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wolfie-is-dead6 · 1 month ago

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Hello my friend!

Can I request a Bob x male reader (he/they) and it's a movie night! Like it can be platonic, romantic, whatever you want !

Maybe it is some time after the event during thunderbolt, and they are in the Tower. It's like a bounding time for the new avengers?

I just want to give him a big hug because he deserves it you know 🥹 (Love him so much)

(like always, your fanfics are amazing)

Thank you !!

Thunderbolts x Male reader / Bob Reynolds x Male reader

Type: fluff/comfort

Relationship: romantic with Bob

Summary: On one of Alexei’s imposed movie nights, reader decides to show the team Dear Evan Hansen which seems to really affect them.

Set after the events of Thunderbolts

No use of Y/N

He/they pronouns for reader

1438 words

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They called themselves the New Avengers. However when the team consisted of Bucky, an ex hydra assassin, Yelena, an ex-widow, Alexei, a Russian captain America bootleg, John, a failed new Captain America who had killed an innocent in front of a lot of people, Ava, a shield reject turned mercenary, [reader], the last survivor of hydra’s augmented people since Wanda had passed, who had multiple times rejected the Avengers title and, Bob, the mystery man, it was hard for the public to see them as a good replacement of the original Avengers.

None the less, a few months after the events with the void the team had settled into a comfortable routine in the Avengers tower. Said routine was especially adored by Alexei, who was the proud creator of weekly karaoke night, weekly game night and weekly movie night. All which was had obligatory attendance for every member of the team.

Tonight was movie night.

“A musical, really?” groans Walker, resting his head on the back of the couch on which he had decided to take up a lot of space.

“Yes, a musical, John. You know there isn’t just action movies in life.” [reader] responded semi-harshly as he sat down on the other end of the couch.

“I thought we were watching Top Gun.” Yelena says as she enters the room with popcorn and other snacks, putting them down on the table for everyone to enjoy.

“No that’s next week, that’s Bob’s movie choice, tonight is mine.” The young man smiles at her as she offers him some chocolate. “I’m sure you’ll like it.” The ex-widow simply hums and goes to sit down.

“And when is it MY turn to choose the movie?” Walker interjects.

“Never.” Ava says suddenly reappearing next to John and scaring the shit out of him.

“Jesus dude, I told you to stop doing that!” The ex-soldier yells.

Everyone else laughs, even Alexei as he steps into the room. “She got you good Mister Walker.”

Alexei sits down next to Yelena and she leans slightly onto him. Ava chooses to lay on the floor close to the snacks table. Bucky arrives soon after and sits between Alexei and Walker. A few minutes later Bob arrives.

“I finished doing the dishes, we can start now.” He says quietly.

“Thank you Bob.” [reader] says sending him a warm smile and patting the space next to him on the couch. An invitation that the other young man cannot resist.

As everyone is settled with their snacks ready, the movie starts to play. The movie is about high school student Evan struggling with mental health. When another student, Connor, commits suicide people start believing Evan was his friend as they find a letter Evan wrote to himself in the student’s bag. Evan not wanting to explain that he writes letters to himself and seeing this as an opportunity to get closer to his crush, the dead student’s sister, fakes having been Connor’s friend.

“So they were friends?” John asks.

“No they were not.” Alexei answers.

“But we see them hanging out now.” continues Walker.

“It’s a representation of what Evan is writing in the fake e-mails dumbass, this is not real Connor.” replies Ava.

As the movie escalates and Evan’s mental health gets worse when his faking of the friendship is revealed [reader] feels Bob tense against them. The young man looks at him, Bob feeling eyes on him turn to look at [reader] who has a worried look on their face.

“I’m okay.” whispers Bob.

The chorus of the song starts:

‘On the outside, always looking in.

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

'Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass.

I'm waving through a window’

[reader] hears Bob’s breath start to quicken.

‘So I wait around for an answer to appear

While I'm watch, watch, watching people pass

I'm waving through a window, oh

Can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me?’

Suddenly Bob stands up.

“I need to pee.” He says in a shaky voice before almost running out of the room.

