotta plant pot which wobbles for a second and then crashes to the ground, smashing over the front step. A sound that cuts through the night air.

The light to the teachers cabin flicks on.

You quickly drop the cigarette and stomp it out before silently scrambling back into your room, making sure the door closes soundlessly, watching intently through the window.

Mrs Norbury storms over to the plastics lodge, already suspecting they caused the noise.

You can’t make out exactly what’s being said. There’s a lot of shouting, from both parties. Then Mrs Norbury leaves, and the plastics light goes off too.

You quickly get into bed. It’s unlikely anyone will check in on you, but you decide it’s time to sleep anyway, it’s late, and drift off to the sound of the wind through trees. The wind sounds faintly like a roar.

In the morning you shower and begin to get changed when there’s a knock at your door.

“Regina will be rooming with you for the rest of the week, make sure she doesn’t try sneaking out.”

[iluvapplesxh]

☞☞☞☞Kissable II.☜☜☜☜

summary: Regina discovers something 'shocking' about herself and also finds out who you really are. So, with the promise of an apology, she approaches you once more.

other parts: part I,

warnings: use of 'y/n' like twice, curse words, mentions of body shaming, set after the 2024 movie, fat shaming, !ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

A/N: the mf title is not in the middle. Istg. anyway, yay! long awaited pt2!

Regina didn’t know what to make of her thoughts. Thoughts which have been all but haunting her for the past weeks and it was killing her. She couldn’t stop thinking about you and your stupid lips. Or your stupid glasses you wore all the time. Or the way her mind would wander what was going on under all those baggy hoodies and jeans.

And so, she decided to get a ‘professional’s opinion.

“You’re gay”

Regina’s mouth hung open at Janis’ words while the other girl stared at her with a blank face, leaning against her locker with crossed arms. 

“That is absurd!” Regina gasps, clearly offended. Her eyes narrowed at the shorter girl and she crossed her own arms over her chest.

Janis snorted and shook her head. “Nope. Just the truth” The artsy girl shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “I mean, look at the obvious factors; you can’t stop thinking about her, you can’t stop thinking about kissing he-” 

She was cut off when Regina slapped a hand on her mouth. “Okay, we-well…how do I stop?” Regina asked, her voice filled with desperation.

Janis laughed once more. “You don’t. Well I mean, after a while maybe, but you have a crush” She smirks, gazing up at Regina with a mischievous glint in her milk chocolate brown eyes.  

“What?!” Regina exclaimed loudly, making some of the gazes of the students surrounding the halls shift to the two of them. Regina looked at them before cooling herself down and taking a deep breath. “I do not have a crush” Her eyes widened while she spoke in a demanding tone. “I don’t even know who she is!”  

Janis rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms. “Y/N L/N.” She turned and opened her locker, rummaging through her books, notebooks and random sketches. 

Regina blinked. Once, then twice before finally gathering up her words. “Fatty girl Y/N?” Her voice was low as her eyes widened. “I..I mean, I didn’t-...I thought she moved schools” Regina swallowed harshly, the lump in her throat making it hard to do so.

Janis huffed and zipped up her bag. “Yeah, no. She didn’t” She mumbled and turned back around. “She just lost weight��and all her friends” She shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders. “And she’s known as forever 2nd in her classes” She added, shutting her locker.

Regina’s brows knitted together and her lips formed a straight line. “I have to talk to her” She muttered then felt a harsh pat on her arm. She looked up from the floor to the shorter girl.

“Good luck with that.” 

Was all the dark-haired girl said before walking away, catching up with Damien halfway through when she saw him walking down the hallway.

A soft, heavy breath slipped past Regina’s plump lips before she pressed them together. She uncrossed her arms and turned on her heel, walking towards Karen’s locker where the 3 other Plastics were standing by and chatting between each other.

It was once more after school and you found yourself-unsurprisingly- in the library again. The sun was still up, peeking through the large gothic-like windows as you sat by the very same table you sat at every day. Your glasses sat neatly next to your propped up elbow on the top of the light-wood desk. Your legs swung back and forth, your eyes tracing over the words on the semi-new paper page you were reading. The tips of your fingers barely touch the book's paper cover, tracing over the big, bulging letters of the title.

You didn’t look up when you heard the big double doors of the library open and close, since considering the time, it could be anyone and you really just couldn’t care less. You were way too invested in the plot of the book anyway.

And you didn’t look up when you heard footsteps approaching, either. You just assumed they needed something from the shelves on the other side. But when they stopped right next to you, your eyebrows furrowed and you placed your book down, carefully placing the bookmark in between the pages before closing it. You looked up slowly and saw your literal worst nightmare.

Regina stared down at you, her eyes flicking over your features. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw you without glasses, the lack of air making her head spin and heart pound in her chest for a moment before she could breathe again. 

“Uh-...” You began speaking in a small voice, your now trembling hand reaching for your glasses. “Regina. How can I help you?” You finally muttered out as your shaky hand placed the glasses on your face, pushing it up tightly on the bridge of your nose.

Regina swallowed thickly and crossed her arms. “Stand up” She didn’t mean  to sound mean, or bitter, but you were making her feel things and it was so confusing, and weird, and distracting, and suffocating, and warm-

You stood quickly, fear filling your eyes. Your arms hung by your sides before you began fiddling with your fingers, hands in front of your torso while you waited for Regina to speak.

Regina’s expression softened as her eyes took in your panicked and alarmed state. She uncrossed her arms and sighed. “Don’t…Don’t be scared” She muttered out, her jaw going slack as an unusual feeling of guilt washed over her.

Your eyebrows furrowed at her words and your breathing slightly calmed for some reason, but the fiddling and fidgeting of your fingers didn’t stop. 

Regina’s eyes flickered down to your fidgeting hands and she gulped before looking back into your eyes. “I uhm…I know who you are” One of her fingers hooked into the thin silver bracelet on her wrist while she shifted on her feet.

Your eyes widened once more the slightest bit before you cleared your throat and looked anywhere but the blonde-haired girl’s icy blue eyes. Your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth, and you bit so hard the tips of your cuspid teeth drew blood from the soft tissue of the inside of your mouth. The metallic taste made you slightly nauseous and you swallowed hard.

Regina took a deep breath, her tongue darting out to moisten her drying lips. “Look, I-...” She exhaled harshly. “I know it’s too late to apologize and that it’s useless, but…” She trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. “Shit, I don’t know” 

You blinked up at her, your head cocked to the side. You actually weren’t that mad at her for body shaming you for a whole year, at least it reached positive results. Yeah, that was a stupid way of thinking about it but you didn’t care. I mean, of course, it hurt. Like a fucking bitch. But you weren’t mad at her. Nonetheless, her sudden apology left you pretty much speechless, your lips parted and eyebrows knitted together tightly.

Regina quirked an eyebrow at your reaction and waved her hand in front of your face. When you didn’t even blink, a huff left her lips. Her hand twitched the slightest bit when she felt your breath fan over the skin of her palm.  And in a swift, thoughtless motion, her ringed fingers wrapped around your chin, making your snap out of whatever trance or alternate reality you were lost in.

