Cinnamon Apple

Below are the listed outline of chapters I have planned for each story, it’ll likely change overtime.

As a heads up, a lot of my stories deal with themes of abandonment and rejection. If that’s not something you’re interested in, or have a difficult time with, I’d advice steering away from them.

Date Everything

Is it alive, wire?

Horror

Blood like Cherry Coke (Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.5.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Cherry Coke Ending Ch.9 Ch.10 Blood Ending)

KPDH

Shine the Light (Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Good Ending Bad Ending)

In the Darkness (Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Epilogue)

One Piece

On Butterfly Wings Introduction (Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7)

Lost Signal (Strawhats Redhaired Kid Donquixote Whitebeard Big Mom Cross Guild Heart CP9 Beast Roger Rocks Vice Admirals God Knights Revolutionary Army)

Calm

Phantom of the Opera

The Phantom’s Black Swan (Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8)

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.5.5 Ch.6 Ch.7

The faint sound of gravel crackling and headlights shining through the curtained windows signaled Dewey and Tatum’s arrival, jolting you from the bleary sleep you’d managed to fall under. A mild needling of pain spread across the front of your temple from getting up too fast from the cushions of the couch, but it dissipated by the time you reached the front windows and peered through the curtains. It was beginning to get dark out, the faint outline of the sun setting behind the houses opposite of you, signaling the night approaching.

Turning the lock, it gave a familiar clicking sound as you pulled the door open and revealed Dewey—hand raised with the intention to knock on the door. He froze for a second, flashing a slightly flustered smile as he quickly lowered his hand and nervously fiddled with his belt. The orange of the porch light felt especially bright against the night sky and your fresh-from-sleep eyes. 

“Hey, we’re here to, oh—”

He cut himself off at the sight of your Dad—having emerged from the kitchen, squinting and visibly on-guard at the sight of the police officer. Dewey cleared his throat before continuing, 

“Hi, I’m—we’re here.” He gestured to Tatum, who could be seen smiling brightly from the passenger side of the care as she waved a bit. “—to um, pick you up for the party.”

“Party?” Your Dad asked, though it didn’t sound much like a question. Shit. Throat drying up, the realization all but crashed into you. You’d forgotten to tell him about it. “A slumber party—yeah.”

“What?” Dewey looked even more alarmed than your Dad at the news—who remained unconvinced, eyes narrowed with an unblinking focus on the deputy. Dewey swallowed and was about to start speaking again, when Tatum, thankfully had exited the car and ran up the steps to save the both of you from stumbling even further. She looped her arm with yours, whispering loudly, and clearly so your Dad could hear, “You excited? Sidney and I picked out some movies to watch for the—”

“You didn’t tell us about any sleepovers.” Concern was the only thing visible on your Dad’s face, eyes fixed on you with that same intensity as earlier—though different now that it was directed at you. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to be out during all this?”

“I—” Hesitation took over for a brief moment before you forced yourself to continue, “Of course. I’ll be fine, Dad.”

He grasped the door handle, but didn’t make any move to close it. A small smile lighting up the wrinkles in his face into something warm. “Do you need a bag, or to pack anything?”

“I got it handled.” Tatum reassured, “It’s just one night, and I have some pajamas and other supplies that can be borrowed.”

Your Dad nodded, moving to close the door—it creaked from the slow movement as he said before it finally shut. “Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

Tatum let out a breath of relief as the three of you walked down the steps of the porch. “Wow. Your parents are really overprotective.”

A smile pulled at the corners of your lips, a huff of laughter escaping. “We’re not really having a sleepover, are we?”

“Of course not.” Tatum opened the side door of the police cruiser, gesturing for you to go in. You slid into the far seat and Tatum followed afterwards, shutting the door of the car behind her. It felt kind of strange to sit in the back of one, but the feeling was quickly abated by Dewey closing the driver door, turning the key of the emission and starting to drive down the street. “Not unless you count a few dozen drunk teenagers as fellow guests.”

Tatum leaned down to pick up some bags from the floor and shook them enough to make noise, “I have snacks.”

A sudden nervousness settled in your stomach. Peering round the corners of the front seat, you couldn’t catch any sight of Sidney. She was supposed to call earlier. Did you not catch it since you were asleep?

“Where’s Sidney?”

“Shit.” Tatum combed a hand through her hair. “I totally forgot to tell you, she said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Wait, really? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. She called about an hour ago, right when we were leaving the house and said she was just gonna hunker down for the night after the attack in the bathroom. But…”

Tatum scooted closer, eyes flashing with an undeniable playfulness. “I thought maybe we could check in on her after this and maybe have an actual sleepover. Talk about guys—”

Your snorting laugh interrupted her and she shoved your shoulder a bit, “What’s there to talk about? Both of you guys are in relationships.”

“You know what I mean. Like celebrity crushes—Tom Cruise is my personal favorite. And you know, you and Randy.”

“What—What’s Randy got to do with this?”

She froze not from fear, but rather a dawning realization. “You don’t know? I always figured you did and we’re just messing with him a bit.”

It was impossible to feel anything but confusion at that moment. What? Randy has a crush? You didn’t realize you spoke those thoughts out loud until Tatum nodded, “Yeah, I mean it’s pretty obvious.”

It felt like your brain stopped working. Almost like the signals in it were firing, but nothing was actually connecting enough for a thought to form. Has it really been so obvious? Him having a crush on you? Has it always been like that? And for how long? The sound of the car stilling to a stop and the key turning was the only thing that broke you from whatever the hell was going on—and you really weren’t entirely sure what it was.

Tatum tentatively touched your arm, apologetic as she gently began to usher you out of the car. “Hey, I’m sorry… I really thought you knew—”

You shook your head, “No. No, it’s fine. I promise. I just never really thought about that, so it’s a bit of a—”

“Shock?”

“Yeah.”

Tatum laughed and opened the door, “Well, God knows Randy’s crush will still be there after the party, so you can worry about that tomorrow. Just focus on enjoying yourself. And, I’m betting by tomorrow the killer will be caught.”

Dewey cleared his throat just as you were about to slide out the car after Tatum—who had grabbed the bag of snacks on her way out. “You girls have fun, but not too much fun or I’ll have to come in and bust you. Just know I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

“You might as well be breathing down my neck, Deputy Doofus.” Tatum sighed, turning to head inside.

“Thanks Dewey.” The words were barely audible through the distant shouting coming from the Macher house, he smiled gratefully nonetheless as you closed the door and crossed through the white picket fence that circled the driveway.

The Macher house had always been intimidatingly larger than most of the other houses in Woodsboro. It felt almost like a mansion—though maybe that made sense given the parents frequent business trips out of town. The large converted farmhouse sat beyond the woods and treeline surrounding most of the neighborhoods of Woodsboro.

Falling right within the town line, it had become something of a hotspot for parties that you had first started to attend with Casey when she started dating Stu. Some part of you had almost assumed that after everything that happened, invitations would taper off, but had surprisingly started coming in ten-fold—though you couldn’t attend most of them due to work.

Now it felt like stepping right into some kind of fever dream as you entered through the already open front door. The loud vibrations of the music didn’t help with the nerves. Classmates scattered throughout the entryway which stretched into the living room where Randy was reclined on one of the couches surrounding the tv, sorting through numerous tapes he’d no doubt hidden in the back of the video store and smuggled here. He’d done that before, in fact it was the main reason why he kept getting fired from the video store, not that it had ever stopped him continuing to do it.

The sight of him caused a sharp pang of nervousness to flood your system, remembering Tatum’s words from not even five minutes earlier. He liked you—no, loved. It felt impossible. But looking at how his posture opened up, attention centered on you like you hung the moon or something. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. It wasn’t upsetting, but it also wasn’t a relief, it was just… unfamiliar.

“Hey,” your voice cracked a bit from straining to sound cheerful and nonchalant. “Was it busy there?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Most of the horror got cleared out, even Chopping Mall and New Year’s Evil.”

“Seriously?” Randy nodded in confirmation to your disbelief and patted the seat next to him. Circling round to the couch to his side, you sank into the cushions next to him. “Desperate times, I guess.”

“No kidding. But look, I managed to score most of the good ones.” Peering over his shoulder, he flipped through the tapes—pretty much all of them having Jamie Lee Curtis in them.

“Score—as in, hide them in the back and tell anyone that asks that they’ve already been rented out.” You quizzed, he was about to respond when Tatum called for you from the kitchen. Getting up from the couch, you moved into the kitchen.

Tatum stood in front of the island, pulling out the snacks from the bag she had brought in. Stu was standing near the kitchen with three other boys, a funnel of beer visible—all visibly distracted by Stu pouring a can into the nozzle of it.

“That’s mature.” Tatum commented, sifting through the empty bag for anything else. At the sound of her voice and the plastic rustling of chip and candy bags being set down, Stu turned, though he continued to pour the remaining contents of the can down the funnel. You waved a bit at him, his previously neutral expression opened up the minute he looked over.

“Where have you guys been? We had to start without you.” The boy at the end of the funnel finished, standing up, he wiped beer from his mouth as Stu clapped him on the back. They cleared out of the kitchen, likely in search of more alcohol. Stu wrapped his arm around your shoulder in a side hug that lasted a bit longer than you were used to—excitement, he was probably just excited you guys were finally here.

“Picking up the snacks. You said you had it covered for them, right?” Tatum gestured to you.

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Stu dropped his arm from your shoulder and moved to shuffle around the kitchen until he found what he was apparently looking for in the fridge. The door of the fridge shielded your view as a single popping sound followed by him kicking the door shut revealed a bottle of cherry coke in his grip. He loosely had another bottle of beer in his other hand, taking a sip from it carelessly while moving to hand you the coke.

“Milady,” he exaggeratedly did a flourish. A fleeting feeling of embarrassment was felt—not from him, but rather your own flustered inability to reciprocate. He didn’t seem to notice as a snort escaped, grinning, all you could manage was a quick, “Thank you.”

Taking the coke, you took a sip.

There was a slight chalky taste that stuck to the roof of your mouth.

Pinterest for the header.

@kodaswrld for the wonderful divider!

From here there are two different endings. The first one takes place immediately after the events of this chapter while the second ending still needs some more build-up in other chapters. Sorry if that’s not entirely clear. I had trouble deciding which one I wanted to go with, so I just figured I might as well do both!!

I love and appreciate the support this series has gotten, it’s been incredibly motivating!! <3 <3

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.5.5 Ch.6 Ch.8

Faded white paint chipped under Billy’s fingertips as he hauled himself up to Sidney’s bedroom window. The window didn’t have a lock on it. Something that clearly hadn’t changed considering how it seemed to almost breathe open when he pushed on it. It was something that felt like a glaringly obvious safety issue, especially seeing as this was the third day in a row that Billy had crawled through it and onto the floor of her bedroom.

But who was he to complain about something that made it that much easier.

The Prescott’s didn’t have any neighbors in the immediate vicinity. There was another house on the far corner of the dead-end street, but otherwise it was very private. Which was something he could especially enjoy since he wouldn’t have to worry about any nosey neighbors calling the police—though if he did, a pillow would’ve done the job.

He picked up Sidney’s bear from her bed and looked over it, boredly before moving to sit down on the mattress.

It was quaint in the way every girl’s bedroom was. Put together, but lifeless in a way that made it feel like nobody actually lived there. Bed freshly made like no one ever slept in it, no dust layering anything, or any dirty clothes. It was odd. The only sign of life was in the disorganized closet—clothes barely clinging to their hangers, and stuff messily shoved inside.

Maybe he was being too much of a hypocrite, but he’d never really understood how Sidney could be so put together in one aspect while also falling apart over classmates she barely knew choking on their own blood. 

Billy didn’t hate Sidney. In fact that might be the furthest thing from how he felt about her. Some part of him felt bad for her. But only because the things she was going through and experiencing were the very same things he had to go through too.

The only difference was that while she was provided sympathy and “justice,” he wasn’t allowed that same luxury.

No. He didn’t hate Sidney. 

He just hated how she propped up her mother like she was some kind of god damn saint. Saints don’t fuck other peoples fathers and husbands, and then pretend like they didn’t cause a whole family to cave in on itself.

Missing his mom had almost become secondary at this point. She loved him—or so she claimed—but not enough to stay or take him with her. 

He could hear the distant shuffling of the front door opening and things being moved around. Sidney was home, just like Stu had said she would be.

The steps of the staircase didn’t creak so much as they made a hollow thudding sound every time she took another step. The pace was almost leisurely, which was good. Her feeling safe just made the rest of this so much easier. The one trait he could never be credited with was being impatient.

It’d be a year as of tomorrow, and he was tired of pretending to care about her .

Sidney opened the door and jolted back at the sight of him, disbelief and surprise clouded over her. “Billy, what are you doing here? I thought—how did you get in?”

“Your window really needs a new lock on it Sid. Who knows how many strange people are out there?”

He lifted up the bear towards her, the little plush arms standing up like those zombies from “Night of the Living Dead.” Smiling, she took it out of his hands and moved to set it back in its place. While she was turned around, he quickly pulled the knife out from his pocket and hid it within the sleeve of his jacket. “I think the only strange person who’s crawled through my window has been you.”

“And the killer, apparently…”

Her hands settled nervously over her knees as she sat down on her bed, he sat down next to her. She started again, though hesitantly, “Billy, I—I’m sorry about accusing you of—”

“Don’t worry about it, Sid,” he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, smooth cadence he used whenever he needed to anchor her panic. He reached out, his long fingers trailing up her arm to give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Things are crazy right now. Everyone’s on edge. I get it.”

But even as he looked at her—at the red-rimmed eyes, the pale skin, the utter vulnerability of a girl whose world was actively dissolving—Billy felt an internal, icy detachment.

He didn’t hate Sidney, that was certain. But, he didn’t care about her, and hadn’t since last October.

His mind wasn’t really in this room. It hadn’t been for a long time.

It was hard to say when exactly things had changed.

His parents' marriage had always been something that was hard to explain. Perpetually on the rocks. Even before the affair got out, his dad had always been a distant, but always critical person who Billy only really saw at quiet dinners—if at all. Quick to anger if things didn’t go the way he wanted them to—which was pretty much all the time.

It’d never been something that he put much weight into. He barely knew the guy, so getting upset about their nonexistent relationship didn’t make much sense.

He had his Mom. She’d always been quick to brush off all his Dad’s “quirks” and assure Billy that he loved both of them. 

And he had Stu—who’s parents weren’t home long enough to care about Billy practically living there. The two of them had always been close. Stu was one of the few people he felt comfortable enough to trust.

When you first moved to this pathetic, suffocating town four years ago at the start of freshman year, you were just background noise to him. You were another face in the halls. One that instantly attached yourself to the local bleeding-hearts: Randy, Sidney, and Casey. 

It was easy. Billy’s life had a precise, predictable trajectory—he’d live a meaningless life, work at a boring ass job until he keeled over dead. He started dating Sidney at the beginning of their junior year, around August. It was a normal relationship then. She was someone who ran in the same circle and that he could get along with well enough. She didn’t seem to suffer so much under the influence of him not being how the rest the town perceived him to be.

Then came October. Then came the truth about Maureen Prescott and his dad. Then came the night his mom packed her bags, leaving behind a house that seemed to be perpetually holding its breath.

He hated it.

He’d always been grateful for the fact that his dad was pretty much never home. But now the house was empty, the worst part was that it had been like that long before his mom left and now he was only starting to notice.

When his mother walked out, the world split open. The anger that took up residence behind Billy’s ribs wasn't something he could just turn off. It was a feral, living thing that demanded satisfaction near constantly. Like an addiction. 

He and Stu had always been close, but after that night, their bond mutated into something more linked, sharp, and exclusive. They became a closed system. Stu provided the erratic, buzzing energy—the raw, chaotic willingness to do anything to stop the boredom and the pain—and Billy provided the structure. Outside of them, everything else felt volatile and cruel.

Then you changed everything.

The shift happened during September of that same year, right around the time Casey Becker decided to dismantle your life. When Casey started those grotesque, fabricated rumors about you coming onto Stu—all to shield her own sordid little tryst with Steve Orth—Billy had watched from the periphery. He had watched how the entire school turned its back on you. He watched how your "friends" shrank away, leaving only Randy and Sidney at your flanks.

And he watched Stu.

Stu had been completely unhinged during those weeks. The humiliation of being cheated on, combined with his natural volatility, had turned him into a ticking bomb. But when you confronted Casey in that hallway—when you chose to take the social execution rather than participate in a lie that would humiliate Stu further—everything in Billy’s internal calculus shifted.

You hadn't done it for Stu, not really. You had done it because you possessed an innate, stubborn decency. But to Stu, it was a revelation. Stu became instantly, fiercely obsessed with you, his manic interest translating into a constant, buzzing need to be near you, to give you crumpled dandelions, to make you laugh.

And he couldn’t blame Stu.

It was impossible to be jealous of Stu’s interest. He couldn’t. Stu was an extension of himself. Instead, Billy recognized you as the missing piece of their architecture.

Unlike Sidney, who spent her days weeping over a mother who was a fraud, and unlike the rest of the town's superficial vultures waiting for the next of their own to drop dead so they could circle overhead till it rotted. You were real. You had been broken by the town's gossip mill, yet you remained clean. You didn't belong to Woodsboro anymore. They had cast you out just like he had been, and Billy knew that he would never allow for you to go back.

He needed to isolate you. Pull you entirely out of the town’s corrupting reach and tuck you safely inside the social bubble that he and Stu controlled. Randy was a pest, a temporary distraction, but eventually, the noise would be cleared away. There would only be Billy, Stu, and you. A perfect, untouchable trinity built on the ashes of the people who had wronged them.

The three survivors of the tragic Woodsboro massacre.

“Billy?” Sidney’s voice pulled him back to the present. She was looking at him, her brow furrowed with that familiar, heavy anxiety. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, Sid. Of course I am,” Billy said softly. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, his movements deliberate, ignoring the knife still tucked away in his sleeve—that could wait a bit longer. He had plenty of time before the party. “I’m just thinking about your dad. About how worried you must be.”

Sidney froze. “My dad? What do you mean? He’s away on business, he’s—”

“He’s not on business, Sid.” Billy pulled his hand out, producing three Polaroid photographs and laid them face-up on the bedspread between them.

The images were dark, taken with a harsh flash inside the pantry of the Macher Kitchen. The dingy glow of the hanging lightbulb created harsh shadows. Neil Prescott was tied securely to a heavy wooden chair, a thick strip of gray duct tape sealed over his mouth, his eyes wide and bloodshot with absolute terror.

Sidney let out a choked, horrific sound, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at the pictures. The air left her lungs in one sharp, rattling gasp. “Oh my god... Oh my god, Daddy... Billy, what is this? Why do you have these?!”