[reader] quickly follows Bob out of the room. The others notice but are too into the movie to join the situation, they know anyway that if anybody can handle Bob it’s [reader], so their attention goes back to the song.

“Bob? Bob are you okay?” the young man asks as Bob sits down in the kitchen his head in his hands and breathing fast. “hey look at me, I’m with you okay.” [reader]’s hands are on Bob’s knees as he kneels in front of him. “I’m right there… I see you.” The young avenger leans their head onto Bob’s, closing their eyes and breathing loudly but slowing as a way to try make Bob’s breathing match theirs. It works, Bob’s breathing slows and [reader] feels the man’s arms around him, hugging him, so they hug him back. “Bob?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine now. Thank you.” The blue eyed man says as he pull away and look at the person in front of him in the eyes.

“Okay, do you want to talk about it now or do you want to go back to the others and finish the movie?” [reader] asks.

“I want to finish the movie.” He whispers.

“Okay, let’s go.” [reader] takes Bob’s hand in theirs and guides him back to the living room. The two of them sitting back in the same places, only slightly closer this time and holding hands for comfort. The others don’t even notice they’re back.

‘Today. It feels a little closer’ the shot shifts from Evan to the apple orchards before fading to black and the credits start. [reader] turns the lights back on.

“Waw… that was...”Starts Yelena, her head in her dad’s lap.

“Yeah.” Agrees Bucky.

“I told you guys it was good.” the young man sighs.

“Walker are you crying?” Ava suddenly says.

“N-No what the fuck?” The military man asserts.

As everyone turns to look at him they notice his red eyes.

“Oh my god you WERE crying!” Yelena says excitedly as she sits back up.

“No I was not! I was basically sleeping through the movie from how boring it was.” Walker tries to lie.

“You know it’s okay I cried too.” Bob says quietly, making everyone turn toward him this time.

[reader] smiles at him. “So did I.”

“I might have shed a tear as well.” Ava joins.

“I still have tears in my eyes.” Adds Yelena.

“My face is very wet. Touch it, it’s so wet.” says Alexei.

“I could have cried.” Bucky finally joins the group.

“Yeah okay so we’re all crybabies, you guys happy?” Groans John.

“Very.” [reader] says. “But since everyone cried, just checking, is everyone okay?” The young man chuckles. A series of “yeah” and “I’m fine” echo in the room.

“Okay no fuck that shit guys, improvised group therapy now. Come on.”

The team groans but don’t complain much more. Group therapy happened a lot around here, scheduled or not.

“I-I got emotional with the song ‘Waving Through a Window’, it reminded me of how I feel useless or invisible sometimes.” Bob confesses.

“You’re not useless.” Says Bucky.

“Yeah, we see you Bob.” continues Yelena. She take a deep breath before starting “I related to Evan, the loneliness he felt.”

“You’re not alone Lena.” Alexei smiles at her.

“None of us are.” [reader] speaks up and squeezes Bob’s hand that still was in theirs.

“I related to Connor, being mean feels easy when you’re in pain.” Ava says looking down.

“yeah, it does.” John whispers.

Silence falls in the room. Everyone taking the other’s states and confessions in when a chuckle is heard, Bob’s chuckle. [reader] turns to him raising an eyebrow inquisitively. The two look at each other and start laughing. Yelena and Ava look at each other as well before joining the fit of laughter.

“What’s happening?” asks Walker.

The whole team starts laughing either from the awkwardness of the situation or because the others laughing is making them laugh.

“What a team.” Says Ava.

“The dream team! The Avengerzzz!” yells Alexei.

Groans are heard.

“Please stop with that” Yelena tells her dad.

“Alright, good movie and good group therapy, I’m going to my room now. Good night.” Bucky says as he stands up and leaves. Everyone answers good night.

Soon enough everyone has gone back to their rooms except for Bob and [reader]. The two stay sat close and holding hands. Discussing every detail of the movie. The night continues on and they don’t move, eventually falling asleep, both leaning on each other, their fingers intertwined.

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English is not my first language.

A little short by I hope you’ll like it.

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wolfie-is-dead6 · 1 month ago

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finally finished it. stu purposely loses at games just to watch billy play

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wolfie-is-dead6 · 2 months ago

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Hey, you said requests were open for Robert Reynolds from Thunderbolts.