Your eyes widened when the cool metals touched your skin and you swallowed hard.

“Are you there?” Regina’s voice seemed a little distant as blood rushed to your cheeks and your heart beat in your rib cage at a dangerous pace. A soft scoff escaped her lips and her grip tightened on your jaw, pulling you closer to her. Her eyes stuck on your plump lips for a moment too long when she did so, her breathing ragged. Then her eyes looked into your distant ones again.

God, get your damn head out of the gutter.

But your lips were so alluring and inviting and kissable.

“I literally just apologized for your life trauma and you just stare at me” She said in a hushed tone and the way she tilted her head made you feel dizzy. “Hello? Are you with me?”

You blinked multiple times before clearing your throat and stepping away from her, looking down as your face grew red. A soft pang of pain shot through Regina’s chest when you pulled away but she covered up her hurt expression. “Uh, y-...yeah. It’s fine” Was all you could mutter.

You took haste breaths and hurriedly packed up your stuff from the desk. Regina’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Wait, no, where are you going-” Her hand reached out for you again but you had already slung your backpack over your shoulder, the unfinished book in your hands as you stepped away.

“I gotta go” 

The words which came out of your mouth were rushed and mumbled before you turned around so fast, you were surprised you didn’t get whiplash. You basically ran out of the library once again.

Regina huffed out a heavy breath in frustration as she watched you go. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, hands clenched into fists as you once more left her. Alone. And feeling new things again.

A/N: guyssss, the new Billie and Charli xcx song??? holy shit. I literally had a panic attack when I first heard it... anyway, pt.3?

tags: @autorasexy

[not-neverland06]

Bad Day

part two

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) A/N: I don’t usually think about slashers until Halloween, but I’ve just had House of Wax brainrot for the past two weeks, so I wanted to get this out Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence (barely) Summary: Stranded on the side of the road with shitty friends, you’re forced to visit Ambrose, home of the infamous House Of Wax. Unfortunately for you, you manage to catch the attention of not one, but two of the Sinclair brothers.

“Hey, what’s that noise?”

Sarah looks over her shoulder at you and shrugs. “What’re you talking about?”

You roll your eyes and tap Dean on the shoulder, he grunts, the best answer you’ll get from him. “Pull over, I think something’s wrong with the car.” He gives you a questioning glance over his shoulder but shrugs and pulls onto the side of the desolate road. 

You could hear the rest of your friends pulling up behind you in their truck as you hopped out. You walk to the front of the car, popping open the hood and immediately regretting it as a cloud of smoke blasts you in the face. “Shit,” you hiss, backing up and fanning the air in front of your face. 

“Oh, fuck,” the angriest you’d ever heard your stoic friend Dean, and his voice was still barely above a whisper. Alison, Owen, Gwen, and Damien hopped out of their truck and came rushing over to the three of you. 

“What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Y/N’s piece of shit car.” You rolled your eyes at Sarah’s bitchy attitude, you don’t know why you agreed to this trip. You barely like any of them, they were horrible people and worse friends. You’re pretty sure the only reason they invited you was because Owen’s truck couldn’t fit all of them and you were the only one they knew with a big enough car for the rest. 

“I saw a sign, some place called Ambrose, we could try there. Might have someone who could help.”

You all glanced at each other, each of you trying to come up with a solution, but nothing was better than Owen’s suggestion. What's the worst that could happen?

Your car had managed to make it long enough to get to some campground, you really hadn’t been willing to just abandon it on the side of the road to be stolen. Now, you all sat in the grass, debating who should head into town. 

“Y/N should go. It’s her car.”

“Thank you, Allison,” you glared at her, “but I’m not willing to go into some strange town all on my own.”

Owen let out a loud sigh before he reluctantly said, “I’ll go with you.” You were overwhelmed by his kindness. Not. 

There was a high pitched scoff and you glanced over to see Allison glaring at her boyfriend. “You volunteered real quick.”

“Ally-”

She held up a hand and walked off, struggling slightly over the damp ground with her heels. Owen trailed after her, offering you a barely there apology as he left you with everyone else. You were acutely aware of how none of them would meet your eye. 

Up ahead, Ally was laying into Owen, probably another fight because she always thought he was trying to sleep with someone else. It didn’t take you long to realize you were on your own. You really hated these people. 

You stood up, shooting dirty looks over your shoulder as you started towards the woods Owen had determined would take you to Ambrose. “Thanks babe!”

You flipped Gwen off and kept walking. You grumbled to yourself as you tripped down the steep hill and cussed each of them out every time your foot sank into mud. The further down the hill you got the worse it was starting to smell. 

At first it was just musky and you assumed the stifling atmosphere was from the humidity. Then it started to really stink, putrid, rotting flesh stink. You gagged slightly the closer you got to the source of the smell. Your stomach was twisting and turning and you thought the skin inside your nose was burning as you tried to breath through your mouth. That only seemed to make it worse. Now you could taste the rot, feel it spilling down your throat.

“Y/N, wait!”

You jumped, looking over your shoulder at Owen approaching you, the rest of your friends behind him. The distraction cost you, though, your foot got twisted in a root and you let out a loud yelp as you went flying headfirst down the hill.  

“Oh, shit!” You could hear them laughing behind you as you rolled down the hill, your ribs and elbows busting against random rocks and roots. You hissed in pain when you finally came to a stop, already feeling a dozen different scrapes all along your body. 

You went to sit up but your hand sank into something soft and gooey, and oh god you were going to lose your lunch. 

You actually did throw up in your mouth, swallowing it with a burn as you scrambled desperately to get out of whatever putrid pit you were stuck in. You glanced around, finally coming across the source of the smell, dozens of carcasses surrounded you. Some of them so rotted you couldn’t even tell what animal it was anymore. 

You screamed as your hand finally found purchase on something. You glanced down at the hand wrapped around your own and shot up, your feet slipping and sliding against the gore. Two hands wrapped around your biceps and helped you, finally. 

You grasped onto the arms of whoever had you and practically leapt onto them in your attempt to escape. They pulled you away from the pit and you let out a shuddering sigh. “Thank you.”

You glanced up, finally getting to see the face of your savior. He had yellowed teeth, a sweat stained tank top on, and a very adorable smile as he patted your shoulder and backed off. “You alright?”

You let out a strained, “mhm,” as you attempted to catch your breath and not vomit on his feet. “There-“ you covered your mouth as bile rose up. You pointed towards the pit, taking in a deep breath, “Hand. Human hand.”

The man titled his head in confusion before walking over to the pit and digging around where you just were. You winced at the sound of squelching before he managed to reveal the hand once more. You jumped as he grabbed onto it, he laughed as he tugged at it until there was a loud pop and the hand came loose. 

“Anyone need a hand?”

Your friends, who had been standing at the top of the pit watching you struggle, stared at him with varying expressions of disgust. You let out an awkward laugh, relieved it had only been a mannequin and nothing worse. 

He turned around at the sound of your laughter and gave you another goofy smile. “Thank god,” you breathed. 