She rushed to get up, but was stopped from getting any further by Billy tightly grabbing her forearm and pulling her back to sit back on the bed. The blade of the knife reflected the bright orange of the setting sunlight from the window, the point of it resting almost gently against her cheek. His voice was entirely devoid of panic, perfectly leveled. He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. “Call Tatum.”

“What, no. Let go—” Her dark eyes darted to the knife then met his, teary. 

His grip didn’t falter, rather it tightened. The tip of the knife, pushed further into the indent of her cheek, creating a small drop of red on it. She hissed, moving to jolt away, but froze when he started to speak.

“Pick up the phone. Call Tatum.”

“Why?” she whispered, tears finally spilling over her cheeks.

“Tell her you’re not feeling well. Tell her the stress from the bathroom incident earlier was too much, and you’re going to stay home tonight and try to sleep. Tell her she and Dewey shouldn’t come pick you up.”

Sidney stared at him, her chest heaving as she tried to process the demand through the fog of her terror. “You—You’re—”

“Don’t even think about calling the police.” He slid the phone off the nightstand and pressed it into her trembling hands. “Not unless you want him to meet the same fate your mother met.”

With shaking fingers, Sidney dialed the numbers. Billy could hear Tatum’s faint voice through the speaker of the phone.

“Tatum?” Sidney’s voice cracked, thick with unshed tears. “Hey... listen, I don’t think I can make it tonight. Yeah... no, I’m just feeling kind of dizzy—nauseous. Everything with the school... I think I just need to lock the doors and go to sleep. Tell Dewey not to come... No, really, don’t come over, I’m just going to take something and pass out. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”

She clicked the receiver down, her shoulders slumping as a sob broke through her throat. She turned her wet eyes up to Billy, looking for the boy who used to hold her in the front seat of his car. “I did it. I did it, Billy. Now please, where is he? Why are you doing this?”

“He’s exactly where he needs to be, Sid. And now you are too.” Billy murmured.

Sidney let out a startled scream as he moved to push his weight on top of her, caging her against the mattress of her too-clean bed. He quickly muffled her from letting out anything besides panicked gasps, tears mixed with the blood from her cheek. 

“You know, movie characters always make the same mistake,” He started, a grin starting to pull at the corners of his lips. “They always think they’re safe in the second act. But the second act is just where weaker characters get cleared out to make way for the real final act. Marion Crane got killed halfway through Psycho. And after your father’s done with his little  “murder spree” he’s gonna shoot himself in the head and take everything to the grave. A much more reliable scapegoat than Cotton Weary. Say hi to your mother for me.”

He moved forward, and the shadows of the bedroom seemed to stretch out to meet him.

The door to his bedroom locked behind him

The adrenaline was still a faint, electric hum in his fingertips, but his mind was already moving with cold, mechanical efficiency. He stripped off the dark, heavy flannel shirt, revealing the dark smudges where the fabric had absorbed the thick splatter of blood. He tossed it directly into a heavy-duty trash bag he kept hidden at the bottom of his closet, alongside the costume he’d worn earlier.

Himbry wasn’t supposed to die. But if he was being honest, Billy just needed to do it to tie him over until the main event tonight.

After all of this was over, he was gonna burn most of the items and wait months before burying the rest of it in the woods nearby.

He walked over to the small mirror hanging above his dresser, checking his face. Clean. No scratches. No stray marks. He looked a little haggard, but nothing that couldn’t be attributed to his usual behavior—to the stress of the murders, being put in holding as a suspect, and to his on-the-rocks relationship with Sidney. 

He began to dress for the party, pulling on a clean, white knit shirt. Simple. Unassuming. The kind of clothes a boy wore when he was going to hang out with his friends.

As he smoothed down the fabric, his eyes drifted to the window, looking out toward the dark treeline that separated his property from the rest of the neighborhood. His dad used to take him hunting there before losing interest in him. The one thing he did get from him was a love for hunting.

Tonight was the climax. The party at Stu’s house was the stage, and every single player had been moved into their correct position. Casey was gone—a necessary piece of vengeance for Stu to feel vindicated in his part in this, and a clean break from your past. Sidney was handled; her mother’s sins were finally fully paid for. The town’s focus would be entirely fractured by the curfew and the chaos.

And you would be there.

Billy leaned his hands against the top of the dresser, staring at his reflection, a small, dark smile finally pulling at the corner of his lips. He thought about the way you had looked at lunch —scared, quiet, your eyes darting around like a trapped animal. You thought your own home was a death trap. You thought the world outside was unsafe.

You’re right, he thought, his mind settling into an absolute, serene calm as he grabbed his car keys off the desk. It is unsafe. But by tomorrow morning, nobody in this town will be left to hurt you. It’ll just be me and Stu.

Pinterest for the header.

@kodaswrld for the adorable divider!!

Billy is a hard character to write, I’m not even sure if I got his characterization right tbh. I read so many character analysis’ and watched a bunch of YouTube videos about him—due credit to Behind the Mask for inspiration for some parts of this story. But dear god, it’s hard.

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Rumi!reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

All it took was a split second. Just one second for the once bright, glowing haze of the awards show to blink into an unfamiliar and suffocating darkness. Darkness which was only illuminated by the magenta lights hanging overhead. And any assurance you could hold onto was just as quickly stripped away just the same as your jacket, torn off by Mira and Zoey.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe. And with your nails digging into your arms, the warm trickles of blood didn’t look too different from the constricting and ugly patterns that felt like they were choking you.

Your voice was rough and weak.

"Don't."

The word came out, but no one was listening.

"Stop. Please."

Their eyes, shadowed by the dim lighting, didn't hold any of the mercy you had foolishly thought maybe they would. It felt so stupid. Especially in the face of their mocking smiles which seemed to widen at each passing second. Mira hissed out, “We see what you are.”

Zoey closed the distance, getting into your face, “You’re a demon.”

Jolting away from their touch, the patterns seemed to move of their own accord, tightening and coiling around your arms and wrists. Your heart pounded in your ears, the sound was deafening, and the world felt like it was spinning around you.

"No. Please stop!—"

"You’re a mistake. You have been since the moment you were born.” They continued, their voices sounding distorted and cruel.

It felt like something had ripped the air from your lungs, a painful and burning feeling that made your eyes water as the patterns burned tighter and tighter around you, snaking over your throat before reaching your face. The world around you spun and tilted as everything faded away into a grotesque swirl of colors and sounds.

The sound of your own voice yelling out felt unfamiliar until you registered it as your own. Piercing in sheer volume as the lights above the stage shattered into a shower of glass that veiled your rushed steps to disappear.

To escape from something that felt like your worst nightmare.

Your voice felt rough, strained, and your breath hitched. You had to keep running, despite the aching in your chest.

The sound of the stage behind you fell into a muffled and indecipherable hum as you kept moving forward, your eyes squeezed shut. The patterns on your arm seared, but the pain felt secondary to the panic and dread that flooded your veins.She was right. Celine was right. About everything. You were a mistake, and for as long as you could remember, the only clear path away from all of this pain and shame was the one she had shown you.

“You’re a hunter, just like your mother used to be before he came.” 

A hunter. That was the only path, the only atonement that could help you finally live a normal life.

The only path to turning the Honmoon gold and making the patterns disappear.

You just wanted to live a normal life.

Mira and Zoey had been your everything, the one constant you had had in a world that didn't seem to understand. But they did. They understood, and still you had lied and shut them out. It felt impossible to blame them when all you could do was blame yourself for something that felt so very justifiable.

Skidding to a stop at the foot of the stairs, you braced yourself on the railing to try and catch your breath. You only paused at the sight of Mira and Zoey standing a few feet away. What? But they were just out there on stage with you, how did they—“What? How are you here? You were just on stage. That wasn’t you? That’s good.”

They backed away the closer you walked towards them, the picture of fear and uncertainty. Why were they looking at you like that? Like you were—“How do you have patterns?”

Zoey whispered, eyes glued to the very same lines that were supposed to be gone. Why weren’t they gone? The gold was there. It was there. So why was everything you had been working to erase still there? Still on you.

“You were hiding this from us? This whole time?” Mira asked, the sound a whisper that echoed in the empty space the three of you filled.

"No, I have a plan to erase them. Jinu was supposed to—I—He was—”

“Jinu? You’re working with him? All this time?” Zoey’s voice broke, eyes finally breaking away from the lines but now meeting your gaze with a look of such deep betrayal. It felt like a physical blow.

“No! No! I was using him to fix all this! To fix me! So we could all keep fulfilling our duty! So we could all be strong! Together!”

“How could we be together if we can’t tell your lies from your truths? What else have you been hiding?” Zoey whispered.

“I knew it.” Mira’s voice cut in, quiet but laced with a brokenness that felt like a slap in the face. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“Mira, no! Didn’t you see? The gold? We’re so close!” You moved to close the distance, but they backed away, eyes wide with terror. "No! Please! Don’t leave! I can still fix it!”

The last few words were like a knife against your throat, coming out louder and causing the Honmoon’s strings to pulse with the same horrifyingly familiar magenta as the patterns. For a moment the patterns burned like something else entirely, searing painfully around your arms and neck, like the chains you felt had been there since the day you were born.

Mira breathed in and when she released the air she was holding, her fingers tightened around the grip of her weapon. Raised and pointed at you.

Zoey stared at the ground, her eyes watery, the sight was a stab to the chest as she raised her shin-kal towards you as well.

It felt like the world was tilting, and the room was spinning.

No. Not them. Not when you were so close. They were never supposed to find out this way.

Backing away, your legs were shaking and unsteady as you turned and disappeared, the world blurred around you as tears welled up in your eyes.

Your job was supposed to be to protect and seal the Honmoon. You were supposed to be there. To be a voice for those who couldn't speak, and a shield for those who couldn’t protect themselves. Putting your own life was supposed to mean nothing when it was supposed to guarantee that others would be safe and free. Something you weren’t even sure you knew the feeling of anymore. Your patterns were supposed to be gone, almost like they were never there.

And as much as it hurt, you wanted to hate him for it. You wanted to hate Jinu for making you think that maybe he could be different. For letting him get close enough for this to even matter.

Because the truth was, even if he wasn’t there, the real reason for the pain and the fear and the guilt was all still the same.

The reason you felt this way was because you were a demon.

The patterns.

That was the real truth.

It felt like a slap in the face after everything you’d done to try and help him. To try and help yourself.

The hallways were labyrinthine and in that moment felt nothing short of endless. It was almost as if it was shifting and changing with each step, the lights flickering overhead and casting shadows that loomed and stretched. Until you saw him.

Jinu was standing still as a statue, his eyes trained on the ground and his shoulders hunched over. Beside him were the very same demons that had tricked you on the stage, still disguised as Mira and Zoey. "Say you didn’t do this.”

He snapped his fingers and their disguises misted away before they did as well.

“How could you do this? It was real! What we had was real. I know it was!”

His head snapped up and the expression on his face was cold, almost emotionless.

"Everything I said—I just needed you to trust me. It was a lie.”

He moved to turn around, and you grabbed his shoulder in desperation. “No! No, I know your story. You wanted to protect your family! You couldn’t have been lying. Because if that was all a lie, then it means that everything I believed about myself was too. Everything I was willing to fight and sacrifice for was all a lie. Tell me that wasn't a lie, Jinu."

Jinu turned so swiftly it caused you to retract your hand at the movement, and all you could do was stare in shock as he cried out. “I left them!”

Backing away, your feet felt almost stuck to the ground.

"What?"

"That’s right. I lied. I only ever made a deal with Gwi-Ma to get myself out of that miserable life. I left my sister, and my mother, alone while I slept on silk sheets in the palace and with my belly full every night! I left them!”

His voice softened into a strained and almost painful whisper as tears trailed down his cheeks. “I left them…”

“But I know that’s not all you are. I know you. And this—this is just your demon talking. You have to fight it!”

“That’s not how it works!” He yelled and caused a fresh wave of shame, and anger to burn in your chest.

"Yes it is!” The lines of the Honmoon pulsed again, the glow was blinding and looked angry as the light filled the hallway and made the shadows stretch and contort monstrously.

Your hands were shaking. Was that—no—that was you. And you hated it.

Jinu scoffed in disbelief. “Listen to yourself. Has fighting it really been working? Because in case this wasn’t the sign you were looking for. You’re a demon. Just like me. And all we get to do is live with our pain, and our misery. That’s all we deserve.”

A powdery mist shielded his exit, leaving you with only the suffocating darkness.

Everything you had worked towards, everything you’d ever wanted was to be free from the patterns.

It would mean you wouldn’t be… a monster anymore.

But… you were a demon.

Just like Gwi-ma.

Just like Jinu.

And just like your mother. 

It was the only thing that made sense.

But you didn’t want to hurt Mira or Zoey.

You never wanted to do that.

Even though the only thing you could feel was the shame, and guilt, and anger.

All the emotions that were bubbling up, felt like they were eating away at your skin.

Making the patterns on your arms and face glow brighter.

The faint smell of grass stung your nose as a soft wind brushed through it and the seonangdang tree. The pieces of paper tied to its large outstretching branches were jerked by the strong currents of wind. The faint sound of bells were drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the rustling leaves, and the wind that whistled and blew through the tree, the branches, and the strands of paper.

Celine stood at the base of the large tree, staring up into the branches which stretched across the early morning sky. It was still dark, and it would be for a long time.

You couldn't bring yourself to look up or even speak.

Not even when she froze for a split second before swiftly turning to face you with her weapon in-hand. Her movement halted at the sight of you.

"I thought I could fix everything. Fix myself. But I ran out of time and now it’s too late.”

Her weapon fell to the ground with a dull metallic thunk. Walking towards her, your saingeom materialized loosely in your grip. “They saw. They know. And there’s no denying it anymore. This is what I am.”

“No. That’s not—”

“You knew that I was a mistake from the very start.” Collapsing to your knees, you cradled the weight of your sword above you and towards her. wind whistled around you and the only other sound was the soft and broken gasps of air. “Do what you should’ve done from the very beginning. Before I destroy everything I’ve sworn to protect… please.”

Tears streaked down your face, the salty taste on your lips as you gasped out, a sob.

“Do it.”

The Honmoon pulsed violently and the branches of the tree shuddered with the force, the bells sounding like a chorus of screams.

Celine moved to stand in front of you, hands gently gripping yours, and pulling the saingeom towards her. She kneeled down and wrapped her arms around your shaking form.

You didn’t remember moving or letting go of the weapon, but it was now lying a small distance away..

“I can’t.” Celine moved to cup your face, the action was gentle, her thumbs brushing the tears off your face. "I can't. After losing your mother I always swore I would protect and take care of everything that was left of her. I can’t—I can’t do that again. I don’t think I’d be able to because you're all I have left."

It felt like your lungs were burning.

You couldn’t breathe, and choking the thought out felt like ripping a bandage off a fresh wound. “A—Again. What are you saying? What do you mean by again?"

"I’d hoped that things would turn out different this time. I—I wasn’t able to save her… but, I thought that there was still a chance to save you. And—and there still is—”

The tears were hot on your face, as the words sunk in.

"Save her? My mother turned into a demon. You told me so yourself—What aren’t you telling me? Tell me what happened! How could you—I don't understand—"

Celine looked up, the tears falling from her eyes and onto her face, her voice cracking.

"I know. I’m sorry—I’m so sorry. I didn't tell you the whole truth, because I was scared. That if I did, that you would leave too. That you would hate me just the same. And ask me to do the same thing that she did. I can’t do that again.” She gulped down air, her voice hoarse and breaking as she softly pulled you to your feet with her.

“I made a promise. So I did my best to accept you and help you.”

“Accept me? You told me to cover up, to hide.”

“Yes, just until we can fix everything. And we still can.” Pulling her sweater off, she loosely pulled it around your shoulders. “We can cover those up and put everything right again. I’ll tell Mira and Zoey that it was all a lie—an illusion by Gwi-Ma to break us apart.”

Pushing yourself away from her, the sweater fell off your shoulders, and onto the ground. You couldn’t do that again. Not if it meant it would cause the people you loved the same pain all over agin. Mira and Zoey didn’t deserve to be blindsided, not after all they had done to stay by you and help you. “No. I’m not doing that. No more hiding! And no more lies!”

Celine backed away, but raised her hands in attempted mediation. “Hold on. We can still fix this.”

“Don’t you get it?” You cried out, the tears running down your face and falling from your chin. "There is no fixing this! This is what I am!”

Her eyes were stuck on the ground, and she was silent.

For a split second, the wind picked up and the tree groaned as the leaves shook violently, the strings of bells chiming loudly.

“Why… Why did you do it? Why did you kill her?”

Celine closed her eyes, a tear traced its way down her face, and her voice was quiet and hoarse.

"I didn’t want to. I never wanted to hurt her. But by the time she told me… it was too late. If I could go back, I would’ve never gone through with what she asked me to do…”

Her words cut off as a sob escaped, before continuing.

"But I had no choice. She begged me. She asked me to make sure that she never hurt anyone. And that you would be safe. And I promised. But I never thought that it would end up this way. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this."

“Then how was it supposed to happen? Why…why can’t you love me?”

"I do—”

“All of me!”

The Honmoon glowed violently behind you, and the sound of the bells being blown by the wind was deafening. It had always looked and felt alive in every aspect, but now it looked volatile. Magenta and other shades of pink and purple appearing up and down the strings. The patterns on your arms matched the violent and unstable light, pulsing with each beat. But it didn’t hurt the same way it had, now it was just a burning ache that spread all the way down your body.

Celine didn't move, her gaze trained solely on the beating magenta lines. “This is why we have to hide it. Our faults and fears must never be seen. It’s the only way to protect the Honmoon.”

The air was still, and it felt hard to even breathe. But the panic was no longer a constant, rather it had been replaced by something much deeper, and more painful. A sense of clarity and understanding.

For all your life you had practiced those exact teachings and followed through with them, but now, they just felt wrong. Hiding your patterns was supposed to be the only way to turn the Honmoon gold and erase them, and the fear and shame.

But hiding those things had only made it worse.

Reaching for the same consistently out of reach perfection had only isolated you from those you really cared about.

Gold was supposed to be everything, but maybe it wasn’t.

Reaching down, you picked up the handle of the saingeom. “If this is the Honmoon I’m supposed to protect, I’m glad to see it destroyed.”

The almost pitch black, and crowded entirety of Namsan Tower was only lit up by the almost all-consuming light of Gwi-Ma. It was impossible not to see him, a vibrant mixture of red, bright pinks, and hints of shadowed purples that quickly became consumed by the rest. Just like the large crowd of people walking in an almost dazed, zombie-like manner into the flickering fire before disappearing.

It was like watching a horror movie play out before you, as the demons seemed to take on a life of their own. The way the magenta lights cast dark shadows and illuminated them in that very same color, making them look like they were one with the shadows. The shadows were a part of them.