Could you write an x male reader, with reader being a friend of Bucky (that has powers maybe) and Bucky calls him for the Sentry mission and reader unexpectedly bonds with Bob ? Maybe reader has anger issues and so he understands self-control issues ?

Please and thank you 🙏

HELLLOOOOO thank you for the request!!!! Please mind me and my very rough writing, this is my first fic after closing requests in a WHILE regardless, I hope you enjoy this fanfic tho!!! I tried to work with the idea you gave me so i hope it suffices! Also please note I've seen the movie ONCE and I've forgotten a lot of the actual lines they said! My apologies if I've made those mistakes!

Control amidst Chaos

Tags: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x Mutant!Male!Reader, No use of YN, The Thunderbolts* spoilers, Yelena Belova, John Walker, James Bucky Barnes, Red Guardian, Ava Starr, Childhood trauma, void area, Unstable Backgrounds, Blooming relationship, Hurt Comfort, Fluff, BOB SUPPORT GROUP!

The last thing you've heard from Bucky was that he's running for Congress. What you didn't expect was that being a congress member also includes fighting against an unstable man with unstable powers in the job description.

—

“Where? The old Avengers tower?” Yoi shouted across the room, phone on speaker. The knives slide easily into their pockets as you pull on your gloves.

“Yeah, I'm bringing my own group with me-”

“Group? Since when did you get so friendly, huh Barnes?” The phone speaker crackles, which indicates a scoff from Bucky, no doubt.

“Look, just get there quick, alright? and bring your gear, you'll need it.” A beep ends the call just as you adjusted the final strap on your armour. While you haven't fought a real danger in a while now, it doesn't mean you haven't forgotten just how powerful you can be.

Bucky doesn't usually contact you, especially about a mission. You've been keeping tabs on him, and he mostly checks in just to hear how you are, asking about your health. Now that Bucky has asked for your help, in such an urgent matter as well, a bile of anxiety rises inside you.

You sped off in your truck down the highway, hoping to make it to the tower in time before anything goes awry.

—

A bitter chill wraps down your spine. You force your eyes to snap open, breathing in lungfuls as you take in your surroundings. There, you stand, inside a room, a familiar place, though it doesn't bring back fond memories. The bright blue wallpaper and children's toys strewn about, the image depicts of childlike wonder and happiness, though it contrasts with what’s happening just across the room.

Your heart drops as you glance down, a younger, much younger you, sitting in the middle of the room, a toy train in hand. It’s blocky, mostly made out of wood, if you could recall. He’s oblivious to the noise outside of his safety bubble. Your brow furrows, trying to process the situation, before the voice outside the room becomes clearer. The shouting, heightened tone, and quick replies. It was your parents fighting.

The realization hits you like a freight train. It was the day your mutation manifested. It was a sunny afternoon at the park, if you recall. You were in the sandbox, just meters away from your father, when another child came over to where you sat. The kid took the shovel you were using to build a castle, before knocking the structure down, sending blocks of sand to break apart. There was a snap inside you, something broke loose and washed over your young mind. It wasn't like you could've controlled it, the surge of power crashes down amidst a wave and before you could process anything, the same kid was sent flying, particles of sand cover his torso and legs, as if he was pulled.

The next memory was just you sitting in your room, toy train in hand, blissfully unaware of the argument happening outside. So it seems.

The truth is, you were aware of the fight. Aware of the damage you did to that kid. Even when you were such a young child, you knew that what you did was wrong, was bad enough to cause your parents to fight. But you also knew, you somehow had to keep a mask up, to make them feel like you were still their innocent angel.

You blink repeatedly, looking around the now suffocating room, looking for a door, a latch, anything as a way out. You turn to see a full-length mirror across the room, tilting your head. Within it, sits a silver-haired woman, Yelena, comforting what must be Bob, who caused this whole nightmare. You take steps to approach the mirror, the tips of your fingers touch the cold glass, before it ripples like water in a pond.

Reassessing the image within the mirror, you take a staggering breath, once, twice, before running shoulder-first into the glass. It shatters, the glass breaking shrieks into your ears, before you slowly open your eyes to two concerned voices calling your name.