He came back towards you, completely unbothered by the death around him. “Sorry ‘bout your clothes.”

You glanced down at your shirt and grimaced, it was completely covered in brown blood and old bits of roadkill. “Not your fault.” You glanced towards the back of his truck, seeing old blood in the bed of it and realizing this is where he dumped the animals people hit on the highway. 

“Hey!” You both jumped at the booming voice and looked over to see Owen hopping awkwardly down the hill, skirting the dead bodies, and coming to stand next to you. The others hovered further behind. “You know where Ambrose is?”

The man ignored him, glancing at you. “That where you were heading?” You nodded and he scoffed, “Woulda been walking a long way. ‘Bout fifteen miles up the road.”

You elbowed Owen in the side and glared at him, “You said it was close!”

He rubbed his side and shrugged, “I don’t know, guess the walk was longer than I thought.” He evaded making any eye contact and stared at his shoes. You rolled your eyes, what an asshole. 

“I could give you a ride.”

You blanched at the man's suggestion, he seemed nice enough, but you really weren’t eager to get into a stranger’s truck. “No need, we’ll just take Owen’s truck.”

He shrugged, “Alright. But good luck getting in, there’s only one way to town and it’s not on any map.”

You let out a deep sigh, this day is just getting better and better. “We won’t be bothering you?” He shook his head and walked towards his truck, opening up the passenger door for you. 

You gave him a tense smile before digging your fingers into Owen’s arm and dragging him behind you. “You’re coming with me, don’t bother arguing.”

“Owen?” Allison shouted after him. 

The man answered before Owen could, “I’ll come back for y’all. Don’t you worry!” Something about the smile he shot at them, it was different than the one he’d directed towards you, there was something swimming between his yellowed teeth and honeyed smile. His eyes glittered with malicious intent and you shivered when he looked back at you. 

You didn’t really have another choice, you’d have to follow him. He, apparently, was the only one who could get you into town. You forced a kind smile on your face and thanked him as he helped you up in the truck. “I hope I don’t stink up your seats too bad,” you added as he rounded the front. 

You’d realized you’d spoken too soon when you actually got a chance to smell the interior of his truck. You clutched the seat as your eyes bulged out. Somehow, the inside was worse than the pit outside. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he hopped in the truck. You heard Owen groan under his breath beside you as he slammed the truck door close. 

“Shit,” he hissed, clutching his stomach and trying not to make a big deal about how fucking awful the truck smelled and felt. 

“I’m Lester,” the man told you, offering a hand for you to shake. You paused on holding your breath to tell him your and Owen’s names. “You’ll want to find Bo when we get into town. He’s the mechanic, he’ll be able to fix you up.”

You clutched the edge of the seat for the rest of the ride, trying to remain polite as you made small talk with Lester, but you could only hold your breath for so long. He seemed to pick up on your discomfort and rolled the windows down, “AC don’t work no more.”

“Maybe Bo could fix it.”

He glanced up at you, eyes lighting up like he’d never thought of that before. “Yeah! Maybe he could!” He let out a goofy laugh, slapping his thigh and smiling at you. “I ain’t never thought of that before.”

You let out a weak chuckle, the reaction was pretty extreme for something as simple as suggesting you got to a mechanic for car problems. Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Fuckin’ Christ.” He muttered, glancing at Lester out of the corner of his eye and shaking his head. 

You elbowed him again, ignoring his noise of pain and silently threatening him to shut up. You understood that Lester might stink and have strange reactions, but Christ, he was giving you both a ride fifteen miles out of his way. He could be a little more appreciative. 

“Alright,” the truck slowly rumbled to a stop. “We’re here.”

You glanced at Lester and then the clear lack of town through the windshield. “Um, what?”

He chuckled slightly, “It’s around the bend. Truck can’t go over that, though.” You followed the direction of his gaze and lifted yourself from the seat to see a little creek and a broken bridge. “Go ahead and I’ll go back for your friends.”

Owen opened the door, practically flying out of the truck. He took in deep and dramatic inhales as the stifling Louisiana air hit him in the face. You rolled your eyes at him and turned back towards Lester, “Thank you so much for the help.”

He gave you a strange look, not quite mean but not very friendly, “Don’t thank me yet.” You had barely closed the door before he was peeling off. 

You turned towards Owen but he just shrugged, “I don’t know man, I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

You nodded, turning towards the creek, “Agreed.”

You were thankful you’d chosen a black tank top, the sun was beating directly down on you and you were pretty sure you had already sweat through every layer you had on. You were desperate for a hair clip or rubber band or literally anything to get your hair off your neck. Another minute sweating like this and you were just going to chop it all off. 

“Hey, up there.”

“Finally!” You and Owen both sped up, rushing towards the auto shop, eager to get somewhere with air conditioning. But when Owen tried the door it wouldn’t budge, he pulled and pushed, wiggled it way too many times and you snapped. “It’s locked, dipshit!”

“Think I don’t know that?” He snapped back. 

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “Then let it go and give up.” He let out a pissy sigh and whirled around, canvassing the rest of town. His eyes landed on the small chapel and he nudged you, pointing at it.

“Maybe there’s someone in there.”

You followed hesitantly after him as he walked towards it. The closer you got the louder the voices inside were. “Wait, Owen, I think there’s a service going on. We shouldn’t just barge in.”

He rolled his eyes and ignored you, throwing the door open without care and glaring inside. You shriveled up in embarrassment when you saw a man kneeling at the front of the chapel. You dared a step closer and winced, he was kneeling in front of a coffin. 

God, you guys looked like such assholes. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, grabbing Owen by the collar of his shirt and yanking him back outside. You shoved him down the steps and he stumbled, glaring at you. 

“Y/N, what the hell?”

“It was a funeral service you jackass!” You hissed back at him, unwilling to raise your voice and further disrupt those poor people’s mourning. You were halfway across the street when you heard the door behind you open. 

You tensed up, mentally preparing yourself to face whoever had decided to scold you both. “Can I help you folks?” You turned at the sound of a smooth southern accent and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Well, more heat, you were about as hot as you could get right now. 

But the man in front of you seemed perfectly comfortable in his all black suit, glaring down at you both from the top of the stairs. You were a little ashamed how attracted to him you were. He was mourning, attending the funeral of someone who was probably close to him and you were drooling over how good he looked in a suit. 

To be fair, he did look very nice in a suit. 

“I am so sorry, sir, I tried to stop him.”

Owen nudged you slightly, “Shut up, Y/N.” You glared at him but he just crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the man in front of you. “We’re looking for Bo. You seen him?”

The man’s voice was full of anger as he sneered at Owen, “You’re talkin’ to him.”

Owen glanced back at you, a mean look on his face. “Her car broke down, can you fix it?”

Bo scoffed, staring down at Owen with a disgusted expression. You knew what he was thinking, how demanding and dickish Owen was. Especially when he knew what Bo had been doing only moments before. You intervened before Owen could dig a deeper hole. 

“Don’t worry about it, sir. I’m really sorry we interrupted you.”

