Saccharin『 yandere o.shots』

Danny Johnson | Ghostface ☣️💭

danny liked to believe he was a thorough man, be it through his detailed but compelling journalism, photography or just by choosing the perfect casualty of his self-scripted terrorizing murder-tragedy.

he though he had every routine, every deadline, every little habit of yours. but he still missed one of your most important, all-time favorite hobbies.

going out "camping" and "hunting some fresh game".

you perfectly encapsulated the 'average guy', not a saint or a devil, you had witty moments and embarrassing stutters, you had the up and downs that every person (including him) had. your death could instill fear, fear that just about anyone could die, that you could die as an 'anyone', no legacy or legend about your life, soon to be forgotten by the masses.

but here you are, breaking every stereotype known to man. how could he have been so stupid? you were so average he didn't even have half the mind to think there was a fucking catch.

he gritted his teeth, watching you zip up your backpack, a dull-colored thing, after shoving multiple body-parts wrapped with newspaper--- but bagged individually--- in black garbage bags. he wonders if you went an extra mile and bought(or hunted it yourself) some animal meat to bury alongside the others to mask the smell. maybe tore their teeth out in case of dental records, destroyed their faces and birthmarks in case of familiars, maybe burn their fingers in case of digit prints... the list could go on. would you be so thorough that the only possible hint of their missing existence be a (possibly someone else's) face plastered on a milk carton or some poster?

or would you leave the carrion be? leave if to rot on a randon place for some hitchhiker to find? make it easy to identify and make it known that they're dead? or leave it purposefully hidden until the rot starts to settle and dump it in someone's backyard?

he wonders if those chopped pieces come from the same matching set or if those are from all different people. he wonders when-- if the police find those pieces, would they try to connect them as a single body like frankestein's creation, to pass as a singular victim? or would they have to slowly piece them together only to find that piece-of-skin no.37 comes from another j-doe?

would they snap and give up? hand over their badges or just simply go for revenge for the things you did? like a vigilante.

he could snap a couple pictures of you in the act. blackmail you or report your deeds and get a promotion---

but yet, there was something so personal about watching a fellow psycho butcher--- well, bury their victims. he feels like a camera recording the scene, but with the absence of the fourth-wall, an invisible barrier that keeps the killer from harming the audience, it basically reminds him that he just as vulnerable as those screaming slaughter animals. that if you spot him watching you, you could do whatever you want to him because you both are so deep into the woods and noone would be able to hear his screams of ag---

fuck. his hands are shaky. like some fanboy vibrating at the fact that their favorite celebrity is about to do 'the thing' they're famous for. except it's fucking murder. and he's all for it. the inside of the mask feels damp, mix of his own sweat, drool and the effects of condensation from his own heavy breathing. his heart is fucking hammering, almost trying to break his ribs. and his head feels dizzy and spinny from adrenaline--- and it's all for a good reason. because, there's so many ways you could end him, right here, right now, and there's noone to stop you from having your way with him.

would it be quiet but sudden? make sure that there'd be minimum pain and bloodshed? try to bring his guard down to false sense of security before striking him with a precise weapon? maybe you'd strangle him. with a rope or your bare hands, choke him until he's stopped moving, a slow but clean death, keeping your clothes pristine.

would you make it messy? scrambling, panicked--or even enraged as you reached for an improvised weapon? probably a dull or even blunt one? taking so much time beating him, breaking bones, tearing his flesh, making sure that you're thorough and absolutely sure that he's dead? using so much force that you're covered in his blood?

would you make it as painful as possible? torture him, toy with him, humiliate him? take his camera and take pictures of him to spread all over the scene of the crime? steal his mask, vandalize him, carve your insignias on his body, write a cheesy one liner, your motive, an expletive cursing every cop out there? make him a warning? a threat? an example of your power?

would you relish in his death? savour your kills, commemorate it, document it? (like him!), do you have a scrapbook on them? do you have relics? prizes? keepsakes? what do you do with them? do you eat them? leave them to rot? decorate them? taxidermy or preserve them? (usethemtogetoff?) or would you do it purely out of necessity? cold and calculating, making him be the first and last witness?

the possibilities are near infinite. and his brain will not stop thinking about each and every one of them, not with how each of your footsteps are slowly reaching him. maybe preparing and awaiting your presence, risking an audience with you.

well, he better start working on his debut.

---

he's so pathetic (affectionate). technically not OOC since he is canonically an impulsive horror fanboy. so it's not unrealistic that he got a bit sloppy on the stealth department.