“Hey wha- are you okay?” Yelena’s voice brings you to a clearer vision. You open your eyes to her and Bob’s concern above you.

“Ugh…” You bring yourself to sit up, rubbing your shoulder. “Never been better,” You sigh, rolling your arm a bit to ease the pain. You turn your head to face Bob, his brows furrowed as he checks your body. His gaze slowly meets yours, eyes wide in a slight surprise, before he clears his throat.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“Been through worse. Bob, right? Sentry?” Your voice softens when Bob turns his head away at the mention of Sentry. From his body language, there must be a rift between Bob and his Sentry identity. Judging from the damage he caused throughout New York, you can connect the two dots to make a cohesive line.

“Right sorry- I should be asking if you’re okay,”

“Out there, that… Version of you, that's not you, is it?” He takes a staggering inhale at your question, before his grip on his thigh tightens. He blinks before slowly nodding, his head turns to a foggy window on the other side of the loft, or so it seems.

“It um… it always comes out, whenever Sentry is present.” Bob inhales as he shakes his head. “It’s- it’s not something I can control. Before I went to Val and her program, before this, i’d-”

“I’d have good days, and bad day. Like- bad bad days. Where I wouldn't remember anything. Next thing know I'm just… I don't know. I don't- I can't control him,” He blinks, his blue eyes shaking as he takes a sharp inhale. You shift closer to him, a cautious hand on his arm, rubbing slightly.

“It's okay, hey, I get it,” Your eyes meet his, a meek smile to try and comfort him. “I do. It.. sucks, when you cant control these things. When you lose control,”

“I’m… My mutation- powers, they come from my emotions, they come from my depression, my happiness. But dangerously, it comes from my rage, too. It took me years to control mine, to keep myself in line, Bob, I get it,” You take a breath, rubbing at his arm softly, he blinks, eyes wide.

“And you can control yours, you know you can. We can all control the demons inside of us, or compromise, at least,”

“You think I… You really think so?” He blinked, a wavering smile making its way to his lips.

“We can do this together, Bob. You and us,” Yelena nods, her hands engulfing his. The man looks between the two of you, a slow build of trust before he nods, reassured with a steady confidence within him. You smile, before the room quivers from a strong tremor, the furniture flying in every direction.

You and Yelena instinctively try to cover Bob’s frame, though it's apparent he can hold his own when a chair flies his way and he only ducks to cover his head. The pieces break apart, the chair bursts into splinters.

“You okay?!” You grip Bob’s upper arm, steadying the man. He nods, Yelena immediately holding his other hand.

“You got this Bob! I know you can do it!”

—

The smoke clears, darkness receding quickly as the midday sun takes over. Debris and flipped cars litter the street as you cough, slowly pulling yourself up. You quickly look for the team, for Yelena or Bucky or B- Bob!

You hurried to haul the man by his arm, brushing off the dust from his clothes. He shakes his head, his curls swinging from the rough movement.

“Hey! We did it, Bob, we’re okay!”

“We what? What did we do?” He blinks, slowly looking around at the mess. “Whoah.. What a day huh,”

You squint slightly at Bob's lopsided smile before scoffing and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, pulling you to the side. “Yeah bud, what a day,”

The others slowly gather themselves, pulling each other up. Bucky stands beside Yelena as she assesses the street. You spot Ghost, Walker and Alexei gathering their weapons from the debris, brushing clouds of dust off of them. You all gather together, relief washes over each other as the head count comes out complete. You want to let out a laugh before you spot the familiar, annoying blonde-brunette woman just in the distance, seemingly shouting into her phone. The group turns to the source of the voice, Yelena stalks her, leading the group.

She frantically retreats behind a car, then under a bus, before the group sets off into a run, you sticking close to Bob. Bucky runs in front of you and when he pulls past the bus, you are caught off guard with flashing lights and the loud commotion of reporters and their questions.

Val stands behind a podium with mics pointed at her, you and the group now stand in a line, bewildered at the situation. She suddenly announces that you all are a group, the New Avengers, and she cheers. The crowd erupts, claps and shouts questions, a barrage of camera flashes in front of them. Yelena takes a step towards the woman and whispers something you can't pick out, though judging from her look, it's most likely a threat.