“Y/N-”

“Shut up before I make you,” you leveled Owen with a glare. You let the group get away with a lot, talking shit to you and about you constantly. You didn’t really care enough to stop them, but you weren’t about to let him continue to disrespect the only person who could actually help you out of this hellhole. 

Owen seemed to get the message and scoffed, walking off with an attitude. Though, he didn’t have anywhere to go considering pretty much every business was closed. So he stood in the street, kicking at gravel like a toddler. You rolled your eyes and turned back to Bo, a little surprised to find him already staring down at you. 

You couldn’t decipher the look he was giving you, but it didn’t make you feel very comfortable. Though, that could just be the anxiety from your rude companion. “Sorry, again.”

You turned around, ready to walk back to the others, when he stopped you. “I’ll help you!” 

You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded, “Give me a little while to finish up here and I’ll meet you at the shop.”

You nodded, a smile slowly rising on your lips. Maybe this day wasn’t completely lost. “Of course, take your time, thank you so much, seriously.”

He nodded, still looking unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Uh, you could check out the House of Wax, might make the time pass quicker.”

You nodded again but he didn’t bother waiting for a response, already heading back inside the church. He left just in time for the rest of the group to come walking up the street. Owen ran towards them, leaving you behind. You noticed a clear lack of Gwen or Damien and figured they’d stayed behind with the cars or something. 

You caught up with them just as Owen finished filling them in on what was going on. “So we have to wait?” Sarah whined, practically stomping her feet. 

“Yes, because he’s currently burying someone,” you deadpanned. You glanced towards the building towering over the town on top of a hill. “But we can always check out the House of Wax.”

”Yippee,” Allison mumbled sarcastically. 

You broke off quickly from the rest of the group, immediately embarrassed by how they behaved in the museum. Owen had started off strong, catcalling one of the wax women and groping her. You wandered towards the back of the building, a figure of a dog catching your attention. You hadn’t seen any other animals in here. 

Wow, its fur looked so realistic. 

You knelt down, getting closer, and shot back in fear as it barked at you. You let out a loud yelp as you landed on your ass, watching the very real dog growl at you. 

“Holy shit, did not think you were real.” You held up your hands in surrender, “Good girl, it’s okay.” After a minute she stopped growling and slowly moved towards you. You smiled as you pet her, running your fingers through her fur and laughing when she licked your hands. ”Aren’t you sweet?”

You heard a creak in the doorway behind her and your head shot up. A man loomed over you, a wax mask over his face and long black locks hanging over his shoulders. “Hi,” you whispered, completely thrown off by his appearance. 

“Do you work here?”

Nothing. 

He had to, if the mask was anything to go by, maybe it was like some outfit they made the employees wear. You glanced down at his hands, you could see wax covering them and sculpting tools in the belt slung around his hip. “Oh, are you an artist?” You asked, tone a little more excited. 

He tilted his head, and you felt your heart speed up when he stepped closer. The dog left you, walking over to him with her tail wagging and tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. He reached down, not breaking his stare with you, and pet her lightly. 

You got to your feet, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was making you. Finally, he nodded. 

“Well,” you stuttered slightly over your words, tongue tied with anxiety. “They’re all amazing. I accidentally bumped into one and apologized because I thought it was real,” your words trailed off with an awkward chuckle. “I even thought your dog was real, she scared me half to death when she moved.”

God, kill me now, this had to be the most awkward one sided interaction you’ve ever had with someone. “D-,” you cleared your throat, trying to get your voice to stop cracking. “Did you do this?” You pointed to the scene behind you, a family eating dinner at a dusty wooden table.

He shook his head, slowly lumbering past you and lifting the woman’s hair. You took a hesitant step forward and peered at the back of her neck where he was pointing. 

TS was carved into the wax. “TS?” Your eyes narrowed before it finally clicked in your head. “Trudy Sinclair?” He nodded and you smiled. “Oh, yeah, I saw an article about her up front. She’s the woman that runs the museum, right?” Another nod. Maybe he was mute. Maybe he wasn’t some freaky serial killer that was about to use that scalpel in his belt to slit your throat. 

Please just be extremely socially awkward. 

“Whole place is wax,” you dumbly pointed out, because clearly he knew that. “Pretty impressive.” He straightened up, moving the woman’s hair back in place and carefully brushing it out with his fingers. The care in which he treated the mannequin was a little off putting, he was acting like she was living and breathing, something to be coddled. “Um,” you stopped staring at his hands, focusing once again on his waxed face. “What’s your name?”

He took a step forward, then another and another until he was standing right in front of you, sharing the air you breathed. You couldn’t help but gulp, feet glued to the floor as the dark holes in his mask burned into you. In your peripheral you watched as his arm stretched out and winced slightly, prepared for a hit or stab or something. 

But it just hovered in the air, after a moment you realized he was pointing at something. You turned around and found a signature scrawled into another wax figure. 

Vincent

“Vincent,” you let out a sigh of relief and held out a hand, giving him your own name. After a moment he took your hand, grip tight to the point that it hurt. But he didn’t shake it like you’d expected, instead he moved his hand up your arm, digging his fingers into your forearm and dragging you back to the front door. You whimpered when he opened the door and threw you outside. 

You clutched your forearm to your chest, rubbing the forming bruises as the door slammed in your face. “Well, fuck you too then,” you muttered under your breath. You turned around glancing down the street and seeing Allison and Owen already walking towards the auto shop. You bound down the steps and run after them, panting when you finally catch up. 

“Where’s Sarah and Dean?”

Allison snorted, “Said they found a bed upstairs.” She glanced at you, “I think you can put two and two together.”

Your nose wrinkled and you groaned, “That’s disgusting. The guy that runs the place is literally in there.”

“Don’t be a prude,” Owen admonished. “They’re just screwing around.”

You glanced back at the House of Wax, seeing a figure moving in the window of the upper floor and shook your head. Jackasses. 

Bo was waiting for you all at the door of the auto shop. He was still in his black suit, except this time he had an easygoing grin on his face. A complete 180 from the man who looked ready to rip Owen’s dick off for interrupting a funeral. 

He gave you a particularly large smile as you approached, holding the door open for you as you entered the shop. You didn’t get the relief you were hoping for, the air in here almost as stifling as it was outside. It was maybe two degrees cooler. Whatever, you’d take what you could get on such a shitty day. 

“You know what the problem is with your car, sweetheart?” 

It took an awkward moment of silence to realize he was talking to you. When you looked up from the floor you saw his gaze drilling into yours, not missing the way his eyes flitted down to your low cut top and then back up. You couldn’t really blame him, you’d been eyeing him since he introduced himself. 

“Um,” you glanced towards Owen. “What did Dean say it was?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, an unsure look on his face. “Something about a hose.”

Bo nodded, sucking on his teeth before he went to the back of his shop. You rocked back and forth on your heels, ignoring the other two who were wandering around his shop and whispering to themselves. “Hey, honey, you mind comin’ back here a minute?”

You peered around the doorway and saw Bo bent over rummaging around in some boxes. “Me?”

He looked over his shoulder and chuckled, “Who else?”

