#even here she is eeehhh less soft looking

[lunian]

I find it funny that Hades game's style Artemis looks like this, with pretty neutral expression and soft face, baby girl baby

and i just decided

Nah

She is a gremlin (affectionate) <3

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 20

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 1600+

Date posted: 4 Nov 2018

“You guys gonna be alright finding your own way home?”

Lauren makes a noise on the other end of the phone, offended that you’d question her lacking sense of direction and desire for adventure. “Of course we will. If not, I know where the pub is.”

“At least you won’t starve out in the wilderness.”

“Excuse me?” Lauren laughs, the sound of snow crunching underfoot soft beneath her teasing. “Have you actually seen this place? There’s a bakery or coffee shop on every corner. I’m going to eat myself sick.”

“I have noticed, and it’s glorious. Oh, before I forget.” Your foot hits the cobblestone lining the town centre, gaze barely managing to focus on the three figures you assume to be your friends going the opposite direction of home. Lifting a hand, you wave. “Look to your right - no, other right. Hey. Hey, it’s me. So, tomorrow night I’m thinking of having Ryan over for dinner, if that’s all good by you guys?”

“Hold up a minute, bitch. Is this why you’re fucking glowing?”

“Glowing?”

Lauren gasps, loud enough for you to hear her across the expanse of the town. She jabs an accusatory finger at you, and you can almost see her glaring. “You’re lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, Y/N. The only reason for you being so happy-”

“- because I’m not allowed to be happy?”

“- is because something’s happened between you and lover lumberjack! Talk, right now. Or I’m jogging over there.”

You take a step back, testing the distant yellow figure. “You wouldn’t run.”

“You wanna go?”

-

Despite her threats, Lauren hadn’t pursued you further than the fountain. Trevor had managed to swoop in and stop the yelling, lifting her in his arms until her shouting redirects to him. He’d implored that you keep running, that he’d sacrifice himself for your life, and you’d taken him on it. Jogging most of the way to the police station until the laughter had faded and your lungs burn, throat raw with fresh air and giggles.

“Are you dying?” Michael’s voice makes you jump, whirling on him halfway through the station entrance with a tray of coffee cups. “Cus if not, I could use a hand holding this fucking thing open.”

“I mean, dying is a little extreme,” you manage, taking the stairs slowly and wedging the door open around him. “But you know, exercise will do that to you.”

“That’s why I don’t run anywhere,” he chuckles, “it’s not worth the pain.”

“You’re right,” you insist, thankful for the ache of your body as the artificial warmth of the room washes over. “I’m never running again. Ever.”

“Y/N,” exclaims another voice from behind the reception desk, Jeremy moving around the woman stood beside him, “what’re you doing here? I thought you were taking the day off cus of your friends moving in.”

“I’ll end up picking them up from the tavern later on tonight, so I’ve got some time to kill.”

He smiles, taking you by the elbow and bringing you over. “In that case, let me introduce you to Jackie Butler from forensics. She’s been our go to girl with the Lumberjack of Motbury. Jackie, this is Y/N.”

The woman smiles, a beautiful expression that peels across elegant features. Bright hazel eyes sparkle behind thick lashes, face framed with sheets of chestnut hair. She offers a delicate but firm handshake, confident. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Jeremy was just telling me how you’ve rendered my job useless.” She laughs musically. “About time. I need a break. Bodies get a bit much, they don’t really hold a juicy conversation. Juicy everything else, but not conversation.”

“Okay, ew.” Jeremy wrinkles his nose, but Jackie rolls her eyes.

“Jackie comes down from the lab every now and again,” Michael continues, handing out the coffees, giving you the cup holder for the lack of anything else to offer. “We’ve been thinking about getting a full time forensics expert in now that the case is moving again.”

“That’s a great idea,” you agree, “is there anything new?”

“Eeehhh... C’mon follow me, we’ll head through and I’ll show you what I’ve got. I ordered pizza, so it won’t take long. I’m starving.”

You’re already pulling your phone out as their backs turn, fingers flying frantically across the keyboard while you follow them down the hall.

Y/N: Fredo, get to the police station.

Alfredo: Why? U good?

Y/N: Now.

Alfredo: You’re not making me less panicky

Alfredo: Cus now I’m panicking.

Alfredo: Cus you’re being weird.

Y/N: Can’t explain, about to go into a meeting. Just trust me. CUTE GURRRLLL.