You glance towards Bob, standing idly beside you, a cloud of anxiety over him as he looks at the crowd. You sigh, wrapping a hand around his wrist. He widens his eyes, glancing at the contact, before meeting your eyes.

“Whatever she has in store, we’ll do it together, okay?” You grin, tilting your head.

Bob sighs, the cloud of worry melting from his eyes. He sighs, then nods softly.

To be invited into The New Avengers was the last thing you expected as a graduate of Xavier's Institute, as a nobody mutant, no less. But if it means gaining a new family, and a new friend, then it might just be worth it.

You have to thank Bucky after all of this mess is sorted.

Requests for Bob are open! Reblogs appreciated <3

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wolfie-is-dead6 · 3 months ago

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Take versions of me sonas

[left to right]

Wolf sona

Physical sense sona

Soul sense sona

And now I’ll shall go

#digital aritst #digital drawing #digital illustration #digital art #artsona #sona art #artist sona #animal sona

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wolfie-is-dead6 · 3 months ago

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I don't have anything interesting to say. Just take Bickey and go

More versions and close-ups under the cut

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wolfie-is-dead6 · 3 months ago

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another redraw... hi

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wolfie-is-dead6 · 3 months ago

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Stuilly from my fic Duality....,,,

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wolfie-is-dead6 · 3 months ago

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FNAF and Scream are forever intertwined

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wolfie-is-dead6 · 4 months ago

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Ahhhh I love this so much, 😭 the whole symbolism of trying to find a way out of a toxic environment and getting freedom at the end. I’m crying, this is beautiful TwT

Hey, Rose, may you make a Stu Macher x Billy Loomis fic where instead of them dying, they successfully kill Sidney Prescott and get away with it, but Billy keeps killing, and Stu tries to leave him and get out of the state?

Of course I can, Lovely!

Title: It's a new life for me and you're not fucking in it, Billy Loomis!

Summary: Stuart 'Stu' Macher and William 'Billy' Loomis did it! They succeeded in their plan! They had got away with murder! After Billy and Stu graduate, they both get an apartment in Woodsboro. Billy starts killing again after Stu and he promised not to kill anymore. Now, Stu doesn't want to be in a relationship with Billy anymore. Stu wants to move out of Woodsboro and move to New York, where Stu will be safe from Billy.

Warnings!: obsession, possessiveness, gore, mention of gutting someone, mentions of getting away with murder, mentions of sex, Billy (Billy is a handsome, walking, red flag that is his own warning), Ghostface.

"You're not seriously still mad at me, are you?" Billy's voice was a mix of genuine confusion and light teasing as he leaned against the locker.

Stu took a deep breath, his eyes not meeting Billy's. "Mad is an understatement."

"Come on, it was just a little prank," Billy said with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"It wasn't a prank," Stu snapped, his voice echoing in the empty hallway of the high school. "It was a crime."

The two young men had been inseparable since childhood, but the events of the past year had left a gaping chasm between them. The murder of their classmates had bonded them in a twisted way, yet now, as they approached graduation, the reality of what they had done was sinking in.

Stu had always been the brains of the operation, the one who meticulously plotted every detail. Billy, on the other hand, reveled in the thrill of the chase and the adrenaline rush of the kill. It was a dynamic that had worked for them in the past, but now, as the end of high school approached, their partnership was strained.

"We made a pact," Stu continued, his voice low and intense. "We said we'd stop after we graduated."

Billy shrugged. "I got bored. Besides, no one's missed the latest victim."

The tension in the hallway was palpable, a stark contrast to the celebratory mood that had permeated the school in the weeks leading up to graduation. The smell of freshly waxed floors and the faint sound of laughter from a distant classroom only served to highlight the gravity of their conversation.

"I don't want to be a part of this anymore," Stu said, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm moving to New York. I've got a scholarship to study film."

Billy's smirk grew into a full-fledged grin. "You're not going anywhere, buddy. You're my wingman."

"No, Billy," Stu said firmly. "We're through."