It was terrifying, but it also set a hot feeling of anger in your chest.

The Honmoon had failed.

Not just because of you, but because it had been built on an entire fault-line of lies and false promises.

And it would’ve failed with or without you. But it was undeniable that the strain it had undergone and all of this was your fault.

It was time to fix it.

The patterns were glowing and burning, and the weight of peoples stares was almost suffocating. Pulling your gaze off the floor and meeting anyone’s eye was an impossible feat that you didn’t even try. Instead, you kept your eyes trained on the ground until Gwi-Ma’s voice broke the silence.

"You show up like this? Thinking you can fix the world? You can’t even fix yourself.”

“I can’t.”

“And now everyone finally sees you for what you really are.”

“They do.”

“And the Honmoon is gone.”

“It is.” Finally, you look up into the fires. Stretched open like the mouth of a beast behind the stage, a gaping wound of magenta light. “So, we can make a new one.”

The light of the saingeom pierced through the thick fog of darkness, shining a brilliant white-gold that momentarily pushed back the magenta shadows. The new Honmoon would not be built on silence, but on the truth.

Large, shadowy demons emerged from the embers of him and lunged.

You didn't flinch. The pain of the patterns still burned, but the clarity you found at the seonangdang tree was a cold, hard anchor. Hiding had failed. Shame had broken you. Now, you fought with the truth: this is what you were, and this is what you would use to save the world.

Your saingeom whistled, leaving a searing trail of white light.

The first strike sliced through an oncoming demon with the familiar hiss of dissolving essence with three more taking its place. But without that heavy weight within your chest, your burden that you’d never realized you’d been carrying was gone.

The hoard was easy to break through, and when the dust cleared away, you could see  them. The weight of the weapon momentarily disappeared.

Emerging from their own flocks of demons and running towards you were Mira and Zoey. The warmth of their embrace settled any remaining uncertainty.

“I’m sorry—”

“No. Don’t say that. We should’ve, I should’ve—” Zoey stopped Mira from continuing, placing her hand lightly on her shoulder.

“We missed you.”

Replacing the dusted away hoard of demons came more, crawling out of the magenta flames which had started to develop a darker hue to them. The previous performance of the Saja Boys had stopped quite awhile ago as they lunged off the stage, teeth barred and claws outstretched. Jinu stood still on the platform, face shadowed by his hat, but what you could make out was a frown settled almost frozen.

Just as the three of you drew your weapons, the demons that were quickly approaching were dusted. Anxiety washed over you, freezing you and the others in anticipation as what emerged behind them wasn’t more demons or even Gwi-Ma.

No, it was them.

They were here, despite everything.

He moved forward with an awkwardness that was almost hidden by the costume—intimidating as he may be, it was impossible not to perceive it. His hand settled lightly on your shoulder, squeezing it just slightly, “I’m—I’m glad you’re okay. If we can help, please let us.”

Warmth filled you up from the inside, the words gushing out without much thought, “I’m glad you guys are here, I—thank you—”

Your focus drifted to the demons around you as Gwi-Ma forced them to pull back in puffs of vibrant violet smoke. The bright flames glowed brighter, looming larger over the horizon of the tower. The pink curled inwards, with silhouettes of eyes peering down from the inferno. Sweat cooled to an almost freezing degree that made you feel slightly nauseous.

A tidal wave of the formless and faceless demons came from both sides, but that wasn’t what distracted you. 

No.

In a split second, the platform was lit up and almost entirely engulfed by the same inferno, coming into the direct pathway of all of them.

The blue light of the saingeom blocked it, but the sudden appearance and weight of the weapon strained you.

Normal demons dusted away from simply slashed through, but Gwi-ma was like an immovable wall—one that’s unbearable heat and constricting force made it hard to think, no less breathe.

Your feet skidded back, the muscles in your hands and arms tensing uncomfortably in an effort to stay still and not falter for even a moment.

Then it stopped.

Your eyes, which had closed from the effort, opened and saw Jinu. Blocking the light of the fire, and though he refused to show it, you could make out the undeniable pain in his expression.

“No—I, don’t do this.” You whispered, trying to tug him away from the impact of it.

He didn’t move, the edges of his existence frayed into the familiar smoke, but the rest of him stayed. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“I wanted to set you free.”

“You did.” He assured. “You gave me my soul back… and now I want to give it to you.”

The rest of him disappeared as a circle of light drifted forward and moved to circle you. Wetness burned the corners of your eyes.

He was gone.

It felt like you failed him.

The light moved to rest in the palm of one of your hands, the warmth not burning, but rather being like a hug.

Maybe he wasn’t here anymore.

But he wasn’t gone, that much was certain.

The weight of the saingeom—which had previously been resting loosely in your hand—seemed to increase the more you moved to swing it forward. But being able to carry it wasn’t the issue, the issue was redirecting that weight of it towards Gwi-ma.

He screamed out in pain as the blade slashed right down the middle of the mountainous inferno, the sound of it almost shaking the tower.

The relief of having injured him was short lived though as the flames quickly merged back together, looming larger in his anger.

Running forward, Mira and Zoey quickly joined you while the rest focused on getting rid of the remainder of the demons. The weight of the ground seemed to disappear the closer the three of you got to him before delivering the final blow.

Iridescent light washed over the entirety of the tower, almost blinding you as the three of you met the floor of the platform. The darkness that had previously hung over like a thick smog, was now gone and in its place was one of the clearest days you’d ever seen.

The crowd of people felt like almost a new sight, even though you had seen similar crowds for years.

But this was different.

Your family was here.

Everyone you knew and loved. Everyone you knew that loved you, were here.

Not despite everything, but because they cared.

Header from Pinterest

Beautiful dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cursed-carmine

I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything for this story in so long. I wish I had a great excuse, but to be honest, I’ve just been having a lot of trouble writing these past few months. This probably isn’t the best way to end this story, but I am probably gonna work on an epilogue scene with Rumi!reader meeting the rest of the batfam.

I hope everyone has a great week, and thank you so much for the endless amount of patience!!! <3 <3 <3

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.5.5 Ch.7 Ch.8

The bell above the door of Bradley Video Store hadn’t stopped jingling for three hours. It was a rhythmic, piercing sound that had started immediately after school had let out. And today, it sounded like a warning bell.

The store was busy. Annoyingly, sickeningly busy.

But it wasn't the usual Friday night rush of families looking for the latest Disney flick or couples wanting a rom-com.

No, the vultures were out.

There was an unsettling, morbid uptick in the horror section. People who wouldn’t usually touch a slasher with a ten-foot pole were suddenly crowding around the 'Horror' aisle, their eyes darting toward titles from Halloween to The Night of the Hunter. They wanted to see on screen what was happening in their own backyard. They wanted to get as close as they could get to understanding what had happened at the Becker House.

And he didn’t blame them too much for that. Life usually complied under the very same rules that dictated who lived and died in horror movies.

Neatly organizing and putting back the returned items was the only thing that momentarily drowned out the chatter around him. The tactile sensation of the plastic VHS cases, the specific click they made when they slid into their designated slots on the shelf—it was a grounding exercise that distracted him.

He wanted to distract himself from how much things felt like they were going to shit.

And distract him from when Doug said you weren’t coming to work.

It was hard trying to pretend like he didn’t want more.

It was even harder when he didn’t pretend and you still stayed just as oblivious as always. Not that he’d ever held it against you. You, who had been his closest friend since moving to Woodsboro those four years ago, and giving him the benefit of the doubt. You, who was always so excited to watch movies with him, and indulge him even more with conversation of tropes, and guesses of who would live and die, and critiquing the onscreen gore.

It felt almost unreal, like it was too good to be true.

And maybe it was. Because, despite everything, he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to sacrifice his closest friendship for a relationship that felt more like a pipe dream than anything. 

Geeks never get the girl in movies. At least, not in the movies he watched.

No. He’d never been that lucky, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to lose you.

“Jesus, this place is packed tonight, man.” Stu commented, braced himself against the aisle for new releases.

Randy flipped through the titles. “Yeah, we’ve had a run in the mass murder section.” Some of the cases fell from his grip onto the carpet below, and he crouched down to pick them up. Stu leaned further over the shelf to watch. “Comin’ to my fiesta?”

“Yeah, I’m off early. Curfew, you know. Doug said they—”

A classmate interrupted him. “What’s that werewolf movie with E.T.’s mom in it?”

“The Howling. Horror. Straight ahead.” Randy nodded towards the direction of the horror section, where something—no, someone—caught his attention.

“Okay, thanks.” She nodded before heading in that direction, though he hardly noticed. It was impossible when last night's number one suspect was looking a bit too casual in the horror section for a guy having just been accused of murder last night. “Oh, now that’s in poor taste.”

“What?”

“If you were the only suspect in a senseless bloodbath, would you be standing in the horror section?”

“What?” Stu turned towards the same direction. “It was just a misunderstanding. He didn’t do anything.”

“You’re such a little lapdog.” Randy hissed, his eyes having lost track of Billy in the sea of customers. “He’s got “Killer” printed all over his forehead. And did you see that stunt he pulled at lunch? He already has a girlfriend, why—”

Stu scoffed and playfully shoved Randy’s shoulder. “Ohhh-kay! Really? Well then, why’d the cops let him go, smart guy?”

“Because, obviously, they don’t watch enough movies. This is standard horror movie stuff.” Randy paused in stocking the shelves. “Prom Night revisited, man. Or—god, the second Friday the 13th with Alice Hardy.”

“Didn’t she die in that one?” Stu’s eyes narrowed in what Randy assumed to be confusion.

“Yes—” Randy bumped into the rolling cart, causing it to make a loud plasticity noise from the shaking which he quickly stilled before turning back to Stu. “Yes. But, that was a subversion of the final girl trope. She died to make way for Ginny Fields as the new survivor.”

“Sooo, the final girl is…” Stu trailed off and Randy pointed a finger in his face. “Yes.”

Stu continued. “Which would mean Sid’s not the final girl?”

“Exactly.”

“But, I’m confused, why would he want to kill his own girlfriend?” Stu asked, eyes trained on the other.

“There’s always some stupid, bullshit reason to kill your girlfriend.”

Stu hummed and Randy continued, “That’s the beauty of it all: Simplicity. Besides, if it gets too complicated, you lose your target audience.”

“Well, what’s his reason?”

Randy avoided meeting his eye, focusing on picking up more movies and mindlessly putting them on the shelf. “Why else do you think he’s been hanging off of them ever since the murders started?”

“To comfort them.” Stu shrugged. “‘sides, even if that was the case. Why wouldn’t he just break up with Sidney first?”

“Hell if I know.” His voice quieted into a whisper. “Maybe with all the mutilations, he’s aiming at being a shoulder to cry on after the end credits roll… God, it’s been impossible to even have a chance with him stalking around like Leatherface.”

Stu stared in disbelief before letting out a high pitch cackle that bore a striking resemblance to the witch of the west. “A chance? Don’t tell me you think—” He failed to even finish his sentence due to further laughter that escaped.

“Nice to know I have your support.” Randy commented sarcastically, moving to pick up more tapes, only to be stopped by Stu. “You know who I think it is?”

He glanced around, eyes catching briefly behind Randy’s shoulder, before meeting his eye once again and continuing. “You know, I think it’s Sid’s father. Why can’t they find her Pop’s, man?”

“Because he’s probably dead. His body will come poppin’ up in the last reel somewhere!” Randy’s voice steadily increased into a shout. “Eyes gouged out, fingers cut off, teeth knocked out!”

Stu looked around nervously at the sudden attention of people looking over at the sound of Randy’s violent exclamations. Not that Randy noticed, instead continuing to yell with an ever increasing volume. “The police are always off track with this shit. If they’d watch Prom Night, they’d save time. There’s a formula to it. A VERY SIMPLE FORMULA! EVERYBODY’S A SUSPECT!”

Randy finally noticed all of the attention and looked down nervously at the tape in his hands, his voice now hushed. “I’m telling you, the Dad’s a red herring. It’s Billy.”

He turned to put the tape away on the shelf behind him.

No amount of jump scares could’ve possibly prepared him for Billy to be standing there, leaning casually against the shelf. Randy didn’t even have time to back away or blink before Billy grabbed ahold of his shirt and pulled him forward. “How do we know you’re not the killer?”

It took everything inside of Randy not to break into a cold sweat, stammering out nervously and a bit too cheerily. “Hi, Billy.”

The weight of Stu leaning against his back didn’t help with the suffocating feeling, though Billy didn’t seem to pay attention to what Randy said. “Maybe your movie-freaked mind lost its reality button. You ever think of that?”

“You’re absolutely right. I’m the first to admit it. If this were a scary movie, I’d be the prime suspect.”

“That’s right.” Billy looked around the store, eyes darting to the register counter and lingering on the back door to the break room. “Where are they?”

“What?”

Billy didn’t answer, nothing on his face changed either. Staring with an unblinking intensity that made Randy feel like he was being looked at under a microscope. Swallowing back the feeling of nervousness, “Maybe you’re not that close if they didn’t tell either of you.”

“Tell me what.” 

The weight on his back intensified and Billy’s eyes narrowed. Something about him had always put Randy on edge. Stu was someone he could deal with, someone Randy could predict because he was easy to read. But Billy. Randy knew as well as anybody that his tendency to solve and think through real life through the structure of horror movies was one of his worst attributes. But could he really be blamed when there was something so clearly wrong with Billy Loomis?

Something had always been off about the guy.

Clearing his throat, he forced his confidence to the surface. “Their parents didn’t want them working while people are getting gutted in their backyards.”

The quiet that permeated was something that condensed over them like a thick fog, none of them moving or speaking. What finally broke it was the crashing sound of some signage near the entrance falling down and a handful of classmates from school, scattering like pack rats—whispering secretively and making exclamations of astonishment at the crime and subsequent getaway.

Billy didn’t release Randy’s shirt, but his attention did turn towards what had happened for a brief moment of respite. Stu’s weight on his back eased up enough for Randy to shove himself away from the two. The taller of the two grinning almost jokingly, though even that felt eerily off, despite having seen that same expression numerous times from him. “Your motive—” 

Randy started to say and paused when Billy started to walk towards him. “—what would it be?”

Amusement crossed his face as he tilted his head, “Maybe you should be more concerned about how people are getting, how did you put it? Gutted in their backyards?”

He moved past Randy and the chime of the bell over the door signaled his exit from the store. Stu’s eyes remained locked on the door, Randy neared the cart and hissed, “You can’t tell me that’s not a killer.”

Stu’s attention lingered on Randy, almost unusually solemn, not that the other noticed.

Pinterest for the Header

@kodaswrld for the super sweet divider!!

Sorry for the lack of updates these past few months, I’ve honestly just not had a lot of energy to write as of late. My GPA got really low, so I’ve been trying to work on getting it up.

Luckily, I have since watched the other Scream movies—including the new one, which I’ve since had to pretend doesn’t exist for peace of mind lol.

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

“I can’t do this anymore, Casey.” All the air in your lungs felt stifled, it was hard to even think clearly with the faint buzzing in your ears and the spots that freckled your vision. It had felt that way for the past two weeks when those stupid rumors started circulating. They didn’t even make any sense. Sleeping with Stu, going behind one of your only friend’s backs? You barely even knew him, outside of the times when he would crash your outings and movie nights with Casey.

The only thing that made it worse was the fact that it was getting harder and harder to deny the fact that every whisper and bit of gossip seemed to lead right back to her. The very same person that had assured you multiple times that all of the drama would pass, and that she would be there for you.

It all felt like some cruel joke now.

Casey was silent as her locker clicked shut in the now empty hallway, guilt flooded her usually bright face which was now also overtaken by an odd, pinched expression. Her voice was low and hesitant. "What are you talking about? Are you feeling okay?” 

“Stop—” you swallowed, trying to ignore the tightness in your throat, and the prickling sensation behind your eyes. “Please just stop. Okay? I’m getting really tired of no one giving me a straight answer or giving me the cold shoulder for something I didn’t even do.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the intensity of your quiet anger made Casey flinch back.

"Look, people just talk. It's high school, you know that." She tried for a dismissive shrug, but her eyes kept darting away.

"No, I don't know that. Because I haven't done anything." You met her gaze, your eyes steady and unwavering, challenging her unspoken lie. "But I think you have. All this started right after I saw you talking to Steve outside the stadium two weeks ago. And it sure as hell didn't stop when I told you I wasn't going to lie to Stu for you. That you needed to tell him the truth."

The color drained from Casey’s face. The odd, pinched expression hardened into a defensive mask. Her voice was barely a whisper, a slight tremor in her words. "It was an accident, okay? I didn't mean to hurt him, and I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have lied. And I'm really sorry about how everything’s kind of blown up."

"So, all those rumors. The shit you spread. You did all that, knowing how much it would hurt me? Why would you do that?"

"I didn't! I didn't tell anyone!" Her voice was a hushed plea. She looked like she was going to cry, and for a moment, you almost felt bad. Almost.

"Then why is it so hard to believe you?"

"Please." Her hand was cool, her grip gentle and pleading. "Please, just listen to me. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry."

You shook your head, trying to pull your hand away, but Casey's grip was surprisingly strong. "No, I can't keep doing this, Casey. You're supposed to be one of my closest friends, and this is the thanks I get for sticking by you? For supporting and trusting you, when you can't even tell Stu the truth? When you can’t even tell me the truth.” 

Wrenching your hand out of her grip, you backed away. “I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, Casey. But this friendship, or whatever you thought this was, is over. Now please, just—leave me alone."

Casey's expression was one of hurt and betrayal, her eyes danced behind you for a brief moment before she looked back down. Opening and closing her mouth, she looked like she wanted to say something. Instead, she turned and walked away.

You felt numb. Your legs wobbled slightly, the strength in them threatening to give out. Sinking your back against the cool, hard surface of the lockers, you took a deep, shaky breath. Tears threatened to spill, the hot pinpricks behind your eyes, and the lump in your throat. Glancing to the left, Stu was standing a few feet away, his face pale, his hands shoved into his pockets, and his expression blank.

You looked away, the guilt and shame washing over you.

"Hey."

"Stu... I'm really sorry. About all the shit that's been going around."

"Did you know?" He asked, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "Did you know what she did?"

"I thought she was going to tell you the truth." You looked back at him, your own expression pained and guilty. "I'm sorry. I really am. If I knew that this would happen, I would've told you the truth myself.”

Stu stood there for another agonizing second, his blank expression slowly melting into one of genuine, raw hurt. His eyes—usually so full of a lightness and cheer—were dark and strangely focused on you. He didn't erupt in the anger you expected, nor did he dismiss you with a joke.

"You told her to tell me?" Stu's voice was barely a whisper, laced with a surprising vulnerability. He took a hesitant step closer, closing the distance you had just tried to create. "You... you weren't trying to mess with us? All that garbage she started about you trying to get between us..."