You were about to step forward when you heard Allison hiss your name. You turned around and she pulled her top down mouthing ‘maybe he’ll give you a discount,’ pointing to your own shirt and laughing. You crossed your arms reflexively, covering your breasts from her view and tugging your shirt higher up to be petty. She rolled her eyes, clearly called you a prude, and turned back around. 

You really needed new friends. 

You walked into the back of Bo’s shop, taking in the different tools and boxes along the walls. “What’s up?”

“Any of these look right?”

You glanced down at the hoses he had laid out, the blood draining from your face when you realized you did not know anything about your car. You really hadn’t even known a hose was a thing until today. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“Well,” he started, losing some patience as his tone took a curt edge. Your stomach toiled with anxiety, not liking the idea of him getting pissed at you. “You know what size ya need?” 

You cleared your throat, “Owen!” You called out the door, you heard a grumbled what in response. “You know what size I need?”

“Two and a half!”

You missed Bo sliding a hose under his work table as you turned back around, scanning the tags and frowning when you saw he didn’t have the right size. “There’s a two, would that work?” You asked, picking the hose up and holding it out to him. 

His tongue poked into his cheek and he shook his head, “‘Fraid not, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you placed the hose back down and rubbed your face, wincing as you remembered you were still covered in innards. “Ugh, gross,” you pulled your hands away from your face and could already feel streaks of blood on your cheeks. 

Bo chuckled and reached for a clean rag off his work table. He gave you a charming smile and wiped the blood off your face. You tried not to let yourself be too affected by how close he was, but it was hard, really, really, hard. So, as you always do in situations you don’t know how to handle, you blabber. 

“House of Wax was really cool,” you mumble.

“Hm,” he hums, not interested at all as his gaze darts down to your lips. 

“Yeah, the guy, Vincent, I don’t think he liked me very much,” you let out a barely audible laugh, remembering his harsh treatment as he tossed you out. 

Bo froze, his eyelids dropping slightly as the tender look on his face melted away, replaced by something you didn’t understand. Or didn’t want to understand. The hair on the back of your neck was standing up as goosebumps traveled along your arms. You weren’t cold, not in the slightest, this felt like something else. Like an instinctual response to a predator. 

You backed away a step, no longer feeling comfortable being so close to him. “What’d you say?” His voice was low, so low you could almost mistake it for a growl. 

“Um,” you swallowed harshly, throat parched and lips completely dried by the humidity. “Vincent,” you didn’t like how small your voice was. Didn’t like how quickly the atmosphere had shifted from something charged to something dangerous. “He- he showed me some wax sculptures and then he tossed me out.”

“You saw Vincent?” You nodded, backing a step further when he approached you. He noticed and let out a low laugh, the grin returning, but there were entirely too many teeth. “You say anything? ‘Bout his mask? How quiet he was?” He probed, his tone almost teasing like he wanted you to say Yeah, called him a freak and laughed at him. Like he wanted to use your response as an excuse for something. 

You shook your head quickly, “No. No, of course not,” you were quick to defend yourself, trying to sound as sincere as possible. You didn’t want him to think you were as rude as your traveling companions. “I thought maybe all the museum workers had to wear those. Like a theme or something. And,” you stumbled slightly over your words as he moved towards you again. You stepped back towards the doorway, trying to get back in the view of the others. “And I can be pretty quiet myself, I didn’t think it would be kind to pry.”

He finally stopped, but it wasn’t enough to calm you down. You still could feel your heart pounding against your chest, going so fast you felt a little dizzy. You weren’t an idiot, you knew how risky it was approaching so many strange men in one day. But you had been trapped, like a mouse dropped in a maze, constantly searching for a way out. 

You’d had no choice but to accept help from all the people you’d interacted with in this town, but you didn’t forget how much danger they could pose to you and your friends. You were all too aware of how stupid it was to be in a room with this stranger. 

This stranger who switched between masks so fast you got whiplash. Just as quickly as it had disappeared, his smile was back, still just as handsome, but no longer disarming. He shrugged, “Vincent doesn’t show himself to anyone, really. Just a little curious, that’s all. And that mask is all him, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you forced a smile, moving out of the way so he could walk back into the main part of the shop. 

He clapped his hands together, getting the attention of the others. “Sorry folks but I don’t got the parts you need here.”

Allison and Owen both let out loud groans, their voices blending together in anger as they harassed Bo for not having the one car part they needed. You winced as they yelled at him, demanding to know how he even called himself a mechanic if he didn’t have one simple part. You could see Bo’s patience leaving him again, jaw clenching and teeth grinding together. 

“Shut up!” You shouted, glaring at them from behind Bo. “Jesus, act your fucking ages,” you muttered, storming past Bo and going to stand near them. You didn’t bother looking at any of them, despite the stares you could feel boring into you. 

“Thank you,” Bo mumbled before his voice rose again. “As I was sayin’ I got some parts up at my house. Only about a ten minute walk, you could use the bathroom, clean up, I’ll see if I have what you need.”

Allison and Owen shared a look before turning towards you, the both of them huddling around you. “I don’t want to go anywhere near that freak’s house. He’s probably got some redneck sex dungeon.”

“Allison,” you admonished, looking over her shoulder to make sure Bo hadn’t heard. He seemed preoccupied with something under his desk. “Shut up, he’s being nice and putting up with our shit. I mean, he just buried someone guys, and he’s still trying to help. Least you could do is be respectful.”

Allison huffed and sighed and rolled her eyes before finally nodding, “Fine. But I’m using you as a human shield if shit goes south.”

“Fine by me,” you muttered, pushing away from them both and smiling at Bo. “If you don’t mind, we’d love to go.”

He nodded, smiling at you before walking to the door. He opened it but he didn’t leave until he threw over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, if I was taking anyone to my dungeon it’d be this one.” You squeaked as he pinched your waist and walked out. 

Allison scoffed, like she was offended, and followed after him. 

“So,” Bo started, slowing down so you could catch up to him. You sped up slightly, matching his stride and giving him a small smile as he stared at you. “What’re you doin’ with these jackasses?”

You couldn’t stop a snort from slipping out at his blunt language. You glanced behind you, watching Allison and Owen bicker about something and turned back towards him, shrugging. “I don’t know, they needed my car and I wanted to get out of the house, I guess.”

“Well, how long you been friends?”

“Not long, I met Allison a year ago and I guess I just started hanging around them.”

“You don’t seem to get along real well.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, a fact in his eyes that you didn’t belong with them. And he was probably right, you hated them, they hated you. 

“Only reason I’ve stuck around this long is ‘cause I don’t have anyone else.”

You didn’t notice how he perked up, how quickly he tuned into the loneliness in your words and pounced. You should have, for someone so perceptive and paranoid, but you were too busy grimacing at a chunk of dead something in your shorts pocket. 

“No one? No family? No other friends? No one to notice-” He cut himself off, once again sending you a smile, though this one seemed more sympathetic than anything. Like he knew your pain and could relate to it. 

“Yeah, no one.”

“Hm,” he offered nothing else. Just another hum and a nod as you approached the house at the top of the incline. He walked up to the front door, unlocking it, and turning around to survey you all. “Anyone need the can?”