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and the hallway began to fill with the cacophony of students rushing to their lockers and chatting about weekend plans. Billy's eyes narrowed, his smile fading.

"You can't just leave me like this," he said, his voice low and menacing.

Stu's heart hammered in his chest. He knew Billy wasn't one to be denied. But he also knew that if he didn't get out of Woodsboro now, he might never be able to escape.

"I'm not leaving you," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm leaving this. The killing. The fear. I'm leaving it all behind."

Billy's gaze bore into him, a silent challenge. "What if I don't let you?"

The question hung in the air, unspoken threats dancing around them like shadows.

"You can't stop me," Stu said, his voice stronger than he felt. "And if you try, I'll go to the cops. I'll tell them everything."

The hallway grew louder, the voices of their classmates a stark reminder of the lives they had destroyed. Billy leaned in closer, his breath hot against Stu's ear.

"We'll see about that," he murmured, his eyes glinting with a malice that sent a shiver down Stu's spine.

The rest of the school year passed in a blur of fear and anxiety for Stu. Every time Billy looked at him with that cold, calculating gaze, he knew his former friend was weighing his options, deciding whether to let him go or not. But Billy said nothing more about their pact or his threats, and Stu clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Billy had realized the gravity of their situation and would let him leave in peace.

Graduation day dawned, and with it, the promise of a new life for Stu. The ceremony was a blur of caps flying, proud parents snapping photos, and the bittersweet ache of saying goodbye to the only home he had ever known. As they stood on the stage, receiving their diplomas, Billy shot him a look that was part triumph, part warning. The message was clear: I can still reach you.

Stu's parents threw a small party for him, filled with forced smiles and awkward silences. Billy had been invited but hadn't shown up, much to the relief of everyone. The tension between them had become a palpable third presence in any room they shared.

After the last guest left, Stu turned to his mother, her eyes red from crying. "I've decided to leave tomorrow," he said, his voice firm. "I've got to get out of here."

Her expression was a mix of sadness and fear, but she nodded. "Be safe," she whispered.

The next morning, the sun had barely crested the horizon when Stu packed his car and left Woodsboro. His heart felt like it was being torn in two as he drove away from the town that had been his prison for so long. But he knew he couldn't stay. The siren call of Billy's darkness was too strong.

As he merged onto the highway, heading for the bright lights of New York City, he couldn't help but look in his rearview mirror. For a moment, he was sure he saw a figure standing on the side of the road, watching him leave. The Ghostface mask, a chilling reminder of their crimes, was a stark contrast against the early morning light. But when he blinked, it was gone.

The drive was long, and Stu's thoughts swirled with doubt and fear. Could he really escape Billy? Would he ever truly be free of the horrors they had created together? The road stretched ahead, promising a future filled with unknowns.

But as he drove further and further from Woodsboro, the weight on his chest began to lift. The promise of anonymity in the bustling city beckoned him like a siren's call. He would leave his past behind and start anew, a clean slate in a place where no one knew his dark secrets.

The excitement grew as he approached the city skyline. A new life was waiting for him, filled with possibilities. He had a scholarship, a chance to pursue his passion for film, and maybe, just maybe, the opportunity to leave the shadow of Billy Loomis behind.

As he pulled into the city, he felt the thrum of life pulsing around him, the energy of a million people living their own stories. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to feel hopeful.

But as he stepped out of his car, the scent of rain mixed with exhaust fumes, and he heard the distant sound of a siren, a cold knot of fear tightened in his stomach. Billy had always had a way of finding him. Would this be any different?

Stu took a deep breath and tried to shake off the feeling, reminding himself that Billy had no way of knowing where he was. He had been meticulous in his planning, leaving no breadcrumbs for his former partner to follow.

The first few months in New York were a whirlwind of classes, new friends, and late-night film sessions. The anonymity of the city was a balm to his soul, and he threw himself into his studies with a fervor that surprised even him. For a brief moment, it felt like he had truly escaped the horrors of their shared past.

But then the messages started. At first, they were subtle, easily dismissed as a figment of his overactive imagination. A text with no name attached, a chilling reference to a murder from their past that hadn't made it into the papers. A phone call with only the sound of breathing on the other end, followed by a click.