“Hey Y/N, you alright back there?”

“Hmm?”

Jeremy raises and eyebrow, glancing at your phone. You quickly stash it away, smiling innocently when stepping back into the room he’s holding the door open too. The whiteboard inside is covered in images. Photographs of victims accompanied by trauma patterns of an array of weapon types, close ups on skull structures and significant wounds, and lists upon lists of dot points. Jackie adds some notes here and there while Michael takes a seat, the door closing with a soft click before Jeremy slips past and starts unloading the boxes tucked beneath the closest desk.

“We’ve compiled all of the files related to the case - which is a lot of paperwork, I wanna put that out there - and this is everything.” Jeremy shuffles the final box onto the table, taking off the lid. “This was the first victim, Jemma Perkins. She and number 2,” he points to another stack of files, “James Williams, were found with their skulls. After that none of the others were recovered.”

“Jeremy told me about your theory, Y/N,” continues Jackie, clicking the lid back on her pen, “about combining number 1 and 2 with the injuries experienced by the livestock, and we came to the same conclusion you did.” Jackie circles one of the images on the board with her finger. “We don’t have any of the skulls from the livestock, but we do have pictures. So we did a number of tests and confirmed your suspicions, based on what we had. It’d have to be a relatively heavy object, something big enough to cave in bone.”

You nod along with her words, standing before the board and taking in the wounds. “What about the lacerations, any ideas?”

Jackie shakes her head. “Nada. We haven’t been able to figure out what’d make that kind of pattern, let alone split skin like that.”

You pull a face. “It looks a lot like the grooves on the houses.”

Jeremy makes a displeased sound that rattles at the back of his throat. “So you’re saying we should look at the shape of animal claws to determine the weapon?”

It takes you a moment, but you eventually give the idea some credit. “I wasn’t thinking that, but it certainly might help. Could be a customised weapon.”

Michael sits up in his seat, leaning across the bench. “You’re thinking that we should track the marks, figure out when they started and compare it to the murders?”

“Yeah. We already know that the knocking and all of this started at around the same time, but we haven’t actually tied the damage to it. People have been saying all sorts.”

“Animals?” Jackie inquires curiously, perching on the end of a table. “I saw them on my way in. They look like bear claws or something out of a horror movie.”

“We’ve already determined that the killer is a human being,” Jeremy dismisses, waving a hand. “So I think It’d be safe to assume that the knocking was a person that drew an animal in.”

“But what if they’re connected further than that?” you push, Michael nodding by your side. “I can’t see an animal rocking up just in time for the person to leave every single time. Wouldn’t they go after the food that’s walking around, and not locked in a house box?”

Jeremy doesn’t respond immediately. “Animals aren’t smart. I honestly don’t think that animal marks are related-”

“I think it’s worth investigating,” interjects Jackie firmly, “just to rule it out.”

“There’s nothing to rule out.”

“Why won’t you at least try?” She’s growing frustrated, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

Jeremy fumes quietly, Michael taking over with a cheeky grin. “It’s because all the damn looneys in the town think the marks on their doors are from the Widow of the Woods.”

“Widow of the Woods?”

“It’s a local ghost story,” you explain, wringing your hands. “Jeremy is very against acknowledging that it could play a role in all this.”

“Because it can’t play a role! Ghosts aren’t real.”

“But copycats are,” you interject, “besides. We’re not going to go ghost hunting. We’ll be tracking the markings and applying it to the victims timeline. You don’t even have to think about Turner.”

Jeremy’s eyes narrow, curious but too confronted for pleasantries. “Turner?”

“Moira Turner. Badass, the first leader of Motbury, witch hunt victim that disappeared and searches for her lost son-”

“I don’t care, Y/N. I really couldn’t give a crap about the stupid story, or the people who believe it. Look. Whoever’s been telling you that this ghost story has any truth in it is crazy. We work with facts, not scary stories.”

“How are we supposed to work with facts if you refuse to let us find any? As detectives we investigate every lead, no matter how crazy it is.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Y/N, you’re not a detective!”

“I wish you’d realised that sooner, rather than forcing this fucking case on me!”

“Okay.” Michael scampers to his feet, putting himself between his friends as a form of crowd control. “How about this? Y/N and me will check out the marks, while Jeremy prepares an ‘I told you so’ speech. Yeah?”

“I like it,” you confirm curtly, gathering your things. “C’mon, Michael, let’s go do our jobs.”