"No!" You shook your head quickly. "That's what I was trying to stop. I told her she had to come clean. I told her two weeks ago, Stu. I didn't want to see you get hurt, and I definitely didn't want to lie for her." You swallowed hard, the last part of your defense coming out rushed and desperate. "I know we’re not friends. But, I also know that you deserve to know."

Stu stared at you for another long moment, processing the quiet intensity of your words. The accusation in your tone toward Casey—the betrayal—was raw like a fresh cut and undeniable—just like his own. It felt weird. Normally it was kind of hard to even try to understand others, especially when it felt like people didn't try to understand him. But, looking at you. At your pained expression, and the earnest way you held yourself, Stu had a feeling that maybe he could understand. Maybe he didn’t need to hide behind the usual persona.

A slow, incredulous realization dawned on his face, replacing the hurt with a profound bewilderment.

"You took the heat," he murmured, his voice thick with disbelief. "You let her start that crap about you coming onto me... just to make her own cheating look less obvious. And you just... took it."

"It was easier than being an accomplice to a lie, Stu." You admitted quietly, the weight of the past two weeks suddenly lifting slightly from your chest. "I’m not a great liar, and I didn't think she'd be so reckless."

He shook his head, a genuine, albeit confused, smile finally breaking through his distress. It was kind of charming; soft, slightly lopsided, and honest. He reached out and awkwardly patted your shoulder, a gesture more comforting than you thought it would be.

"Wow," he said, his voice regaining some of its usual volume, though still gentle. "You're... wow. You're different." He let out a shaky, amazed laugh. "Casey dumped me for Steve, and you dumped Casey for being a jerk. I guess we both dodged a bullet."

You allowed a small, tired smile. "I guess so. Though I think you lost a little more than I did."

"Nah," Stu contradicted instantly, shaking his head. "I lost a couple of good movies. That's all."

"She kept the tapes?"

"Oh yeah." Stu smirked, a hint of humor returning to his voice. "I let her borrow the first part of Friday the 13th, and she never returned it. She’s only ever watched the second one. And I was gonna ask for it back, but now..." He paused, the smirk becoming a wicked grin. "Now, I don't think I will. I'm kinda curious if she's watching it with him."

"Probably not. That would require having an actual taste in movies."

Stu let out a startled laugh. It was a strange sound, and yet, it was oddly endearing.

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@kodaswrld for the wonderful divider!!

I guess this chapter could kind of be considered a second part the previous one.

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Rumi!reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.9

His eyes widened.

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of your lips, though the words that followed were almost painful. "I don’t know what happened back then, and to be honest, I don’t want to know… right now. I have a lot of things I have to deal with, but I think maybe after all this, we can try… restarting. If that's okay."

It was quiet, as Bruce nodded.

"We’ll be here for you."

Moving to exit the train, you turned back to them. "Well, I have to go, but I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," Duke agreed, returning the smile. "Later."

The train sped off, leaving only the echoes of the sounds and the distant hum of the engine. Everything on the platform was still even with Zoey and Mira standing a littles way off. They weren’t saying anything, but the looks they exchanged made it clear that something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a while, and they both clearly shared the same unspoken sentiment.

"What was that about? Is this what you’ve been hiding all this time?—”

“Mira—”

“No… I’m sorry. I want to be there for you. I want to have your back and support you.” Mira moved to hold your hand, but didn’t look up from the floor. “But I can’t—we can’t—if you keep shutting us out. If you keep hiding these things from us. Whatever you think about the song, it doesn’t matter right now. Everything is at stake, and we just need to get through this together.”

Mira squeezed your hand, her expression wavered—lost in something you wanted to help her through, but couldn’t reach.

It made you feel lost too.

"Mira… I’m sorry, I just—"

Mira walked away, she seemed so unaffected, but you could see the way her shoulders slumped. The faint shine of wetness tracing down the side of her cheek.

"I'll talk to her." Zoey moved to follow after her, but hesitated, her back turned to you. "You do know I’ll always be on your side… right? Because it feels really hard to even try to understand why you keep pushing us away like we don’t care. Like we won’t understand. Not when we've always been there for each other and you still... We can’t do this without you…"

Her tone was gentle, but you could hear the strain behind it, the pain that you knew was your fault.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the words struggling to come out, “Zoey—”

She looked back, her gaze sad and uncertain, the way she shifted in place, looking smaller and smaller the longer you stared at her. It felt like a vice grip that was squeezing your lungs until it became impossible to breathe.

“I’m sorry.” Was all she said leaving as well.

They were both gone.

And you were left with the silence that had always been your only comfort now suffocated you. Was hiding everything really worth the distance and pain?

You’d always felt alone and isolated despite knowing you had people that loved and cared about you… but should they? Did you even deserve that when all you had done was shut them out?

Even though shutting them out felt like the only way to protect them… to protect yourself.

Talking to Jinu had helped ease some of the burden you’d unknowingly placed upon yourself. You could believe in second chances for him, and by extension yourself, but that was only because he was willing to work through his problems. He was actively trying to be better and change.

That was the problem wasn't it?

It wasn’t just the patterns.

It was that you were scared.

And because of that, you were hurting the people who cared about you.

It was the truth, but you didn't know if you were ready to admit it.

Your feet were heavy, and everything felt like it was crumbling beneath the weight. You needed to talk to him one last time before everything happened.

Everything would be different after tomorrow.

For the better.

That was all you could hope for.

“I’ll make sure we win.”

It was dark by the time you rounded the corner onto the outstretch of familiar old bricked houses. A few streetlamps lined the sidewalk, the light from them cast a faint glow across the darkening sky, making the shadows that much darker. The trees rustled quietly with the passing breeze, the leaves fluttering against each other and casting moving shadows that made you tense.

The street was empty except for one lone figure leaning against the wall. Beside him was the large blue tiger, babo horangi, and the bird with the miniature hat.

His posture was hunched over, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, eyes staring straight ahead. The expression on his face was hard to make out, but he clearly had something on his mind.

There was a slight pause before you stepped closer.

The tiger let out a low rumble like purr.

“Okay… I’ve been meaning to ask this, but why does the bird wear a tiny hat?”

“I made it for the tiger, but the bird keeps taking it.”

You couldn’t help the slight laugh that escaped. The sound was loud and filled the otherwise empty space. It was almost enough to make you forget why you were here in the first place.

"I wanted to talk to you, Jinu."

He raised an eyebrow, and turned his attention towards you. "What about?"

"It’s about tomorrow. Have you thought about my proposal?”

“Look, I want to believe in your crazy plan. But I don’t think I’m the one to help you.”

The words caught in your throat like a bubble, a dull throbbing pain filled your chest before turning into a lightness that erased all the previous tension once you got the words out. “You already have… My whole life I’ve kept this secret, I’ve hidden this shame of what I am, because that was the only thing that made sense. But the more I hid, the worse it became until it started to destroy the only thing that ever gave me a purpose. My voice. But ever since I met you, the more I’ve talked to you, I didn’t feel like I had to face this alone. I don’t fully understand it, but somehow, my voice is healed.”

The words were raw and vulnerable, they made the tears in your eyes burn.

You moved to grab his hand and stared down at the patterns etched across your wrist and arms.

The ones you used to hate.

But maybe, just maybe, that was changing.

Because maybe, just maybe, there was a small part of you that had started to forgive yourself.

For all the things that felt like your fault.

"When we win, Gwi-ma won't be able to hurt anyone else, ever again. That's my promise. To you. And to everyone who's ever been hurt by demons."

He didn’t say anything, the only sound was the wind and the rustling leaves, then his voice cut through the quiet, hesitant.

"I… I think you helped me too—I can’t hear his voice anymore. I don’t know how it happened, or when, but all those voices and memories that have been haunting me since the night I died, are gone."

The two of you stood in silence, until he continued. “I’ll make sure the Saja Boys lose tomorrow.”

It was hard to believe in yourself, but believing that he was capable of change, maybe you were too.

“Then we both win.”

Turning to leave, you were stopped by the sound of his voice, hesitant and almost nervous.

"Wait—I… I can’t wait to see you on that stage tomorrow.”

Something about it didn’t sit right, but maybe it was just nerves. Hopefully this lingering feeling of doubt would go away with some rest. The tiger pushed its face into your side. Gently, you pushed the cat away and petted down its fur to soothe its anxiety… and your own.

“Look, the last few weeks have been hard… I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult and closed off with you both, neither of you deserve that—I understand if you can't forgive me for all the secrets, but I can't lose you guys. But I know we can win tomorrow…"

Your voice trailed off, eyes feeling glued to the carpet beneath the couch you sat perched on. The apartment was lit up by the rosy sunrise peaking its face over the horizon. It was beautiful, a mix of purples, pinks, and blues, but your mind was too busy worrying.

The silence was only broken by Mira’s voice, unsure for a change. It made the prickling feeling of guilt and worry that much worse.

"Hey, it’s okay… I know our faults and fears must never be seen, but, look, I know I’m kind of a difficult person. Overly blunt, short-fused, highly aggressive. My whole life, those things were a liability. But somehow, with you guys, they’re okay”

“I… feel the same way. Before I met either of you, I felt like my thoughts, and lyrics, and all of my notebooks were just useless and weird. But with the two of you, they mean something… I mean something.”

You didn't know when it had happened, but at some point, Mira and Zoey had become something much more important than any of the things you'd promised to protect.

They were your friends.

Your everything.

"I’m afraid of losing you guys too. And that’s why we have to finish this. All the fear, and anxiety, it’s the demons talking. But tomorrow, we can win this war and finish this once and for all. And once the Honmoon is sealed, we will be free of these demons. Free of these fears forever.”

The warm grip of both their hands held yours and they smiled.

A momentary peace settled between the three of you.

This was right.

Everything would be fine.

And the world would finally be free from the demons that haunted it. You would be free of patterns and could finally tell them the truth.

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Amazing dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cursed-carmine

I’m really sorry this chapter took so long to come out. There was a lot of stuff I couldn’t fit into it, so I added an extra chapter to account for it. Hope everyone has a great night!! <3

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

The door of the massive Victorian house slammed shut behind Stu. He could already hear the phantom voice of his mom yelling at him to be more careful and take his shoes off. “This house is older than your grandmother and deserves twice as much respect.” Despite him also having heard his mom mumble “she-devil” under her breath too many times to count. The house was empty—as per usual—so he ignored the nagging thought and instead started up the stairs.

The door of his room creaked open, revealing his usual mess of dirty clothes strewn about the floor, his bed unmade, and a shelf filled with movies he’d “borrowed” from Randy. 

That little weasel. Your constant shadow. Randy was going to be an issue tonight. He always was. Too close to figuring things out. Too close to becoming a liability. And too damn close to you.

It was infuriating how you actually liked him.

And Randy was a detail Billy hadn't fully accounted for—a pest that needed to be handled delicately so you wouldn't be upset.

And if you were, he’d be there. Billy would be too, but he didn’t mind that nearly as much. 

Stu had tried—and still did—to get you to laugh at one of his jokes. Talk about horror movies just as avidly, and have that same sort of closeness that you did with Randy. Well, maybe that was a lie, he didn’t want that same closeness—an insufferable friendship where one was almost pathetically pining.

He wanted more.

Pulling out the familiar phone from underneath his bed, he thumbed over the call button. He could almost hear your voice from the other side, sweet but unfamiliar in the fear and uncertainty that crept in. All of it settled the jittery feeling behind his ribs. Clicking the button, he sighed in annoyance when it didn’t even do anything.

Disconnected.

Right. Of course. He forgot to put it back after last night when he called you.

Setting it down on the bedside dresser, he laid down.

He had to be calm. He had to be exactly what was expected: the host, the idiot, the life of the party. It was a familiar mask.

It sometimes felt hard to tell the difference between it and himself.

The party was his idea, but it was Billy's plan.

Billy, who had also suggested starting off with Casey. It was still strange. He’d never wanted her dead, just hurt. A public humiliation. The same kind of pain that felt like it was tearing apart his insides until there was just one single question, “Why?” But when Billy had suggested fixing his problem—and giving you a permanent gift—Stu hadn't argued. How could he when he knew you deserved just as much vindication as he did. After everything she put you through, you were one of the only people that understood. When you’d quietly validated his anger about Casey, it had been nothing short of a revelation.

Everything had clicked into place.

Casey had used him, but you had seen him. Behind the mask and understood. Now, Casey was a problem solved, a secret gift delivered. He just wished you knew the gift was from him, mostly.

He glanced at the phone again before rolling off the bed with a start. Kicking a pile of laundry across the room to ease some of the anxiety that was a buzzing hive in his chest—movement was the only thing that kept the panic at bay. He had to get ready. Not because he particularly cared about the party, but because he knew the second you walked through the door, his nerves would stop racing and everything would settle back into a calm.

The warm stickiness of blood sinking in through the fabric of his gloves was the closest thing to you.

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Divider by @kodaswrld <3 <3

Writing Stu’s perspective was really fun! I have chapters planned for Randy and Billy perspectives too, but I think Billy’s probably gonna be the hardest lol.

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.5 Ch.5.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

Before class even started, the announcement came in through the intercoms. Buzzing, and static filled—making it hard to decipher the exact words of Principal Himbry. “Effective immediately, all classes are suspended until further notice. The Woodsboro Police Department has issued a citywide curfew beginning at 9:00 tonight.”

What.

Did something else happen? Did another person get hurt?

What little recollection you had started to gather after everything felt like it was falling away beneath your feet, sinking, while all the nerves in your body had gone coldly numb. 

Classmates immediately started leaving. The sudden movement startling when it felt so sharply contrasted with stillness that weighed you down. You couldn't think, couldn't breathe. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

Please don’t let this be real.

The faint chatter of people leaving filled the room, the sound barely registering as you sluggishly started collecting your stuff.

"Hey." Billy's voice broke through the fog, his hand resting on your shoulder. Turning, you met his gaze. His expression was gentle and reassuring.

"Come on, it’s time to go."

You nodded wordlessly, unable to get anything out. He helped you up, leading you out of the classroom and through the now packed hallways before moved to let go of your hand once you made it to the front doors where Sidney was waiting. “I have to go grab something from my locker, I’ll catch you later.”

His touch lingered, grip warm before slipping away. You nodded, watching as he left. Sidney and you shared a look before walking across the sidewalk and grass next to where the news vans were still parked. The police cars were starting to peal out of the parking lot. Sidney looked really shaken up, her expression drawn and her eyes red rimmed. You didn’t want to ask, you wanted to offer her some semblance of comfort but couldn't find the right words.

"Hey." Tatum's voice broke the silence. You turned to see her, walking up to the both of you. "Sid, are you okay? I heard some creep chased you in the bathroom.”

"Yeah, I think so." Sidney responded, her voice hoarse. Her nails dug into the straps of her backpack. "Admin and some officers checked and couldn’t find anything by the time they got there… so I don’t know if it was someone’s idea of a joke, or…”

“It had to be, right? Like in the hallway earlier. Apparently everybody’s been pulling shit like that today. Adam Sewell and Del Grady got pulled into Himbry’s office earlier and left looking like they were gonna cry." Tatum said, her voice quiet and placid. She placed her hand on Sidney's arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“No, it was him, Tatum. I know it.” Sidney’s tone immediately made the air feel like it got sucked out of your lungs. It felt hard to breathe.

“Well, you’re not to be alone anymore. If you pee, I pee. Is that clear?” Tatum assured.

Stu came up from behind Tatum. He was a little disheveled, but looked otherwise fine. His smile was infectious, and for a moment, it was easy to forget the circumstances. He pulled a crumpled flower from his pocket and handed it to you in a flourish. It was a dandelion. And despite being crumpled and bent, it was beautiful.

"I’m sorry, it got crumpled." He said, his voice apologetic. You shook your head, taking the flower with a small, appreciative smile. "It's perfect, thank you."

"Yeah, that's what I was going for. Perfect." His expression softened, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You felt your own smile grow, the warmth of it chasing away the chill that had settled into your bones.

Tatum rolled her eyes, though it didn’t hold any real malice, given the smile that couldn’t help but form. "Idiot, I saw you pick that off the ground five minutes ago. You’re lucky there was no dirt or ants on it."

“Those things can be dusted off.”

“See, dusted off.” Stu picked up Tatum, who shrieked in delight, and twirled her around with a surprising amount of ease. Though given he used to be on the football team before everything, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. “I don’t know what you did, Sidney. But I’m thinking an impromptu party tonight, at my house. What do you think?”

Sidney bit her lip, uncertainty flickering across her features. "What? Are you serious?”

“Come on, Sid. For me? It could be fun.” Tatum said, her tone light and hopeful. She looked over at Stu, giving him a look. He gave her a thumbs up.

"You guys will be super protected, I promise."

Sidney hesitated, before sighing out. “Okay. Whatever… just, I need to get some stuff from my place. Then you and Dewey can pick me up from there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Tatum smiled, her eyes bright with relief and playfulness. “What about you? I know you have work later, but since the curfew’s gonna be closing everything down early… Plus, Randy is gonna be there, and we probably need somebody to distract him from ranting about Jamie Lee Curtis. Again.”

You looked at her, hesitating. The last thing you wanted was to have to deal with the crowds, or the possibility of the killer still being out there. They were still out there… And from what you could gather, most likely one of your classmates… one of the people that could be coming to the party. But, staying at home. Alone. Felt like a death trap.

"Alright, sure."

Tatum beamed, clapping her hands together. "Yes! Thank you. Any snack requests?”

"I don't know, surprise me."

"Oh, that could be dangerous." Stu chimed in, the playful teasing note making the corners of your mouth curve upwards. "But, I think I could manage it."

"I’ll pick you up at 9:00. Look sharp.” Tatum gave you a tight hug, the warmth of her arms enveloping you for a moment before she started to walk towards Dewey’s car with Sidney.

"See ya later."

Sidney looked exhausted, her shoulders slumped. You couldn't imagine how she was feeling. Everything had just gotten so much worse in a matter of hours.

"Hey, are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, I’ll call you later.” Sidney smiled, her expression tired but genuine. "And thank you. It means a lot that you're coming."

"Don’t worry about, it looks like you enough stress. Just focus on getting some rest, okay?"

Both parents were seated on the couch of the living room when you stepped inside. The television was on, but the volume had been turned down so low, it could probably only be heard by dogs. They both turned, looking relieved and worried.

Your mother was the first to speak, her voice wavering. "Honey, we saw on the news something about an attack at school. Is that true? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. No one got hurt. But they cancelled school until further notice."

"Did they catch the guy?"

"No. I don't know..." You sighed, your shoulders slumping. Your dad shifted, a faint hint of concern in his voice. "Don’t you have to work later today? I don’t want you to be out during all of this.”