Owen stepped forward, Allison clinging to his arm with a paranoid look on her face, eyes darting all around the perimeter of the house. Bo glanced behind them at you, “Sweetheart?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” He might be charming but there was no way in hell you were just gonna wander in blind to his house. 

“You sure? I could give you a change of clothes.”

Before you could figure out a polite way to decline again, Allison had grabbed onto the strap of your tank top and was dragging you up the porch. “Please, fuck, I can’t stand the smell anymore.”

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, jumping as the door slammed closed behind you. For a moment the house stayed dark, no light and no noise other than the sound of your breathing. Then you heard a click and light shone down on a cluttered living room and outdated kitchen. 

“Sorry, haven’t had time for the maid,” Bo muttered sarcastically. He turned towards you, motioning you forward and, reluctantly, you followed. “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.” Owen nodded, heading down the hallway while Allison stayed planted by the door. 

“I’ll show you my room and you can get changed.”

”Thanks,” you followed him wearily up the stairs, jumping every time the old wood creaked. “I really appreciate this, I know we’ve bugged you a lot today.”

”Yeah, you have.” You frowned, taken aback by how honest he sounded. In your defense, he had offered up his house to you guys. He turned around and must’ve seen the disgruntled look on your face because another grin broke out and he laughed, “I’m messin’ with ya. Relax, it’s no trouble at all for such a pretty lady.”

He opened up the door at the top of the stairs and stepped inside. You heard him moving around, drawers opening and slamming shut before he emerged again a pile of unfolded clothes in his hand. “Here, you can use the room to change.”

You nodded and stepped inside, quick to lock the door behind you. You waited until you heard his footsteps going back down the stairs to strip out of your clothes and change. You moved as quickly as you possibly could, a little paranoid that he had cameras in his room or something, watching you. 

You weren’t sure what had changed. Maybe it was Allison’s insistence that he actually had a sex dungeon, or that you were in a stranger’s room, but you felt scared. You felt watched and uncomfortable and like you wanted to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, put Ambrose in your rear view and never look back. 

You held up the shirt Bo had left you and frowned. It was big, much bigger than he was. This didn’t seem like something he would own, the fitting all wrong, this seemed like something that belonged somewhere else. To someone else. 

You stared at it a moment longer before shaking the thought away and pulling the button up over your arms. As you worked on the last button you realized he hadn’t left you with any pants. Hopefully just a simple oversight on his part. It went down to your thighs, so it’s not like you were completely exposed. You’d just pretend you were wearing a dress. 

Your eyes scanned the room, you would go through his drawers and look for some pants but it didn’t feel right to dig around in his stuff. The room itself was a clusterfuck of boxes of clothes and sprawled sheets. You jumped around a box full of men’s clothing and frowned at the labels on the box. Each box had different sizes and different dates. 

Your heart beat just a little bit faster when you spotted women’s clothes shoved under his bed.

There could be plenty of explanations. 

He swung every which way and this was all clothing from his conquests. 

He liked to dabble in drag. 

He was collecting clothes for the homeless. 

You went with the last one, despite the fact that it didn’t make you feel any better. You walked into his bathroom, smiling when you saw a hair clip on the sink. You picked it up, hoping it wasn’t someone’s favorite and that they wouldn’t mind you borrowing it for a bit. 

Just as you were about to clip up your hair you noticed a smudge of red on the corner. The claw itself was completely white, the red was pretty hard to miss. You frowned, bringing it closer to your face and running your fingers over the color. 

It flaked off under your thumb, the copper falling into the sink. 

There were only so many things you could ignore. 

A blood covered claw was not one of them. 

You rinsed it off in the sink, shoving your hair up and running towards the bedroom door. You didn’t bother collecting your clothes, there was no saving them and you had bigger things to fuss about. Mainly the fact that Allison was right. 

This dude definitely had a fucking sex dungeon. 

You forced yourself to slow down when you reached the top of the stairs. You peered over the railing, listening for any noises or creeping shadows. It was almost worse when you didn’t hear anything. Allison should be at the door, bitching about how long it takes Owen to pee. Bo should be walking around somewhere. 

Instead, the house was still, you barely even heard your own breath over your racing heart. You were careful as you made your way down the stairs, avoiding the boards you know creaked and lightly making your way towards the front door. 

“Allison?” You whispered, looking around the den or kitchen for her. 

Nothing.

You hesitated, wondering if you should look for her or make a run for it. You heard footsteps getting closer to the door and made your choice, grabbing the keys off the tray nearby and racing through the doorway. 

“Y/N?”

You turned around as you reached Bo’s red truck, looking just in time to see a knife split through Allison’s jaw. You couldn’t even scream, the noise locked away in the deepest part of yourself as you struggled to process what was happening. 

The blade stuck out grotesquely between her teeth, her eyes remained blinking, that was the worst part. They blinked, tears pouring down her cheek before the man behind her was shoving her forward and her body was toppling to the ground limply. You jumped at the thud, eyes wide and burning with your own tears as you looked into the dark holes of Vincent’s mask. 

“Vincent?” You whispered, the only thing you could actually manage to get out. His head tilted and he stepped over Allison’s body like she wasn’t even there. Your hands shook, the keys slipping out and landing in the dirt under your shoes. He was about ten feet away before your flight instincts finally kicked in 

“Fuck,” you whispered, abandoning the truck and taking off just as the knife he’d thrown landed in the dirt where you’d been standing only a second earlier. 

You used to run, it had been an easy form of therapy. A way to get out unresolved and pent up emotions that left you feeling stunted. You’d loved it, reveled in the burn in your thighs, the buzz that thrummed through your blood as you pushed yourself to your limits and then further. 

But you’d stopped, got caught up in a group of shitty friends and stopped taking care of yourself. Now, the once thrilling buzz was slowing you down. The muscles in your thighs unprepared and unused as you forced them to go faster. You felt like you were trying to run in a dream, your muscles working as hard as possible but you were stuck in a limbo, never moving fast enough. 

You could hear heavy boots pounding behind you and you tried to push through that limit that you felt locked around your legs. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t move faster and you already felt yourself slowing down. Your lungs heaving as your throat burned, struggling to take in any air. 

“AH!” You let out a strange sounding scream as something heavy and hard rammed into your back. It sent you flying, knees scraping against pavement as you were pancaked to the road. 

“There ya are, darlin’! You don’t know how bad my feelings were hurt when I saw you’d run off.” You whimpered as Bo pinned your arms behind your back, his knees digging into your spine until you both heard it crack and you cried out in pain. 

“Bo, please,” you begged. “Please.”

He chuckled, leaning down until his mouth was next to your ear. “Please, what, darlin?”

”Please fuck off,” you growled throwing your head back and listening to Bo’s nose snap. You used the distraction to wrestle your way out from under him, rolling onto him, legs straddling his waist as you grabbed a nearby rock and brought it down.

His hand shot up and gripped your wrist, squeezing until you couldn’t feel your fingers and were forced to let go of the rock. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

You slapped at him as he tried to sit up and pin you down. You didn’t care how rabid or unorganized you were. You clawed, screamed and kicked until you’d gained the upper hand and were jumping away from him. “Fuck you,” you hissed, glaring at him as you clutched at your hurt wrist. 

His nose was no longer pouring blood, instead it was a slow steady drip as he glared at you with what could only be described as an animalistic snarl. “Bitch,” he spat back. 

“That the best you got?” You taunted, “You’re the backwoods freak who's killing off college kids. Lemme guess, Vincent’s your brother, he wears that mask because mommy and daddy were actually Uncle-Dad and Aunt-mom? Your weird little incest freak didn’t want to let mommy’s dream die? I bet one of you fuckin’ killed her, too.”

”Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, lunging for you. You darted off to the side, leaping over a wooden picket fence and through the yards of the silent neighborhood. The sky was turning pink, your favorite time of day, right before night finally fell. 

But you didn’t have time to enjoy it, crying as you ran away from the feral man behind you. You could hear him breathing, stomping his way behind you, it was like being chased by a wild animal, not a man. Maybe that’s what was terrifying you so bad, humans were predictable. You knew what type of torture to expect from them, the cruelties they were capable of. But a man like this, a beast like this, you had no idea what he would do to you. 

Tear you apart right here in the street?

Take you back to his home and keep you until better prey came along?

You didn’t want to find out. And you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of your death. 

You had been screaming as he attacked you, shouting as you ran from him. Not once did a light click on or off as you ran through the neighborhood. No curtains drew back or faces pressed against the window pane in curiosity. 

You knew you were alone, the rest of your friends were most likely dead. 

You gasped, losing your breath, as you slammed into something hard. “Y/N? What the fuck?” You whined in pain, looking up to see Owen standing over you. He kneeled down, like he was going to help you up, until you heard the sound of laughter behind you. 

“Got you,” Bo taunted. And you knew he was talking about you, he didn’t give a shit about Owen, he just wanted you. 

“Owen, please,” you whispered, begging him to, just this once, help you. Be a decent guy, make the right choice. You should have known better. Just as you’d gotten to your feet, two strong hands had gripped your shoulders and sent you flying. 

A different set of hands found their way around your waist, coiling around you like a python until their grip was so tight your face was turning purple from loss of air. “Told you, jackasses,” Bo whispered, the last thing you heard before you were blacking out. 

Nine Inch Nails. 

That’s what you could process when you woke up.

The next thing you felt as your eyelids slowly peeled open, a near painful process, was the jostling around your legs. You whined, your throat completely raw and glanced down. Bo was standing at the end of some sort of chair, similar to a gurney, and duct taping your legs down. He glanced up, hair plastered with sweat and grinned at you. He had changed, you hadn’t noticed before but he’d ditched the suit for his coveralls. 

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes and glancing towards the ceiling as you blinked back tears. 

You were going to die and the last thing you were going to hear was the blasting of Closer by Nine Inch Nails. 

Fuck my life

Bo moved up, holding your wrists down on the metal armrests and duct taping those too. You looked to the side, and saw strange circular markings on his wrist. You assumed, whenever they disposed of your body and took the tape off, you would have matching scars. 

You heard footsteps clomping above you and the sound of Damien and Gwen’s voices. “Where did they all go?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’re in the auto shop.”

Gwen sounded unsure, “Maybe, it is the only place that’s open.”

Bo ran behind you, his warm hand clamping over your mouth and keeping it shut as they passed the grate above you. You hadn’t even tried to open your mouth to scream for help, you knew you couldn’t, your throat was destroyed already. 

“I’m gonna take my hand off and you’re gonna be quiet. Yeah?” You nodded your head, feeling the salty warmth of your tears trailing down his hand and building up on your cheeks. “Yeah,” he whispered, the tone too intimate as he slowly released you. 

He remained beside you, poised and ready to strike but you didn’t make a move to call out. “Good girl,” he chuckled and placed a hand over yours. “I’m gonna go up, deal with those assholes, and you’re gonna behave. Right?”

You nodded again and he dug blunt fingernails into tender skin. You whimpered out, “Yes, Bo.”

He laughed again and walked towards the door, keys clinking as he locked it behind himself. “Fucking sicko,” you spat the second the door was closed. You moved your legs, wincing as the tape picked at your bare skin. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you were sweaty enough, the moisture on your skin providing enough glide for you to wiggle one leg out of the tape. Arrogant bastard had given you too much freedom, he probably didn’t even think you were going to run. 

Now, your wrists. 

Your arms were sweaty, sure, but these were tight. You tried to use a jerking motion you’d once seen in a stupid action movie, bringing your wrists to your chest. But your muscles were fatigued and you didn’t have enough strength to rip the tape off. 

You flopped against the flattened cushion of the chair, trying not to sob incoherently as Bo’s rock music blared in the garage above. You could hear voices speaking. You didn't know how much time you had left until Bo just got rid of them and came back down for you. 

You’d been pointedly ignoring the wall of Polaroids since you’d woken up, not wanting to see what they were. Afraid you already knew. 

You ignored the unnatural bend of your shoulder, how much it screamed out in pain as you contorted your body over your right wrist, teeth picking at the duct tape until you felt like they were coming loose. But you didn’t stop, you kept going until you felt the slightest tear under your lips. 

You had to stop yourself from crying out in victory as you used whatever remained of your strength to jerk at the tape again and again, your muscles crying as you finally ripped yourself free. You stuffed down your cries, using your free hand to unwrap the other. 

You allowed yourself a moment to roll out your wrists and shake off your legs before you were shooting off the gurney and stumbling towards a corner of the room. Your legs felt like jelly, and you knew that wasn’t good, but you pushed past the fear as footsteps stomped down the stairs. 

Your heart rate picked up and your throat clenched as you pushed sweat-matted hair out of your face. You took in a deep breath and then held it as the door slammed open. You winced, grateful you hadn’t chosen to hide behind that. Bo stepped into the room, there was a blind spot of about five seconds before he would see you were out of your chair. 

You needed to use that to slip behind him and out the door. 

You heard one boot enter. Then the next. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears, adrenaline making your muscles tingle back to life. 

Another step, you inched forward, another, you slid against the wall. Bo finally made it all the way in. “What the fuck!”

You shot behind him, racing up the steps and bursting through the door of the garage. You didn’t give yourself time to celebrate or look to see if he was following you. You darted down the street, suddenly grateful Bo had only given you a shirt to wear. 

You were sure it was for his own pleasure, but right now all it meant was that your legs weren’t constricted by tight denim and you could run as fast as your body would allow. You turned to the right, bursting through the doors of the chapel. 

You froze at the entrance, taking in a deep heaving breath as you tried to find a hiding spot. The pews were too noticeable, the casket probably wouldn’t fit you. You nearly cried as you tried to figure it out. 

Outside you heard Bo stomping, his voice calling out your name. Fuck it, you dove for the priest, using his large robes and throwing yourself under them. You had just managed to clamp a sweaty palm over your mouth as the doors of the church opened, deceptively quiet. 