"Yeah, but with the curfew, I’ll probably only be there for a few hours before—”

"I’m gonna call Doug.” Was all your mom said, before standing, and grabbing the phone. She could be heard faintly introducing herself to your manager as she stepped into the kitchen. Your father followed shortly after. They were gonna keep you home. Safe. You didn't have to question why, you knew it was because they were scared. And honestly, so were you.

The house felt suffocating, and the news on the television made things even worse. The same footage and images, and the same reports. Picking up the remote, you turned it off.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Every noise, every creak, was amplified.

Like every moment of assumed peace before a jumpscare.

You didn’t want to be home… not to get another phone call. Not to think about the very real possibility that… that person who called you their final girl, could be the killer. That it could be someone that you know. Someone that was going to the party.

Sitting on plushness of the sofa, you pulled out the flower that Stu had given you. The soft yellow petals were still mostly intact, the crumpled leaves framing the center. It was beautiful. You didn’t deserve something like this. Not with everything going on. Sometimes, you kind of wished you and your family never moved to the—used to be—sleepy town four years ago.

You could hear your father pacing the hallway, the soft thud of his steps, and the creak of the floorboards. The familiar sound of him trying to think.

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@strangergraphics and @kodaswrld for the amazing dividers!!

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Rumi!reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.8 Ch.9

The blade stood still against the side of his neck.

The man raised his hands in surrender, his blue eyes widened in surprise. Two other people stood behind him, a blonde girl and a dark-skinned boy with curly hair.

He looked really familiar…

They all did…

Your breath hitched. You recognized the smile, the easy confidence. You hadn't ever actually seen him in person—in fact you weren’t even sure if you even really knew him, but the pictures—photos you’d only been able to glance at once or twice.

All of happy smiling faces.

They weren’t lacking in spaces.

They didn’t want you.

So why were they here?

These were unwanted ghosts from a past that as long as you could remember didn’t want you. You or your mother. A past that needed to be ignored, like it didn’t even exist. Like it wasn’t supposed to exist. Just like the patterns.

Fingers tightened painfully around the grip of the handle, muscles coiled and ready to strike. The anger that had been simmering felt like it was starting to boil over, directed at this intrusive, unwanted reunion. Why were they here now?

“Who are you?” you ground out, your voice rough from the earlier strain. You knew who they were, broadly. The children of Bruce Wayne. The ones who had never answered your calls, who had never cared.

The blonde girl, stepped forward, her hands held up in a gesture of peace. "Hey. Okay, let’s just calm down and restart this whole thing. I’m Stephanie. This is Duke. The one you’re about to stab is Dick. And we’re—"

“Stop,” you barked, the word sharp enough to cut the air. You took a deliberate step back, widening the distance between you and them. You risked a quick glance back at Mira and Zoey, who were frozen in stunned silence, their eyes wide with confusion and alarm. You had to protect them from this. They couldn’t know about this. About everything… 

"This room is locked. How did you get in here?"

Dick slowly lowered his hands, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looked suspiciously like hurt, though you immediately dismissed it. "Look, we just want to talk. We’re not here to hurt anyone. We just found out where you were—"

“Found out?” you scoffed, the sound laced with pure venom. Your grip on the sword tightened until your knuckles were white. “What. Like I’m some kind of missing person? Like I just vanished? In case you’re forgetting, I did reach out. Tried to form a connection. You’re the one’s that wanted so desperately to pretend like I didn’t exist.”

The words tumbled out, uncontrolled, fueled by years of Celine’s bitterness and your own buried pain. The distinct prickle of the patterns felt like it almost burned, they felt like they were tightening around your skin. Though you knew—you hoped—the sensation was just a phantom feeling amidst all of this.

“We know we screwed up,” Duke spoke up, his voice earnest and quiet. He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes fixed not on your face, but on your arm, right where you knew the patterns lurked beneath your clothes. The sight of his gaze made your skin crawl. He could see it. He... he knew.

They all knew.

Just like Jinu.

“No, you don’t know anything,” you seethed, shaking your head slowly, a chilling calm descending over your fury. Stepping back to create more distance. You needed to leave, to get out of here and hide from whatever this was. “You don’t know anything. And don’t even try to pretend to understand or act like you care. If you really cared. If he really cared. You all would’ve been there. You don’t know about the Honmoon. You don’t know about the demons that are supposed to be gone because of people like my mother. You don’t know about the sacrifices we make every single day. You show up here, interrupting my work, with a friendly wave and a claim of family, after decades of acting like I didn’t exist? It's pathetic.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you swallowed hard, refusing to let them see the deeper pain behind the anger.

"We want to help," Stephanie insisted, her voice gaining a desperate edge. "We saw the reports. Diana told us what you do. We know about HUNTR/X. We know about the Demon Hunters and the patt—"

"No you don’t!" you yelled, finally losing control. How could they just waltz into your life and try to pretend like they knew, like they understood? Especially when they, in that same breath, were planning on revealing everything you had, had to keep hidden your entire life. "You want to help? You want to be family? Go home! Go back pretending like I don’t exist, and I’ll go back to doing the exact same thing. Because I don’t need you."

It was silent except for the metallic hiss of Mira and Zoey’s weapons appearing behind you. They were with you, even if they didn’t fully understand.

“Get out,” you commanded, your voice low and dangerously steady. “Leave now, and stay away from me.”

You kept the blade lowered but ready, watching as the three figures exchanged nervous glances. Finally, Dick gave a slow, painful nod.

"We're not leaving the city," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "We're going to stay. And if you ever need us, even if you don’t want us to, we'll be there."

With that, he signaled the others. Stephanie and Duke hesitated, their faces etched with sympathy and worry, but they obeyed, backing towards the door. Dick was the last to leave, his blue eyes holding yours for a final, agonizing moment before he, too, slipped out.

The door clicked shut behind them, and the room was silent again, save for your ragged breathing and the faint, confused murmurs of your friends.

You lowered the saingeom, your body trembling, the metallic taste of adrenaline and shame thick on your tongue. They were gone. But, despite their absence, it still felt hard to breathe or even think. It felt like burning anger that had been festering inside hadn’t diminished, but had somehow gotten stronger, and it was making it impossible to see straight, to see beyond the anger, the pain, the hurt, the embarrassment. Jinu… were demons really that bad?

Your mother had become a demon from hurt and shame… from your father. Jinu had become one too from those very same feelings of shame.

Did that mean… that all of them had become the very same monsters you hunted because of the same feelings that felt like they were digging under your skin?

“Hey, are you okay?” Zoey asked hesitantly, dismissing her shin-kal into faint buzzing strings that disappeared just as quickly. Mira did the same with her weapon and exchanged a confused look with her. “Yeah, who were those people?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You tried to sound as dismissive as possible, though the words came out more strangled than anything. The patterns felt like they were tightening around your skin. Like chains that were slowly crushing you. At their unconvinced looks, you added, "I’m fine. I swear. Don't worry."

They didn’t look like they believed you.

And you weren’t sure if you did either.

Maybe it was naive, but some part of you really did want to help him.

He was in pain. 

He had to be, to be willing to go to such extreme measures just to forget everything.

And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, just talking to him. Opening up about everything. To someone who didn’t tell you, didn’t make you feel like you should hide everything… it was nice…

It felt almost too easy to slip the small card, a simple “Save The Date” card to his cat—which visited you more than you’d like to admit.

The oversized feline sunk into a familiar pool of light on the floor, before that too, disappeared into the darkness of your room.

He had been right. You were hiding, not only from the your friends, but also from the world.

Because it felt easier to dislike and distrust yourself over others. 

Because that meant that the chances of hurting anyone else were almost impossible.

But it was time to change things.

You wouldn’t tell Mira or Zoey yet. Not because they weren’t ready, but because you weren’t.

But maybe, just maybe, you were willing to let someone in.

Maybe he was worth the risk.

The sky darkened into shade of purple and blue that was illuminated only by the distant fiery light of the setting sun, which left streaks of bright pink and yellow in its wake. Just as silently as before, you drew closer without him noticing.

His brow was furrowed, eyes impatient as he pulled out the very same card you’d sent him and turned it over agitatedly. You could hear him mumble under his breath as you crept closer. “She wants to meet, and she’s late.”

He turned just in time to see you perched right next to him, he shrieked and stumbled backwards.

“Did you make me come all the way out here just so you could jump-scare me?”

You refrained from laughing and instead spoke flatly, moving to lead the way. “Follow me.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally ready to talk.” He commented while moving a distance away onto a small cobbled pathway nearby. “Although, you could’ve picked somewhere nicer for a date.”

That immediately made you freeze in place.

Date?

What.

The.

Hell.

He laughed, the sound grating and irritating, and you could feel your blood pressure rise.

Hurriedly, you rushed to clarify. “Date? No! Ew! What are you talking about?”

He silently pulled out the card and eyed it in confusion. Save the date? Oh… nooo.

“That doesn’t mean—” Dragging your hand down your face, you groaned out. “Oh my god, you’re so old. This is strictly a business meeting.”

“Okay, understood.” He kept looking at the card, so you snatched it from his grasp. Pocketing the card, you turned towards one of the higher platforms where a stone wall stood between that and the rest of the city down below. “What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?”

“Go on.”

“Help us win the Idol Awards.” You hopped onto the wall, the strings of the Honmoon hummed softly against your hands.“Because when we win, the Honmoon will be sealed. And that will guarantee your freedom. Gwi-ma will be permanently cut off and all the demons will be gone from this world.”

The strings fell protectively and comfortably over the buildings of the city below. “And I will finally be free of these patterns. I won’t have to hide or keep secrets anymore.”

Turning towards him, you continued. “You can be on this side when the Honmoon is sealed. Away from the demon world. And away from Gwi-ma.” Hopping off the wall, you walked towards him and hesitantly added, your voice quiet. “He won’t be able to torture you with your own memories anymore. You’ll still be able to keep them, but maybe they won’t hurt so badly anymore. You can be free from those voices forever.”

“What makes you think the Honmoon can even save a guy like me?”

“A guy who tried to help his family? You made a mistake, Jinu.”

He scoffed. “It’s not that simple.”

Reaching out to grab his hand, you stared down at where the patterns lined your wrists under your clothes. “But I am a mistake. I have been since the moment I was born. Half demon and half hunter, I have to pick one but it feels like it’s tearing me apart. I have to believe. Because if there’s no hope for you, what is there for me?”

Something in his eyes changed and he opened his mouth to say something, but the voice of an older woman cut in. “Bracelet? For your beautiful girlfriend?”

You dropped his hand like it was on fire and the two of you scrambled away, sputtering.

“Oh, no. We’re not—She’s not my type—”

“What? Excuse me, I’m everyone’s type.”

“You can’t even show up on time.”

“What are you? From the 1900s?”

“I can see why you’re still single.”

The older woman approached and stared at Jinu in what could only be described as judgement before reaching to drop one of the bracelets into the palm of your hand. “Here, a free one. Go find yourself a better boy. This one’s hopeless.”

He laughed as she walked away from the two of you. “See, there’s your answer. Hopeless.”

The pattern of the bracelet was all too familiar, both in color and shape as it sat in your palm. Light glinting off the threads, from the distant sun. “That’s the thing about hope. No one else gets to decide if you feel it.” You moved to hand the bracelet to him. “That choice belongs to you and you alone.”

He didn’t move or say anything.

It was starting to feel too real as he stared shocked.

As a silence hung in the air between the two of you.

You swallowed thickly, and turned briskly to keep walking.

Then he grabbed your hand to stop you.

That same silence was in the air, until he nervously coughed out. “Um, the bracelet…”

“Oh, right.”

You passed it to him and tried to avoid moving or looking at him.

“For what it’s worth, I never thought you were a mistake.”

The light of the train lit up the dark tunnel, illuminating the walls and ceiling with a bright glow. A soft, mechanical whir filled the space as it sped through. Tomorrow was the day of the Idol Awards, and everything felt like it was pulling further and further apart at the seams. Everything you knew, everything you had vowed to protect felt like it was a fundamental contradiction to what you even were. Avoiding your friends felt even worse, especially with it feeling closer and closer to the unavoidable deadline to revealing everything.

But you didn’t know if you could do that.

You didn’t want to, because all you could think was how they would react. How there was still the very real possibility of them hating you, and the worse part was that you’d understand why. Because you did too.

The guilt only felt like it was growing.

Mira and Zoey didn't deserve it. You didn’t deserve them. And they didn't know that was the reason you'd been so distant and distracted lately. You were trying not to worry them. And not to worry yourself. Your voice was healing, but the reason for it was something that felt like a very betrayal of everything you’d fought against.

Jinu, despite being a demon, had become someone you could confide in, and the fact that you had even opened up to him about the patterns, it felt like it was a step towards acceptance. You hated feeling like it was something that defined you, that highlighted all the things you hated about yourself.

You knew deep down that if your friends knew the truth, they would support you, but it was hard to admit the truth to yourself, let alone them.

From the darkness of the tunnel, the Honmoon gaped like an open wound as demons crawled out.

“I don’t get it. What is your problem?” Mira asked, her voice sharp with frustration.

The sword swung down and met one of the demons, dissolving it. “I told you, it’s the song. It’s just wrong—”

“I’m not talking about the song. I’m talking about you!” Her spear clanged against the roof of the train with a resounding metallic sound. “Why are you questioning everything we stand for when we’re so close to sealing the Honmoon? Isn’t this what you’ve been pushing us towards for all this time? What are you not telling us?”

She moved to grab your shoulder as you turned away, unable to look at her. “What are you hiding from us?”

The patterns on your arm felt like it burned for a split second as you jerked away. “Not everything is about your insecurities, Mira!”

The light of day hit with a palatable force that stung your eyes, but you knew that wasn’t the real reason for the tears welling up in your eyes. Why did you say that?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Zoey gasped out as she pointed ahead. “Would you two stop fighting each other and look?”

“If you’re really with us. Prove it.” Mira spoke, readying her stance.

A tear in the distance ripped through the space, the magenta color of it only caused even more of a sinking weight to fill your chest. Demons poured through the hole and the three of you moved to try and stop them, but for a fleeting moment everything felt too fast. Why couldn’t you push through the feeling of uncertainty when you had done it so often before?

A particularly large demon lunged out and your movement was too slow. The pain from the attack felt only secondary to the tracks of tears that ran down your face as the realization washed over you. You were hurting them.

A fleeting second of indecision was all it took for you to be struck down.

And for the train to be taken over by the hoard, like water washing over.

Mira and Zoey rushed forward and fended off the approaching demons, before Mira slammed her spear down onto the ground with enough force to cause all of them to disintegrate. The air shimmered and all you could manage to gasp out was, “The passengers.”

The three of you rushed inside to find them...

Why did he have to show up now?

The passengers were huddled into a corner of the train—thankfully safe—as the three of you quickly dismissed your weapons to avoid questions.

Bruce looked as imposing as you’d imagined, practically a shadow in a costume that made you hesitate to say anything.

Was he… were of all of them…

Dick’s back was to the three of you, dressed in a costume as well, though you could tell instantly that it was him. Stephanie and Duke were only recognized from standing so close to Bruce and Dick. All of them with masks that made you feel like you knew them even less than you thought.

"What are you guys doing here?" you asked, your voice quiet.

Dick turned around slowly, his costume made of blue and black fabric had a slight metallic shine in the threads of it.

He smiled despite everything that had happened. "I told you, we're not leaving."

Bruce moved to step closer, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Instead fixed your gaze on the ground, biting the inside of your cheek till the thick taste of iron lined your tongue. “Thank you for saving the passengers. I’ll be going now.”

With a final glance back at him and the others, you pushed past the crowd towards the doors. The next station was close.

"Hey, wait!" Duke called, running after you. "We have to talk about—"

"No, you have to go home," you said firmly, whirling around to face him. “I don’t get it. What do you guys want from me? Why do you want to pretend like you care so badly?"

"We do care," he insisted, his dark eyes holding yours steadily. “Why do you keep pushing us away? Just because we weren’t there, doesn't mean we didn’t care. We just... we didn't know how. I can't imagine what you went through, but please. Just let us in. Let us help."

The words hung in the air as a strange silence followed, broken only by the sound of the train hissing to a stop. Your breath caught, mouth dry and throat tight. The passengers rushed to leave, but you all stayed still. 

“I’m sorry.” Bruce spoke up. “I think no matter how many times I say that, it won’t make up having left you. And I'm not going to make excuses for that because I know there aren’t any that would be enough. I’m not asking for you to forgive me. I’m just asking for you to allow for us to help you out.”

The words made you pause, the way his voice cracked at the end, almost imperceptibly. But the emotion that seeped through the words made your chest feel tight and constricting.

And for a fleeting moment, everything was still and silent until even your own voice startled you. “Okay.”

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Awesome possum dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cursed-carmine <3

Sorry this one took longer than expected to come out, I had a lot of homework this past week. I’m also sorry for any mistakes I made, I’m planning on reviewing it later to make edits.

Hope everyone has a great day! :)

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.5.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

The voice chuckled, it was smooth and deep. There wasn’t anyone you knew that sounded like him—this had to be a wrong number.  "Don't worry, I just want to talk to my soon-to-be final girl."

“What… is this some kind of joke?” The words felt hollow and pointless, the situation not really sinking in. You felt a cold, sharp prickle run down your spine as the voice continued.

"A joke? No. In fact this is the farthest thing from it.” He laughed, the sound almost sinister. It wasn't like a movie villain. He didn't sound crazy, or manic, or even angry. He just sounded like an ordinary person. Maybe he was, and you were just being paranoid. Maybe this was a prank. He continued, “I thought you of all people would understand, given I know I can’t be the only person relieved that Casey Becker is dead. I know you are. After all, you and I are more alike than you think."

You could barely choke out the words, your mind whirling, "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend." The response was almost immediate, the voice low, teasing.

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Aww, are we already moving that fast? You’re more forward than I took you for.” The voice paused, hitching in an almost intimate manner that made you feel sick, and the sound of his breathing, sent a fresh wave of revulsion washing over you. You could almost feel the phantom touch of his breath ghosting against your ear. "Though I suppose with how things are, we can't really move slow."

"Wh-what do you want from me?"

"I wanted to let you know who exactly the gift came from.” He sounded almost proud of himself.

You swallowed, forcing down the rising panic. "Gift? I don’t want any gifts from you.”

"Well, too bad. Because there are more on the way.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, the tone shifting once more. "And the next one is gonna be very special.”

The line clicked, the silence settling in with a sense of finality.

You stood there, frozen, staring at the receiver, the dial tone echoing.

Slowly, you placed it back into the cradle. The darkness seemed heavier, more oppressive. It felt like it was choking you, and for 

a moment, you couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

Then, finally, you took a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly.

"It's just a prank. It's just a prank," you whispered to yourself, trying to ignore the growing sense of fear and dread that had settled over you. You forced yourself to move, turning and heading back upstairs.

"It's just a prank. Some sick prank from some sick fuck who thinks all of this is funny.”

You made your way to the bathroom, splashing some water on your face. The cool liquid, a relief on your flushed skin. You gripped the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror.

Your reflection was pale and drawn, dark circles under your eyes. You looked haunted, scared. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

"It's just a prank," you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just a prank."

Despite the reassurances, the unease remained, and you knew that there was no way you could go back to sleep tonight.

“Hey, did you get much sleep last night? You look a little tired today."

Sidney asked the question, her gaze filled with genuine concern. You looked away, avoiding her gaze. The truth was, you hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could hear was the distorted voice of the stranger who called. The morning light felt almost blinding compared to your darkened bedroom, cast only in the light of “Silence of the Lambs.” Even worse were the blinding flashes of red and blue from the police cars that lined up and down the sidewalks of the school with news vans.

You shrugged, feigning a nonchalance you didn't feel. "I guess not. I just couldn't stop thinking about the case. It's like I'm in a movie or something."

Sidney frowned, her expression pensive. She nodded slowly, understanding. "Yeah, I get it. It was kind of the same way after my mom died… nothing feels real, or permanent. I want to keep the memories I had with her, but it’s hard when it feels like every other person keeps talking about her like she was only a person that got murdered. Just a sensationalized story meant to be sold at every five and dime store. And not… you know… my mom.”

Her voice was quiet, and you could see the pain and grief reflected in her eyes. You nodded, reaching out to give her a gentle squeeze. "I'm really sorry, Sidney. I know it's not the same, but I really do understand how you feel. Losing someone is hard, especially when people act like they can't move on. Or don't want to."

She offered a faint smile, returning the gesture. Her fingers were warm against yours. "Thanks. And I know it’s none of my business to pry, but if you ever need anything, just… I’m here for you, okay?”

"Thank you, Sid. That means a lot."

You gave her a small, reassuring smile.

The door of your locker creaked open, the usual noise of students milling around between classes filling the air. Tucked into every corner and wall were various prints of some of your favorite movies—a few posters, drawings, clippings and pictures—some books, notebooks for classes, and school supplies. It was a place where you could find a sense of comfort and a reminder of what you loved.

Maybe it was luck to have your locker placed conveniently between Tatum and Sidney’s, both of which were always a comfort. Though the presence of Stu, shadowed a little behind Tatum was a little more intimidating.

“This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.” You started, your words rushed. The reality of the situation had started to set in, and the overwhelming feeling of being suffocated was starting to make you feel sick. You didn't want to think about it, but the memory kept haunting you. "I need to leave. I should go."

Tatum stopped you, her hand firm and warm. "You just need to get through this one class, then I want you to meet me here right afterwards, okay?"

"Yeah, we won't let anything happen to you," Stu added, his voice soft and reassuring. You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity. It was odd, he was normally so loud and obnoxious, but here he seemed genuinely concerned. It felt almost out of character, but maybe you were wrong to even make that assumption. It’s not like you thought he was some inconsiderate jerk, but he never had given any indication that he could be thoughtful.

"You mean that?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Thank you," you whispered, the tension easing slightly before it became too obvious to ignore. “Wait. Where’s Billy?”

Sidney’s composure seemed to crumble a little. Her gaze distant, and her shoulders sinking. Tatum and Stu shared a look that you couldn’t read, but something told you that there was more going on there than they were letting on.

"I… I got him placed in holding." Sidney started, her words slow and hesitant. You could tell she was trying not to say too much, or not give any more details than necessary.

Tatum was the one who jumped in, her voice hushed, "Idiot crawled through Sid’s window last night during an attack. Made it worse when they found a mobile phone on him.”

Your mouth fell open, your disbelief palpable.

"He was the killer?!"

"No.” Sidney immediately said, closing the door of her locker and clutching her books close to her chest. “I… got a phone call last night after I got him put in holding and it couldn’t have been him. It wasn't Billy."

She hesitated before asking. “Do… is he really pissed?”

“Oh, you mean after you branded him the Candyman? No, his heart’s broken.” Stu responded, sarcasm lacing his words. Tatum shoved him, but he didn't seem too bothered by it, he was about to continue but got interrupted by the obnoxiously loud sound of a boy running down the hallways screaming in a costume.

Was that… was that what the killer wore? But it couldn't have been. It felt too similar to the movies…

You couldn't think, couldn't speak. All you could do was watch as the boy, dressed in the familiar costume, raced down the hall, pursued by Principal Himbry. The scene was surreal, and the only thought that ran through your mind was how ridiculous it all was. “Why are they doing this? People are dead…”

“I know! It’s like Christmas!” Stu said, excitement dripping from his voice along with laughter that died out with the ringing of the school bell. Tatum slapped him with a lollipop she had clutched tightly in her hand. “Stupidity leak.”

“Ow. Stop it.” Stu rubbed at the sore spot before trailing behind Tatum.

"Come on, we'll walk you to class." She wrapped her arm around yours and gently guided you away.

History was unsurprisingly mostly empty, with most of the parents having forced your classmates to stay home. Normally you wouldn’t complain about it, it was quiet for a change. But, right now the quietness felt like it was gonna choke you.

The silence was almost deafening. The classroom was nearly empty, with only a handful of students, and Mr. Farris sitting at the front. His brow was furrowed, his expression distant and distracted as he stared at his desk. He seemed lost in thought, his pen tapping a restless rhythm.

You took your usual seat, pulling out your books and notes. You glanced up at the clock, watching the second hand tick by. It was like time had slowed down.

Your mind kept replaying the events from the day before. Everything felt like it was moving too fast: the events at the Becker’s house, the taunting phone call, and now Billy being placed in holding. It was all too much.

“Hey.” Billy's voice startled you, despite his voice being hushed. You turned, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah, I didn't either.” He sighed, looking tired. Creases lined his eyes, making him appear almost sick. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you asking me that? Weren’t you in jail just last night?” You teased, trying to ease the tension.

Billy shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Holding. Not jail."

"Same difference."

"I don’t think being put away for the night can really count the same as a life sentence." He chuckled, the sound dry and humorless.

“Had me fooled.” You paused, studying him for a moment. There was something about his demeanor that felt off, almost unsettled. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Not really. It was a little difficult to be at ease there." He trailed off, his gaze distant. "Especially with the actual killer apparently still being out there."

"What did the police say? Did they have any leads?"

"Not that they would tell me. They just said that they were looking into some things like phone records and stuff."

You nodded, unsure what else to say. The silence settled in again, the air thick with unspoken words. You could tell he was struggling to find the right words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady. “Sidney said she got a phone call last night. You seem pretty shaken up. Did you—did anyone call you last night?”

There was a faint ringing in your ears, intermingled with the same dial tone from last night. The words struggled to come out. You could barely breathe, much less speak. "No… it—it was just a prank call.”

Billy studied you for a moment, his expression inscrutable. He didn’t believe you.

"It was just a prank, Billy. Someone playing a sick joke."

"I know, I believe you." His gaze was steady and serious. He reached over, placing a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch reassuring. "If you get another call, just tell me, okay? Even if it is a prank, I want to know."

"Okay."

You gave him a faint smile, feeling a little better. You could trust Billy. You knew you could. And right now, that was enough.

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Beautiful dividers by @strangergraphics and @kodaswrld <3 <3

I’m having a lot of fun with this story! I think I’ll plan out some more slasher stories sometime in the future, because it feels really refreshing!

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.1 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.5.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

Everything felt like it was coming in through a filter. An uncanny one that made you feel like you had seen this same sensationalized and laissez faire attitude before, but you knew internally that any comparisons would only make you feel worse. Movies always made everything feel like it didn’t matter if someone got injured or killed, but now it felt like everything you knew before had been turned sideways.

The news report about Casey’s death was a seismic shock of cold mixed with the nauseating feeling of relief that came with it which you immediately tried to bury. You didn’t want to feel relieved that she had died. Had suffered a pain that didn’t feel justified or warranted in spite of everything.

Casey had been cruel.

She hadn’t just faded from your life; she’d actively pushed you away after you stopped defending her, then started those rumors last year. Ugly little whispers that only made you retreat further into your shell. To think that her death, and Steve’s as well, might somehow be connected to that petty high school nastiness made your stomach churn uncomfortably.

“This isn’t a movie where the victim deserved it,” you thought, wanting to push out any sense of vindication or happiness that could be gained.

After the report, the anchorman switched to weather and a bright blue sky.

It felt wrong.

Stepping through the school doors, the air hit you like a physical force—heavy, vibrating with an energy that was almost palpable. The usual chaos of Woodsboro High was replaced by a newly formed one that made everything feel so unreal. Murmurs of gossip and rumors, whispers of fragmented and horrifying news. You felt a wave of nausea, the sensationalized, almost performative terror of the situation making you feel physically ill. This wasn't the cinematic kind of fear you and Randy loved to dissect; this was real, sickening, and intrusive.

And right now all you want to do was turn it off.

If this was supposed to be like something ripped right out of the very movies you loved, why couldn’t you turn it off?

Randy stood near your locker, his usual dark humor still present, but this time combined with a rigid tension. You exchanged a brief, shaken greeting, your words sticking in your throat as he immediately launched into a low-toned analysis of how the murder violated every horror trope, finding comfort in the rules that felt like they were breaking down around you.

“That has to be how it was done, right?”

Spots filled your vision, and sweat broke almost coldly across your skin. The bell going off caused a dull ache at the base of your skull as you forced out the words, “I… I need to go to class.”

You rushed away, not waiting for an answer or any response, the crowd and their whispers becoming a thick blur. Sliding into your seat in history was almost a relief as you leaned your forehead against the cool of the desk while waiting for class to start.

Just a minute. That was all you needed to slow down and take everything in.

The familiar presence of Billy settling into the desk behind you was usually something you barely registered, but today, you were hyper-aware of everything. You kept your head down, focusing on the cool plastic of the desk.

His voice was hushed and low amongst the other students filtering into the classroom, "Hey, are you okay?”

You slowly lifted your head, meeting his gaze for a brief moment. His eyes—usually intense and somewhat guarded—were softened by a genuine, albeit subtle, expression of concern that felt almost alien. You managed a small shake of your head.

"You look like you’re gonna pass out," he murmured, his voice maintaining that low, conspiratorial volume. He leaned closer, and the sudden proximity was unnerving, yet the quiet focus of his attention felt strangely isolating from the school's pervasive buzz. "Look, if you want, I can walk with you between classes. Keep the vultures away." He paused, his gaze softening further. "And make sure you actually get to lunch. It doesn’t look like you packed anything, so I can steal some of Stu’s.”

The offer, though simple, felt enormous. You processed the words, the genuine note of concern conflicting with the ingrained wariness you felt toward him. Despite being in the same group of friends, your conversations were mostly limited to brief, passing greetings, the occasional shared joke or nod. The most you could breach was a shared love of horror films.

You cleared your throat, the dryness making it difficult to speak. "I... are you sure?"

He gave a slight shrug, a return to his usual composure, but the quiet intensity in his eyes remained. "Yeah, I don't have a problem skipping math."

Your lips curved into a slight smile. "You'd do that for me?"

He flashed a grin that seemed both genuine and slightly teasing. "Yeah, I would."

You let out a soft sigh, the tightness in your chest easing slightly. "Thank you, Billy. I'd really appreciate that."

The usual spot for lunch was a nice respite from the crowded hallways. The group sitting outside in the brisk air, though the warmth of the sun offset it nicely. Billy had, to his word, walked you to and from classes and went with you to lunch.

Class periods had been quiet and tense with an attempt at normality that was stifled by students getting pulled out one by one to go talk to police officers that were in the admin’s office. Tatum’s brother, Dewey, had luckily directed most of the conversation before you had gone back to class. Which by the time lunch rolled around, the principal had gone on the intercom to let the student body know that the rest of the school day had been cancelled.

As you approached, Randy looked up, his expression hardening slightly when he saw Billy’s arm subtly guide you towards the bench of the fountain. You seated yourself in between Randy and Tatum, who like a saint, shared her grapes. Tatum leaned against Stu, his grin prickled the back of your neck, but you ignored any unease it caused. Stu always had a sort of manic energy that was hard to match, or even understand most of the time. 

"Hey," Randy greeted, his voice cooler than usual, a subtle edge in his tone. "Didn't expect to see him playing babysitter."

“Yeah, make sure to pick up your check from Mrs—” Stu started, but stopped short when Billy sniped a small container from his backpack. “Hey, that’s mine.”

"Too slow," Billy returned easily, already handing the container to you—it was a turkey sandwich. "Eat. You looked like death in history. And we’re not even on any plagues yet in that class."

You took the container, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and the heavy, uncomfortable weight of the sudden attention.

"Thanks, Billy," you murmured, avoiding Randy's now-fixed stare.

Tatum immediately jumped in, sensing the tension. "He’s right you know, you do look pale. And that sandwich was the only thing keeping Stu from resorting to cannibalism." She squeezed your arm and Stu started making gargling sounds. "Did you hear what my brother said about the scene? He said—"

Sidney interrupted softly, leaning against Billy. “Did you guys get pulled out of class too?”

“Yeah, what kind of questions did they ask you Sidney?”

“They asked if I knew Casey.”

“Did they ask if you like to hunt?” Stu asked Billy, who was starting to lean back on the bench. “Yeah, they did.”

“Why would they ask if you if you liked to hunt?” You wondered out loud, prompting Randy to jump in. "Cause their bodies were gutted.”

The bread tasted like cardboard and the meat tasted like rubber, and suddenly you weren't hungry anymore.

“Thank you, Randy.” Billy responded, his words biting. Tatum rolled her eyes, "They didn’t ask me if I like to hunt.”

Stu snorted and glanced over at Billy. “Cause there’s no way a girl could’ve killed ‘em.”

“That’s is so sexist. The killer could easily be female. Basic Instinct.”

Randy jumped at the opportunity to quote a movie, even indirectly. “That was an ice pick. Not exactly the same thing.”

“Yeah, Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out. And the fact is, it takes a man to do something like that.”

“Or a man’s mentality.” Tatum chided her boyfriend.

“How do you… gut someone?” Sidney asked, the question hesitant. Her voice fragile in a way that betrayed a deeper terror that was instantly recognized. Silence settled over the group. The only sound was the crunch of the leaves that fell on the grass.

"Well," Stu started, clearing his throat. "You take a knife, and you slit em’ from the groin to sternum—"

"Stu, stop." You managed out, voice thin and quiet. He immediately stopped, looking at you pleadingly. "I’m sorry, please don’t get mad at me."

“It’s called tact, you fuck rag.” Billy cut in, glaring at him.

Sidney looked concerned and Randy put a hand on your shoulder. "You okay? You’re not gonna throw up, are you?"

"She better not, she ate my sandwich."

“Besides, let’s not pretend that Casey was Person of the Year or anything. Remember those rumors last year?” Randy looked back at you, but you tried to avoid maintaining it with him or any of the others. Talking about that was the last thing you wanted to do, “Randy, it doesn’t matter.”

“Hey, Stu. Didn’t you used to date Casey?” Sidney asked, changing the topic.

Stu blinked. "Uh, yeah, for like two seconds—”

“Before she dumped him for Steve.” Randy added, causing Tatum to immediately look towards her boyfriend hurt. “I thought you dumped her for me.”

“I did. He’s full of shit.” 

“And are the police aware that you dated the victim?” 

“What’re you saying? That I killed her?”

“It would certainly improve your high school Q.”

“Stu was with me last night, okay?” Tatum defended, taking his arm. Randy, not done with his interrogation, continued. “Was that before or after he sliced and diced?”

“Fuck you, nutcase. Where were you last night? Working at the video store? Didn’t they fire your sorry ass?”

“Twice. But, no, we were watching movies yesterday.” Randy shot back, looking smug.

"Yeah, what was the name of the movie, huh?" Stu questioned, his eyes narrowed at him.

“I Know What You Did Last Summer.” You spoke up quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “We watched that and a few B horror movies, though I lost track after the ice cream man one.”

“Watching a guy get blended into the stuff has a way of making you lose your memory.” Randy stole from your pile of grapes gifted by Tatum. 

“And your appetite.” You commented, trying to pivot the conversation away from what happened. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look at ice cream for a while.”

Stu mumbled under his breath, “I didn’t kill anybody.” His demeanor suddenly sullen and childlike.

“Nobody said you did.” You pointed out, tone polite in an attempt at mediation.

“I did. So how ‘bout you tell me something: Did you really put her liver in the mailbox? Cause I heard that they found her liver in the mailbox next to her spleen and pancreas.” You elbowed Randy, though he didn’t notice and instead tried to steal grapes directly from the source. Tatum wasn’t happy about the theft, or about what he said. "You goon! I’m trying to eat here.”

“She’s getting mad, all right? You better “Liver” alone.” Stu looked very proud of himself, despite the joke falling flat. He repeated it under his breath, laughter cut off by Billy pushing him. “Ow! Liver. Liver. It was a joke.”

The sound of the phone ringing punctured through the still silence of the house. Cracking your eyes open to the dark, you shifted to check the clock. 12:13 AM. The house was otherwise silent, and the ringing sounded again, cutting through the night. Dragged yourself out of bed, the phone rang again, echoing through the hall and down the stairs.

"Hello?" Your voice was scratchy and rough, the sound of someone else's breathing on the other end. You cleared your throat. "Hello?"

"Don't hang up." A distorted, electronic voice spoke.

You felt a chill run down your spine, your grip on the receiver tightening.

Header from Pinterest

Dividers by @strangergraphics and @kodaswrld <3 <3

It’s fun sneaking in all the references to other horror movies!

Recent edits made to dialogue and other areas. I’m sorry in advance for any confusion this may cause. Hope everyone has a great day!

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Rumi!reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9

The plane ride was awkward and silent.

Dick sat across from Bruce in the console, his expression tense. Stephanie and Duke in the back, holding a much easier conversation which was drowned out by the faint whir of air passing. After a moment, he spoke.

"How did she die?" His voice was soft, but his words held a sharpness that he had tried to get rid of for so long. But was coming back with vengeance, just like his ever building anger. Don’t react. Not yet. Not until you know the full truth, was a reminder he had to keep repeating in his head.

Bruce didn’t turn around, or even flinch, instead remaining focused on the console. "Dick, this isn’t the time. We have to—"

"Bruce." Dick snapped.

Silence.

Then, "She was killed by Celine."

"Wait… the same Celine that raised them?”

Bruce nodded, “Diana told me when I went to visit, everything she could at least...” The grip on the controls tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Patterns are like infections, formed from shame, guilt, and insecurities. If they overtake the person, they’re turned into a demon.”

"That doesn’t explain why Celine killed her. Unless, did she—”

“Yes.”