Bo’s footsteps were soft as he walked through. You feel dizzy sitting under this preserved priest, the air stifling and you felt like you were running out of oxygen. Sweat beaded at your hairline, dripping down into your eyes as you tried to blink it away. 

You jumped, nails digging into your palm, at the sound of wood crashing against the wall. “Get out here!” He roared, and you knew he was slowly making his way through the pews. He tossed each of them around, checking under and around them for you. 

You ducked down, lifting the robe a centimeter off the floor. If you closed your eyes, put your hand over your ears, you were a little girl again, hiding under the table as your mother counted down. She’d find you soon, you’d giggle and she’d pretend she didn’t hear it before popping under the table cloth and catching you. 

Her fingers digging into your sides, searching for that ticklish spot. No, she’s poking too hard, that hurts. 

Shit, that hurts. 

You kick out, your shoe catching Bo’s jaw as you make a run for it, darting out from the priest and back through the chapel doors. The only thing you can focus on are the bright lights, blinding against the night sky- when did it get dark?

You stumbled over your feet, legs not moving the way you wanted them to. Shit, you don’t feel good. Did he drug you? Is it the heat? You haven’t eaten all day, or drank anything. Maybe it was finally catching up to you. 

Through blurry eyes you ran towards the movie theater, the brightest beacon you can actually make out. You trip through the doors, slamming them closed behind you. You spot one of those metal poles, the old one with red cloth they used to keep people in line. With limp arms and struggling steps you lift it up and slam it through the handles, just as Bo starts to shake them on the other side. 

You back away from them slowly, eyes scanning the lobby for anything you could use. Behind the concession desk you manage to spot something. 

BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

You’d say this constituted an emergency. You kicked through the glass, ignoring how it dragged along your legs, and pulled the ax out of its case. There had to be a back door out of here. 

Your eyes widened and you cursed, there had to be a back way out of here, and Bo would know it. You threw the ax on the ground, ripping the pole out of the handles before scooping the ax back up and running back into the dark.

Apparently you’d made the right choice because Bo was no longer where you left him. He was probably sneaking through some secret exit waiting to grab you. You looked towards the end of the street, up the hill, and back at Bo’s front door.

There was still light shining through, but you were sure Allison’s body was long gone. You glanced behind you before taking in a deep centering breath and shooting off again. 

You held your breath, hiding underneath the table as Bo came stumbling into his home. You could see him clutching a wound on his arm and Vincent materialized behind him. He reached for his brother but Bo jerked back, “Get, get, back!” He spoke like he was talking to some dog, “Fuckin’ freak.”

You winced as you watched them interact, Bo tossing shit at his brother and his brother ducking like he was used to it. Vincent walked over to a candle, heating a spoon over the flame and picking up a toaster. He used the metallic reflection to smooth over a dent in his mask and Bo came up, appearing on his shoulder like the worst kind of devil. 

“Momma would be proud of you.” Vincent’s movements paused at his suddenly tender brother’s voice. “I told you this would look better. The last two are gonna look great,” he assured, kindly, and you grimace in disgust. Should’ve known this was his idea. Your knuckles creaked around the handle of the ax and you debated just ending this now. 

Vincent turns towards his brother, spoon discarded, and signs something. You know enough about the language to recognize the hand movements when you see it, but you can’t understand it from your angle. 

“What girl?” Bo snarled, Vincent winced and signed something else. Bo snorted, “Her? What you gotta crush or somethin’?” Vincent shook his head quickly and Bo rolled his eyes, voice cruel. “What, one girl’s nice to you and you wanna break our rules? She’s dead when I’m done with her. That’s it.” Bo buried his finger in Vincent’s shoulder, shoving harshly. “Understood?” Vincent didn’t respond immediately and Bo shoved again. “Understood!” He shouted and Vincent finally nodded. 

You watched them move out of sight, followed their shoes out of the house and finally slinked out of your hiding spot. You’d seen where Vincent had emerged from earlier and retraced the steps, finding a hidden basement in their father’s office. You glanced behind you once before jumping down into the hole.

“Damien? Gwen? Fucking anybody?” You kept glancing behind you, ax ready as you creeped your way through Vincent’s tunnels. Finally, you started to see the warm glow of candles at the very end of the section you were in. 

Caution thrown to the wind, you made a run for it and burst into what looked like Vincent’s workshop. You looked around, not seeing anything of interest besides one torture chair. You’d slit your throat before they got you in that. 

You found his desk, sketches scattered around the edges. You took a peek and were surprised to find a partially done profile of your face. You glanced around, making sure you were safe, before picking the sketch up. 

You looked pretty, even half done, he might have been a little to generous with you. Made you too elegant, noble, untouchable. Flattering if he wasn’t going to try and kill you. You saw something scrawled at the very bottom and your heart clenched, She was nice.

Perhaps you were too tender-hearted, to feel any pity for these monsters. But you’d seen the news articles in their father’s office, what had happened to their family, the chair Bo was once strapped in. What they were was their mother’s final project, the legacy she left behind, one of pain and hatred. Each of them hating themselves for different reasons because of her. 

But you weren’t an idiot, you saw the was in the title of your drawing. You might have been kind, but he wasn’t planning on letting you live. Something rattled in the room to your right and you threw the drawing down, turning towards the door and carefully opening it. 

“Y/N!” Owen cried out, relief making itself clear on his face as he saw you. “Get me out of here.” You rushed forward, kneeling down and trying to undo the straps around his ankles. But your fingers weren’t working properly, they felt like they were swelling and burning and useless. You whined in frustration as you tried to get the metal through the hole. 

“Fuck!” Owen kicked out as much as he could and you jumped back. “Can you do anything right? Just get me out of here!” He screeched. 

You went momentarily blind with rage, anger boiling in your gut so quickly you nearly keeled over. “I’m trying to help you, you fucking dick! You left me behind to that psycho earlier and I’m still trying to help you!” You screamed at him, not paying attention to the raw feeling of your throat or the footsteps behind you. “Why don’t you ever just shut up!”

You weren’t aware the ax was still in your hands, or maybe you were, as you brought your arms down in frustration. It landed in his thigh, barely missing the femoral artery, and he screamed. That type of scream you only hear from squealing pigs right before their butchered. 

You didn’t think you enjoyed it.

Didn't want to enjoy it. 

But you dug the blade in. 

He’d made your life a living hell, he’d tried to get you killed earlier, and even when you’d ignored it and tried to save him he still yelled at you. Granted, it wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever said to you, but it was the worst thing he could say at that moment. You pressed on the handle, not realizing you were smiling as he squealed some more. 

You got a headache after a second, struggling to rip the blade back out before you were lifting it once more and bringing it down over his neck, the blood splattering your face, bleeding into your open eyes as you watch his head topple to the ground. 

“Holy shit,” you turned around and looked at Bo, the fight draining from your body. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He glanced at the ax in your hands and smiled, this one looked real, the realest he could manage. “Gonna kill me too?”

You shrugged, tossing the ax at his feet. “You gonna kill me?”

He looked at you, really looked at you, standing there covered in your ‘friend’s’ blood and unknowingly smiling at the carnage. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered. 

Part two

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.