The silence felt even louder than before, and it took Dick a second to process what he had just heard. It was hard to believe, but everything in him, every part of his being knew it was true. Mi-Yeong had turned into a demon and had been killed, put down, by her former friend. Maybe he didn’t know everything, but he did know that everything that was boiling inside of him was a mixture of anger, guilt, and grief. He held it back, not wanting to lose control or even acknowledge that he was upset. 

He didn’t like being angry, even when the feeling felt like the only thing he could latch onto. That he could keep. But this wasn’t about him. This wasn't his grief to acknowledge. He needed to stay strong and not fall apart, and so he stayed silent, letting his mind process the new information.

Because he could tell that Bruce felt guilty. He always did.

And for a moment, he wondered if you were going to be okay.

You could see him on the rooftop, illuminated only by the darkness that surrounded him and was him. It was him. Jinu, who had gotten away so many times. Who had stolen not only the fans, but who you had let get away the last time even after he saw them. Your patterns.

But this time, he wasn't going to get away.

Not when you were this close. So close it hurt because now you were further than ever before. Because of the patterns. Because of him. 

The wind whistled past, as you swung and landed on the rooftop, your eyes narrowing.

He stood facing away from you, completely at ease and unaware.

Good.

The saingeom was drawn and brought back in a single smooth arc.

You lunged.

The air whistled past as the tip of the blade sliced through the air.

A dull thud filled the silence as his head hit the tiles of the roof, rolling over to reveal the featureless face of a store mannequin.

“What.”

All you could do was stare at the head in a mixture of anger and disbelief

And then his stupid voice sounded from behind, and you immediately spun around, sword raised and ready to swing. He was there, now standing behind the rest of the mannequin which fell off the roof to reveal him completely.

"Wow. I wasn’t expecting a hug, but—”

Spinning around, the edge of the blade sliced through the air, aimed straight at his throat.

He ducked and moved backwards, "Woah, chill. I thought the mannequin would be a fun icebreaker.” He leaned over to look at his fallen comrades head and clicked his tongue. “Obviously not.”

Your grip tightened on the handle of the saingeom. "What do you want?”

“To talk about your patterns, and if I’m guessing correctly, they don’t know.” 

You flinched, the grip tightening even more.

“Ahh, I was right.” He continued escaping, walking around the rooftop at a leisurely pace. You followed him, the tip of the blade following him.

“A demon girl. Also a hunter. Hiding, walking around free in the human world—”

“Just hunter. I am not a demon.” The words came out like a growl, as you swung and lunged.

He dodged.

"Not a demon? Then how’d you get the patterns?"

You gritted your teeth, grip tightening on the handle almost painfully. “That’s none of your business.”

“Maybe it’s not, but I know what it feels like to have them—”

“Feel? You’re a demon. Demons don't feel anything.”

He turned sharply, his eyes meeting yours. He didn’t move, his gaze didn't waver, and it was almost unnerving. His tone was quiet, and surprisingly steady, "Is that really what you think? That demons can't feel? That’s all we ever do. Feel. Our shame and misery. Chaining us to Gwi-Ma. Didn’t you ever wonder how Gwi-Ma controlled us? Can’t you hear him?”

“What are you talking about?”

He paused, as if contemplating his next words. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, his eyes dark and sad, "You’re lucky. I’ll never forget the first time I heard him—400 years ago. My family was extremely poor and miserable, but I had a single possession to my name. An old bipa. So I busked the streets, but it didn’t get me anywhere. I was desperate, and we were starving. Then I heard him and overnight my fate was changed. I was praised for my voice. My family and I lived on the palace grounds. Our bellies were finally full, our clothes clean.” His attention was drawn to the marks, the patterns that lined his skin—just like it did yours. “But the patterns, they kept spreading until they consumed me and I was condemned to the demon world. A prisoner to Gwi-ma for all of eternity. My family lost everything. Without me, they were even worse off than before. Every day since, I’ve been haunted by the memory of how I failed them. How I left them.”

The purple marks shone with a familiarly unsettling bright pink. “These are a constant reminder of my shame. One which I can never escape.” He drew closer, and you fought to do something, anything to fight back, the saingeom lowered and it was like your body was rejecting any command you gave it. You could feel it, his pain and despair. How similar the both of you were.

He was right in front of you, and then gently touched over your neck, grazing it. The patterns, hidden beneath the layers of fabric shone a similar shade of pink beneath his fingertips. “Yours are a reminder too. Of your shame, of what you feel you have to hide, and the reason for it.”

“You don’t know me.” It came out as a whisper, a plea.

“You know you can tell me. I understand. I’m the only one who can.”

Anger washed over like water that burned you from the inside out. He was wrong. He was pretending to understand. But how could he even pretend to? How could he look you right in the eyes and pretend to sympathize, to understand, when demons were nothing but rotted from the inside… like you.

Your muscles tensed, and raised the saingeom, the edge pointed directly towards him and heavy in your grip. “I’m nothing like you.”

He backed away slowly, staring, but not in fear. No, it was understanding…

You hated it. You hated how his eyes seemed to pierce through you. How they made you feel small and insignificant.

“I get it. You’re still in denial. I was there too. I’ll be here when you’re ready to stop pretending.”

“THERE WON’T BE A NEXT TIME!”

The sword cut through nothing but a cloud of pink powder that dusted away into nothing and when it was gone, he was gone as well. Your weapon fell limply within your grip as you groaned.

The streets of Seoul buzzed with life that felt the same but also so very different from Gotham. The lights were bright and the city was loud, the streets crowded with people and traffic. The sky was a mix of dusky blue and purple, a gradient that faded into the horizon.

Bruce walked, his steps measured and purposeful. The others had gone to the base he’d had set up just like in every other major city, while he went to a location Diana had recommended he visit—an obscure restaurant near the outskirts of the city, the exact details were vague. Though he was certain that she had specifically mentioned it as something that would help him start looking for you.

A bell chimed as he pushed the door open, the interior was simple. Wooden and well-kept. And surprisingly, there was no one there. Not even a worker as he waited a few minutes. The bell chimed again behind him and when he looked towards the direction, he saw a woman seating herself at a table. She stared at him, her expression unreadable.

After a moment, she spoke, her voice quiet. "It's been a while, Bruce."

Bruce sat down in the chair opposite to her. "Haneul?”

The corner of her mouth tugged upwards into a smirk, her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "Yeah, I’m surprised you remember that. Mi-Yeong and Celine always took more of a center stage than I ever could."

Bruce couldn't help the relief that washed over him, a smile tugging at the corner of his own lips. A server came out from the back and placed two steaming drinks in front of them.

"I know why you're here. Diana told me everything."

He tensed.

Haneul didn't seem bothered, instead she just took a sip from her cup. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna ask you what happened back then. But if you're here to get closure, then you're gonna have to try a lot harder. Celine and I stopped talking a long time ago, and I don't plan on correcting that anytime soon.”

"I know, but she might know what—"

"Bruce, I can't." Her voice was sharper than before, her eyes stung with an unfeeling coldness.

Silence hung in the air, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was him, or if it was the mention of her. He didn't push further.

She cleared her throat, and the tension was gone, the coldness washed away. "Why are you here, Bruce?"

He paused, the words catching in his throat. After a moment, he responded, his voice quiet, "To find my daughter... and apologize for not being here when she needed me the most."

"I know you think that you could've been there, but it wasn't your fault."

"Then who is responsible for the patterns? Celine?"

"No one is."

"That can’t be true."

Haneul sighed, and her eyes were downcast, her voice barely above a murmur, "Why do you keep thinking that someone has to be responsible? Sometimes, things happen, and no one is at fault, no matter how hard you try to blame yourself. Mi-Yeong… she had them long before you even met her, and they only grew and festered because she kept them secret. She hid her shame, guilt, and insecurities. It wasn't something any of us could've prevented, even if we tried."

Bruce's brow furrowed. "Are you saying that this is inevitable? That no matter what happens, it won't change?"

Haneul's gaze met his, and there was a firmness in her voice, a conviction, "I'm saying that there is no one to blame. It's no one's fault, and if you want to make up for not being there, then just be there. Don't run from her like how I did because if I had been there, maybe I could’ve helped more. And maybe I could’ve stopped Celine..."

Bruce didn’t respond, his silence was enough.

Her voice was softer, quiet, but still carried the same conviction, "Just be there. Help her through this."

"You don't want to meet her? Talk to her?"

"Maybe, someday." Haneul smiled, her voice wistful, a hint of sadness seeping into her tone. “I think because I wasn’t there, I feel like it’s intrusive to try and change it now. That I don’t have the right. I don’t want to confuse her, or hurt her anymore than I have already. And I think I owe her the chance to choose what she wants. But if you see her, tell her I'm sorry, and I’m here if she needs anything."

Bruce didn’t say anything, instead he just nodded.

A few minutes passed, and Haneul stood up. She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and heading towards the door. Right before leaving, she turned around, and her expression was soft, almost kind, but the sadness remained. "Bruce, if you really want her to trust you, and believe in you, then you need to be there for her. Just showing that you're willing to change can mean a lot to her. She's been through a lot."

Bruce didn't say anything.

She smiled, a tired and sad one.

"Goodbye, Bruce."

Sometimes you cursed the fact that you couldn’t murder someone with your eyes. It felt like every opportunity, every decision was overshadowed by Jinu and the rest of those disgusting demons. Masquerading as humans. Stealing your fans. And the worst part was that it was working. It felt like all the work, all the effort you had put in just meant nothing. But it had to. Even if difficult choices had to be made in order to keep some form of control.

A group signing and one shared table.

“I didn’t think you liked sharing.” He said as he seated himself next to you. Was it possible to conspicuously stab someone with a pen?

“I love sharing.”

“Really? Just like how you shared your secrets with your friends. Do you want me to tell them—”

“No. I’m gonna tell them… eventually.” You looked down at the posters in front of you, clicking the pen absentmindedly.You would tell Zoey and Mira… in time, but right now you couldn’t risk it. Not when you were so close.

“Are you two whispering?” A girl asked as she drew closer, staring at the two of you in wonder. The both of you scrambled to sign the poster in front of you before handing it to her. She took it before pointing at the graphic on her shirt… of you and him. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

You both stared in horror as she left.

What.

Noooo. Not this.

The grip on the pen tightened in your grip, making slight cracking noises which forced you to stop. “I’m not gonna talk to someone who’s helping Gwi-Ma. Who’s risking the souls of people while also claiming to have been one.”

“I’m helping myself.” He hissed before sighing and continuing. “Look, he’s promised to erase my memories as long as I help him. And then those voices in my head will finally be gone.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic?” He closed in and whispered. “You can’t even talk about your patterns.”

The words felt like a slap, a harsh and painful one. They made you flinch, the air in your lungs seemed to escape and your skin crawled. Your hands shook before you clenched them and slammed your heel into his foot, causing him to flinch.

“You want me to talk about my patterns? I hate my patterns. Just like how I hate all demons. And how I hate Gwi-Ma.”

The pained expression on his face morphed into a frown, his brow furrowing. You were about to say something else, when he spoke, his voice quiet.

"If hate could defeat Gwi-Ma, I would’ve done it a long time ago. Trust me.” The last two words came out quieter than a whisper and you had to strain your ears to listen to him.

“Excuse me, Mr. Jinu.” The faint voice instantly drew both of your attentions to the small girl standing in front of the table, clutching a piece of paper to her chest. “I made this for you.”

He looked shocked, his eyes wide as he hesitantly took the paper and stared at it. Leaning over, you caught a glimpse of the drawing of Jinu with wings and a rose with the sweet words written on top: “Jinu, you have a beautiful soul”

“Maybe you should listen to those voices instead of the ones in your head.”

As the room quieted down into a familiar stillness from the last of the departed fans. You, Mira, and Zoey waved goodbye at them and were left with the silence that was interrupted only by the occasional rustling of papers. The room was dark except for the light from the sun setting behind the windows, casting a warm glow across the three of you. The light caught the shine of the gold lettering of some leftover posters. Standing up, you moved to the opposite side of the table, the faint sound of the door opening behind you gave you pause.

It was supposed to be locked.

You spun around, the blade was unsheathed and moved to swing—

The man in front raised his hands in surrender, his blue eyes widened in surprise. Two other people stood behind him, a blonde girl and a dark skinned boy with curly hair.

“This is the best family reunion I think we’ve ever had.”

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Amazing dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cursed-carmine <3 <3

Hope everyone has a great night! The pace is gonna be sped up for the next few chapters with heavy exposition and more internal monologues. Prepare yourselves lads.

If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or any others, just let me know! :D

Yandere Scream x reader

Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.5.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

The flickering credits of “I Know What You Did Last Summer” danced across the reflection of your glasses in the dark room that smelled distinctly of popcorn. Randy’s excitement drowned out the noise of the soundtrack as he was already launching into a post-mortem analysis, his hands animated as he dissected the killer's motivations and the final girl's strategic brilliance. Nestled in your corner of his cluttered living room, you offered quiet nods and the occasional comment, a comfortable rhythm that had been perfected over years of cinematic dissections.

“See, the minute they all agreed to the cover-up, the killer was obvious! It’s always the guilt that gets them! And that fisherman hook? Come on, that’s just ridiculous,” Randy snorted, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair.

You offered a soft, dry laugh. "You say that, Randy, but if a giant fisherman was chasing you right now, you’d probably forget all your horror movie rules."

He beamed at your comment, the small, quiet jokes being your primary mode of communication. "Point taken, but in a life or death situation—”

“Like getting chased by a crazed fisherman.”

He continued with a playful shove to your shoulder, ignoring your interruption, "—I could totally pull it together. I would absolutely be the one to make it out of there alive."

The credits had disappeared into the top corner and the screen blackened briefly before turning to static, casting a dim glow around the room as you rolled your eyes and grinned.

"Yeah, you’re a regular scream queen, Randy." Gathering your well-worn jacket off the arm of the sofa, you stood to leave. "I’ll see you tomorrow at school—”

“And work.”

You gave an over-exaggerated mock wince, "Ugh, I forgot. Cover for me?”

“We work the same shift. Unless you got the body snatchers cloning and replacement figured out, you’re out of luck."

You shook your head with a laugh, making your way to the door. "If I ever find out that there's a clone of myself out there, you’ll be the first to know."

"You got it," he said with a mock salute, walking you to the door and opening it wide for you.

A few doors down, the familiar pumpkin orange color of the porch light indicated where exactly your house was. It was intended as an April’s Fools Prank that had ended up staying up even as the months had yawned into October. Your parents had decided that the neighborhood could use a little more festive spirit and you couldn't really argue with that—mainly because you knew if you complained, you’d have to be the one to replace it. The leaves had started to crinkle into shades of similar warmth to the porch light. The warm light was a comfort and like a lighthouse as you waved goodbye to Randy and started walking down the path.

As you passed the final driveway before your own, you felt a slight prickle on the back of your neck. You glanced back quickly. Nothing. Just Brett Camber’s old dog, passed out and making grumbling noises. You shook off the momentary paranoia; it was probably just the lingering effect of the movie.

The inside of your house pitched by darkness, all the lights had been turned out and silent except for the faint sound of murmurs and snoring from your parents bedroom which you passed on the way to your own.

Closing the door, you sighed, and dropped the jacket and bag on the floor, letting the bed swallow you.

The next morning dawned with an unsettling stillness. The usual chirping of birds seemed muted, the air thick with an unspoken tension. Jolting awake by an unusual amount of movement and commotion downstairs. You got dressed quickly, barely looking at what you were grabbing, though tentatively aware that you were wearing the same jacket from last night. The warmth sinking in like a comfortable blanket. Despite that, everything still felt on edge as you crept downstairs. 

Hearing the sound of your mother's voice, usually calm, now tight with fear. Trying not to think too much of it, you focused on getting some breakfast. Margarine toast and an egg, and took the plate to the living room, settling into the scratchy carpet in front of the coffee table. The faint voice of your mother called out,

"Honey, I think you need… just turn on the news. Something… something terrible has happened."

Groggily, you fumbled for the remote and flicked on the television. The local news anchor's face was grim, the banner at the bottom of the screen flashing in stark red: WOODSBORO SHOCKED BY BRUTAL MURDER.

The details were sparse but horrifying. Casey Becker, a girl you only knew from school, had been found murdered. The news report spoke almost clinically about the entire thing, a fresh wave of nausea washed away any bit of hunger you had. This wasn't a movie. This was real.

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@successfulicons for the adorable dividers! <3

I’ve only really watched the first Scream movie, so please have mercy because I don’t really know a lot about the others.

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Rumi!reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9

The broth smelled good. It curdled your stomach just thinking of trying to eat. The spoon felt too heavy in your hands as you stirred it noncommittally, causing steam to rise off the surface of it and disappear.

The room felt too large, and the air too thin.

A part of you didn't want to be here anymore. To see the pain and sadness in Mira and Zoey’s faces. The concern and the confusion.

They didn't deserve that. Not they who had stayed by you. Who cared about you.

"I… I’m sorry about the show.” The words felt stuck in your throat. They were barely a whisper, getting out even one word made you feel like you were choking. It didn’t hurt, but everything inside of you seized, almost startled and panicked.

This was the first thing you had said since you got back.

Zoey immediately spoke, her voice wavering, and her hands trembling, trying to reassure, "No, no. Don't be sorry. Please, it wasn't your fault, there was nothing—"

Mira interrupted her, her hand gripping the side of the table. "Zoey's right. None of us blame you, we can reschedule another live show within days. We just want to know that you're okay. That's all."

A tense silence hung in the air.

Your lips pressed together in a hard line, your grip tightening on the spoon. "I-I don't know... I can't—my voice is in trouble."

“In trouble? Then why did you push forward with the release?”

“Because we’re so close, and it’s so important…”

“Then why don’t we take a break? We’ll skip the Idol Awards this year, and focus—”

“No.” The sound of your own voice almost frightened you, startling you out of your thoughts.

You couldn’t.

Not when everything felt like it was falling apart.

Not when you were so close.

Everything in the room seemed to still hold its breath.

"We can't. Not while we're so close to sealing the Honmoon. When I’m so close"

They didn't say anything, but the looks on their faces said everything. They were worried, and that made you feel guilty. You didn't want to put them through this. You never wanted to put anyone through this.

Zoey’s hand on your shoulder startled you, forcing your attention to her, “Hey, we’ll get through this. We can get through anything. Together.”

"Yeah, you're not alone in this. We can figure something out." Mira reassured.

Morning had just broken over Gotham, though it was still dark out—almost as if the rest of the city was still sleeping. It was silent, with only the slight hum of the jets engine signaling its active flight into the Batcave. Active at least until it rolled to a stop on one of the many platforms. It stayed silent even as the canopy of the jet slid open, and Bruce wordlessly got out. He hadn't slept, hadn't rested, or stopped for more than a few minutes during the last thirty-six hours. His body ached with the strain of it, his mind racing. It felt impossible to even stop thinking about this, it was like his brain was stuck in an infinite loop of having to find a solution to this. He had to see you, to talk to you… but how could he? What could he possibly say that would justify twenty years of absence?

He was the cause of it all.

The thought was sickening, and he couldn’t help but think that if you ever found out, you would hate him. You had every right to.

The sound of approaching footsteps jolted him from his thoughts, and he turned to find Dick standing a few feet away, his arms crossed, a frown etched into his brow.

"I’d like to say I’m surprised by this, but honestly, I'm not."

Bruce sighed. He knew this was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. "Dick, I don't have time for this. I'm trying to find your sister."

"No. You're trying to fix a relationship that never existed. You've become so focused on what went wrong and how you could’ve fixed it, you haven’t been able to see how it affects the people around you. You weren't there when she needed you the most, and now you're just chasing after a shadow without actually reaching out, hoping for what? A chance to talk to her, when she doesn't even know who you are. Haven’t you considered that the rest of us want that chance too? Or is it just another one of those things you've decided on your own? Just like everything else." Dick's voice was hard, his jaw set, his eyes glinting with frustration and anger. "I haven't spoken to her in years, and neither has Alfred. And here you are, making decisions about her without consulting either of us. Have you even told the others about this? About her?”

Bruce didn't answer, but his silence was confirmation enough.

Dick let out a frustrated huff. He was trying to rein himself in, to stop himself from getting carried away. To keep his temper in check. "It doesn't matter. You can't go after her like this, especially when you don't even have a plan."

"I'll figure something out," Bruce said, his tone firm, his eyes narrowed. "She deserves the truth, Dick."

"Yes, she does. And we deserve a chance to have a relationship with her too. Not just you. The others want a chance too, but not like this. Not when it's so forced." Dick's voice was softer, though his gaze was still steely. He didn't seem angry anymore, just disappointed. "So… please. Let me help."

Bruce hesitated, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nodded. “I’m sorry, I know you don't agree with what I'm doing, but you have to understand, this is my mistake to fix."

"It's not just yours. It's mine too. I didn't do anything then, and I didn’t try to even when I could.” Dick ran his fingers through his hair, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What did Diana have to tell you, anyway?"

Bruce frowned, his eyes dark. "She said one of her contacts was part of the hunters.”

“That’s pretty good, a direct line to them.”

“A previous hunter.” Bruce clarified, his expression becoming more guarded.

"Oh…” Dick trailed off, his face falling slightly. "Wait, a previous hunter? Does that mean—”

Bruce cut him off, his voice sharp. "It’s most likely not Celine, she’s stayed in Korea for years and any contact between her and Diana would’ve been noted a long time ago. It must be someone else—”

“Have you tried—I don’t know—talking to them?” Stephanie’s voice piped up, her tone almost a snap. She stood in the light of the stairway that led up to the manor, wearing her Spoiler uniform but with the hood down and the mask off, clutched in her hands. 

"Steph? What are you doing here?" Dick asked, his surprise evident.

Stephanie strode towards them, her expression hard. "I live here. And also just got back from my patrol. You can ask Cass if you want, and Tim too—though last I checked, he was passed out and mumbling incoherently on the console. I was just passing by and overheard you talking, and honestly? I’m not even sure what to make of half of it, but it sounds like a really bad idea. So, I want in."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "No."

"Too late.” Stephanie crossed her arms, a smug look crossing her face.

Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh. There was no stopping her once she made up her mind.

Dick glanced at Bruce, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and a hint of mischief sparkling in his eye. "Okay, so we’re just gonna go talk to them? Just like that?"

"Well, what are we supposed to do? It’s not like we have any other options.”

The dusky light of your saingeom lit up the steamed air of the bathhouse upon entry. The room was large, the walls made up of the pale white linoleum that sunk  into the mist almost nonexistently, the floor was tiled, and floating within the multitude of pools that littered the room were guys, meaning this was “Men’s?”

The three of you groaned.

Your mutual disgust was interrupted by his stupid voice, “Did you really follow us in here?”

There they were, those guys, and this time you would ensure that he—no they—wouldn’t have any chance of leaving alive. “Do you honestly think we’re gonna let you steal our fans? You’re gonna have to fight us for that.”

“Yeah. Keep your hands off our Honmoon.”

Bracing your feet backwards, you prepared to lunge, grip tightening around the handle of the blade.

“We’re not here to fight… but they are.” Right after he said that, the surface of the pools nearby wavered as magenta weak spots opened. Rising from the ripples were the distinct and familiar shadowy and visibly wet forms of water demons. 

He crouched down and braced his hand against the back of one of the water demons floating in the pool in front of him and the other four. “If you can get rid of the hunters, then you can eat all the souls you want.”

Clawed hands and knotted wet hair flew backwards as the demons crawled out of the pools and started lunging towards the three of you. Pushing forward, the muscles in your arms burned almost pleasantly as you swung it with practiced ease.

The demon was flung backwards, landing against the edge of the pool with a solid thunk.

It wasn't enough, as it was already pulling itself upright, but before it could attack, the tip of a blade came crashing down, slicing clean through it. The demon was cut in half and the halves evaporated. 

Parts of the ceiling collected the very same pink weak spots and more and more of the demons crawled out. One of them moved to attack Zoey just as she turned her back, the breath of air got caught in your lungs as you vaulted over her, sword cleaving through it causing the monster to evaporate, revealing who was behind them.

“Have fun.” He mocked, slipping on a puddle as he moved backwards before running through the door behind him.

No. Not this time. There was no way you were going to let him get away this time.

The doors flew open and closed, a blur of colors that you didn’t bother to pay attention to while moving to swing at him. He dodged every attack, and right as you had him cornered, he slipped into a door behind him.

A dense orange steam clung to the new room, buckets lined the walls, though your eyes never left him as you continued trying to attack him.

He moved, and you followed. He dodged and you moved to hit him again. He leaned almost casually against the wall, “Woah, watch the face. I need it to steal your fans.”

Lifting the sword into the air, you prepared to hit him, only to catch and cut in half a bucket he had thrown in your direction.

The clang of the bucket falling to the floor was loud.

You turned, and he was gone from view, having jumped behind you.

This wasn’t a game. You weren't going to let him get away and escape, and so when you turned and saw him, you didn't hesitate, you just swung the blade towards him and he met it with claws. 

A flash of pain was quickly ignored as you finally saw an opening to corner him once and for all. He hissed, his eyes widening and then narrowing, his grip tightening around your hands which you braced forward—trying to force the sharpened edge of the blade to his neck. He forced out a laugh—grating against your ears, “You’re strong.”

Growling, your grip tightened almost painfully as you pushed harder and his face was inches away from the tip, the grin still there.

The room was silent except for the two of you.

His eyes flicked over to your arm and the smug expression crumbled into shock and confusion, his grip loosened, causing you to hurriedly glance over and see them. The patterns.

He didn't hesitate, his claws dug into your wrist and he kicked, sending you backwards.

Panic was the only feeling present as you covered the exposed skin where the patterns had been shown. A wall had busted down in the chaos from having the body of one of the demons thrown through, but none of it registered except for the faint yells of Mira and Zoey.

You wanted to help them.

You needed to help them.

But this was never supposed to happen.

You couldn’t let them see like this.

You couldn’t let them know about the patterns. Which had become tangible proof of what was wrong with you. What you had been trying to fix for years—for your entire life. And now felt like it was slipping further and further away.

The shadows of the room felt like they were suffocating you. Trying to breathe felt impossible when every part of you felt on edge and frozen in place.

Then it stopped and for a moment everything brightened. He had grabbed you—but not aggressively like you had expected—no… it was warm.

It felt safe.

And then it was over. He was gone.

Instinctively, you reached to cover the patterns, but found a piece of white and green checkered cloth tied over them. Before you could dwell on it further, Mira and Zoey’s voices pierced through. When your eyes focused, you saw them trapped and surrounded by a hoard that was starting to close in. 

The currents of the Honmoon vibrated, alive, as you reached out and tightened your grip around the hilt of your saingeom. The very tip of the blade glinted from the movement of your swing, slicing through the body of one of them which was starting to close in and creating enough of an opening for Zoey to start attacking instead of defending. You rounded back towards Mira, and created one for her too. In a few seconds, all of the demons were dead and it was quiet in the bathhouse except for the slight puffs of breath coming off the three of you.

“Hey! This is the men’s bathhouse. Get out of here.” An old man in a towel yelled at the three of you, causing the three of you to start rushing to get out while apologizing.

“Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner about what happened, Babs.” Dick said, his voice coming through the comms.

Barbara, who was sitting in the Clocktower, sighed. "It's alright. I was worried that something would happen. Is everything okay? Is Bruce okay?”

“Yeah, I think I managed to talk some sense into him."

Barbara couldn't help the small, relieved smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth, though anxiety still crept through. "That’s good… everything in the files was just a little hard to swallow, and I know there’s nothing I could do about it. But I think it’s just kind of hard having to compromise what I thought I knew about him, especially with Mi-yeong’s death—"

“Her death? What are you talking about? I thought she—what happened?"

"You don't know? The files said she died, but the cause of death wasn’t written or specified. I figured you already knew—”

“Knew what? How did she die—”

Bruce’s voice came in through the comms, “Dick, we’re gonna be heading off soon. Stephanie said Duke’s coming too. Did you manage to secure an exact location yet, Barbara?"

Dick sighed, a slight hint of frustration seeping into his tone. "I'm almost done, B. Barbara was just about to—"

"I'll tell you about it on the way." Bruce cut him off.

Pinterest for the header

Dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cursed-carmine <3 <3

Sorry the chapters for this series has been taking so long. Hope everyone has a great night!

Strawhats Redhaired Kid Donquixote Whitebeard Big Mom

The opulent deck of the Cross Guild's flagship felt strangely unbalanced. Buggy, He'd just finished a bombastic, self-aggrandizing pronouncement to his assembled crew—a performance designed to shore up his status as a Yonko. He’d punctuate his speeches with an elaborate flourish of his hands, only to find his gaze instinctively drifting to his side, expecting a certain receptive audience. He paused, his painted face momentarily slack with confusion. There was no one there. No eager, knowing smile. No quiet nod that signaled a genuine appreciation for his showmanship, distinct from the forced terror of his followers. The space felt cold, devoid of the one presence that made his posturing feel like more than just a lie. He’d brush it off with a roar, but the pause lingered. His momentum stuttered, the grand display deflating slightly, leaving a bitter, confusing taste in his mouth.

A palpable absence clung to Mihawk. He was arguably the least prone to emotional disturbance, yet even his solitary stoicism was undermined by an undeniable absence that was becoming harder and harder to ignore. He would often pause while observing the horizon or sharpening his blade, expecting a presence that would fall silently beside him, offering just company and the occasional, well-placed word of insight. That quiet, non-demanding anchor wasn't there. The silence that now enveloped him was not the peaceful solitude he craved, but a cold, pervasive void, a silence that felt heavy with a profound omission. His sharp gaze would sometimes flicker to the space next to his customary seat, a rare moment of confusion clouding his usual fierce focus.

Crocodile exhaled a plume of smoke, his face set in a perpetual scowl, eyes set upon the papers in front of him, but internally searching for a specific counter-argument, a precise piece of feedback and help that was always practical and devoid of self-interest. It was the only voice he trusted that wasn't his own, the only perspective that saw through his arrogance without challenging his authority. Now, that vital resource wasn't there. His usual confidence felt brittle, his plans less secure without the quiet, reliable counsel he couldn't remember but desperately missed. He would tap his hook impatiently, feeling a burning, intellectual frustration at the missing intellectual cog in his war machine.

No one was there.

They were three wildly different warlords, united by a terrifying financial venture, and yet, they all felt the exact same, impossible void—the profound, maddening lack of a person they couldn't remember, but desperately needed back. Someone that had once been an irreplaceable presence, but now, for whatever reason, couldn’t be remembered. You were gone and it was getting impossible to ignore.

“This is completely unacceptable!" Buggy roared, his voice bouncing off the gilded walls, his limbs already starting to twitch with uncontrolled rage. "A whole person! Gone! And we can't even remember if they liked my damn Buggy Balls!" His face was a mask of furious confusion. He needed the validation, the genuine appreciation that only this phantom person provided, to make his Yonko status feel legitimate.

Smoke pooled in the air surrounding Crocodile, his cigar gritted tightly between his teeth. "An utter waste of resources," he grated, tapping his gold hook on the mahogany table. "We've cross-referenced every log, every manifest, every financial ledger. There is no record. No name, no date of joining, no bounty, nothing to indicate this person ever existed within our operational files." He felt the burning intellectual frustration—the missing piece of the puzzle that made his strategies feel half-formed. He couldn't remember a face, but he remembered the sharpness of their unspoken advice.

Mihawk, leaning against the far wall with Yoru resting on his shoulder, remained silent for a long moment, his hawk-like eyes piercing the empty space. "The endeavor is useless," he finally stated, his voice a low, cold cut. "The more we try to force the memory, the more the void fights back. It is not an absence born of simple forgetting. It is an erasure." He missed the quiet camaraderie, the simple understanding that didn't demand words or explanation. The silence felt fundamentally broken.

They had nothing. No names, no faces, no shared memories that held up under scrutiny. Every attempt to piece together who you were resulted in the same maddening, frustrating blank slate. Buggy, his usual antics completely abandoned, fell silent. His large, painted eyes stared down at the palms of his gloved hands with an almost eerie amount of contemplation. His breathing was shallow, and the typical nervous energy that made his body twitch had evaporated, leaving him unnervingly still. Mihawk and Crocodile watched him, their own frustrations momentarily eclipsed by Buggy's profound and uncharacteristic stillness.

When he finally spoke up, his voice was mute of the usual bravado and loudness, instead remaining an almost silent whisper that required the two powerful Warlords to lean in to hear.

"I think..." Buggy started, licking his lips, his voice barely audible. "I think they were the audience."

Crocodile scoffed, eyes growing colder. "What kind of idiotic nonsense is that, Buggy?"

“Wait—“ Buggy’s voice trailed into a whimper that he quickly quietened down so he could continue, "Every show needs an audience for it to mean something, without them, it’s absent of everything that makes it real. That makes us real…"

The profound statement hung heavy in the air, a terrifying hypothesis born from the depths of Buggy's need for validation.

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, a slow realization dawning in their fierce depths. He didn't scoff. He felt the cold truth of the words: the reason the silence felt so broken was that the only witness, the quiet understanding was gone.

Crocodile's hook tapped the table again, but this time, the sound was slower, more thoughtful, devoid of anger. "If they were the audience... the witness..." he muttered, his mind rapidly connecting the dots of his own strategic failures. "Then their reality must be... the original." He exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes now wide with a chilling, possessive ambition. "We don't go looking for them. We go looking for the door."

Buggy shuddered, the raw fear in his eyes mixed with a desperate, terrifying hope. "If we bring the audience back... the show's back on, right? And we’ll make sure the show will never end."

You didn’t have much of a reference or any prior experience, but you were fairly certain that TVs weren’t supposed to break like yours did. It was a fundamental violation of anything you’d learned in physics class, or hell, watching random-ass tech repair videos in the middle of the night out of boredom. It was no break-in, nothing had been stolen, and all the doors and windows had been locked. But coming home to find a giant gaping hole in the middle of your TV was something that you couldn’t ignore or look away from for a good few minutes. “TVs aren’t supposed to break like that,” was all you could manage. Your TV had gotten gut punched.

Buying the replacement TV from Facebook Marketplace was arguably one of your more questionable decisions. But you didn’t have time to even start to doubt it before the seller had practically thrown it at you, driving off at speeds that would either cause a crash later or at the very least get them pulled over. You didn’t know if you were too eager to stay in the abandoned parking lot of a mall.

Hastily opening the trunk, the TV was set inside when the screen flickered. The kind that usually only happened when they were shut off. Blinking to make sure you weren’t hallucinating didn’t help; in fact, it seemed to get worse as a white line appeared across the middle of the dark screen. You moved to wipe it clean only to find a black sandy substance coating your fingers. It was gritty, dry, and oddly warm—like it had been sitting in the sun for hours on end.

The weirdness didn’t end there as the lines on the screen disappeared, only to be replaced by the almost burning brightness of the One Piece Jolly Roger. In the light of the afternoon sun, it was hard to look at, forcing you to squint your eyes as you started looking at the outlets, only for more of the black sand to coat your fingers. It felt nauseating to look at. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, spots filling your vision, even when you shut your eyes. The tips of your fingers where the sand had stuck itself felt needled before numbness settled in.

The air, and the floor beneath you was cool. With the residual numbness that once clung to you like the black sand, both now gone. A foggy confusion was all that remained, a disorientation that deepened further by what greeted your vision when you finally cracked your eyes open.

You knew this place. You’d seen the checkered floor, the excessive jewel-toned decor—deep emeralds, rubies, and golds—that almost hurt to look at. You were on the opulent flagship of the Cross Guild.

And then, you saw them.

Towering over you, framed by the velvet curtains was Crocodile. He hadn't moved; he simply stood there, a plume of smoke escaping his lips, his golden hook glinting under the chandelier light. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, were fixed on you with a piercing, almost possessive intensity. The black, sandy substance that had coated your fingers was now clinging in patches to the sleeve of his coat, a tell-tale sign of his involvement.

"Took you long enough," he grated, his voice a dry, rasping sound that vibrated with cold satisfaction. He didn't offer a hand. He simply watched.

Then, the space around you exploded with color and sound. Buggy suddenly appeared right beside you, having separated his body parts to bypass Crocodile. His painted face was inches from yours, his wide, teary eyes overflowing with an unbridled, desperate relief.

"The audience! You're back! The show can't go on without its main spectator!" he shrieked, his voice choked with a theatrical, yet utterly genuine, emotion. His gloved hands, startlingly gentle, gripped your shoulders, his touch firm and slightly clammy. "Don't you ever leave again. I don’t know if I’d remember…"

A shadow fell over you, and Buggy, who was already starting to trail off, moved almost frantically out of the way. Mihawk stood a few feet back, Yoru, resting beside him. He didn't speak, but his hawk-like gaze communicated more than words ever could. It was a look of profound, quiet confirmation—the broken silence in his world had been repaired. He offered a slight, almost imperceptible nod, a gesture of silent, intense welcome that spoke of ownership and permanence.

You tried to scramble back, the raw, controlling power radiating off the three of them suffocating you. "W-what is this? Where am I—"

Crocodile finally moved, stepping closer, the scraping sound of his golden hook against the checkered floor chilling. He leaned down, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“Your back. The door behind you has been shut and locked, so leaving isn’t going to be as easy as it was for you last time.”

@andromeda-graphics for the beautiful dividers! <3

It’s a Scream, baby! If you want to be on the taglist for this story, just let me know!! :D