Stu's heart raced as he realized that Billy hadn't just let him go. He was playing a game, a twisted game of cat and mouse that had only just begun. Each message brought him closer to the edge, a reminder that no matter how far he ran, he could never truly escape his past.

One night, as he was walking home from the subway, a shadow fell over him, and he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He spun around, ready to fight or flee, only to find a smiling Billy leaning against a lamppost, Ghostface mask in hand.

"Miss me?" Billy's voice was as smooth as silk, but there was a coldness in his eyes that sent a shiver down Stu's spine.

Stu stared at him, his mind racing. He had to keep calm, had to play this right. "What are you doing here?" he managed to choke out.

Billy stepped closer, his grip tightening. "You think you can just walk away?" His tone was low and dangerous. "We're bound by blood, by the life we took."

Stu's throat tightened, his eyes darting around for an escape. The city that had once felt so vast and welcoming now seemed to close in on him, the tall buildings casting long, oppressive shadows.

"You can't do this," he whispered. "I have a new life here."

Billy's smile grew, a terrible, twisted thing. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget the old one."

The next few months were a blur of fear and paranoia. Billy was always there, just out of the corner of his eye, a specter from the past that refused to let him go. The stress began to show on his face, in the dark circles under his eyes and the tightness of his smile.

The night that changed everything started like any other. He was working late in the university's film lab, editing a short film for class. The room was quiet except for the whirring of the editing equipment and the occasional beep of the computer.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and there was Billy, mask in hand, a knife glinting in the fluorescent light. "You're not going anywhere, Stu," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "We have unfinished business."

Stu's heart pounded as he backed away from Billy, knocking over a chair in his haste. His mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but his body was frozen with fear. "What do you want?" he managed to ask, his voice trembling.

"What I've always wanted," Billy replied, advancing slowly. "To watch the world burn with you by my side."

"I-I…I can't kill anymore, Billy. I have a new life now, I'm a new person!" Tears fell down Stu's face when he said that.

Billy tilted his head to the side, studying him with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "You're weak, Stu. You always were." He took another step forward, the knife glinting menacingly.

Stu's eyes searched the room for anything he could use as a weapon, his heart hammering in his chest like a trapped bird.

"Billy, please," he begged, his voice cracking. "I can't go back to that. I can't."

Billy's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You think you have a choice?" He lunged forward, the knife slicing the air between them.

"You're insane, Billy!" Stu screamed.

The room was suddenly alive with the sound of his desperate pleas and the heavy footsteps of his pursuer.

In a flash of terror-fueled strength, Stu shoved a nearby shelf, sending film reels and editing equipment crashing down on Billy. The knife clattered to the ground, and Billy stumbled, giving Stu the split second he needed to make a run for it. His feet pounded against the cold linoleum floor as he sprinted down the hall, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The university was mostly deserted at this hour, the silence amplifying the echoes of his footsteps and Billy's angry growls. He knew he had to find help, but every door he tried was locked, and the emergency phones were out of reach. His mind raced with thoughts of the people they had killed together, the lives they had destroyed.

He could hear Billy's footsteps growing closer, and the sound of the masked killer's ragged breathing sent waves of panic through him. "It's funny how you're calling me insane when you helped me kill, Stu! You helped with those murders!"

Stu didn't dare look back. Instead, he focused on the exit sign up ahead, the red glow a beacon of hope. He reached the stairwell and took the stairs three at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound of Billy's footsteps grew fainter with each floor he descended, but he knew it was only a matter of time before his former friend caught up.

He burst through the exit door into the cool night air, gulping down lungfuls of freedom. But the moment of relief was short-lived as the door slammed open behind him, and Billy emerged, unmasked but no less terrifying.

"You think you can just leave me?" Billy's eyes were wild with rage, his face contorted into a snarl. "We're a team, always have been."

Stu backed away, his heart hammering in his chest. "We were never a team, Billy. We were just… two fucked up kids who did terrible things together."

Billy took a step closer, the knife now in his hand. "That's where you're wrong, Stu. We're more than that. We're bound by something much deeper."

Stu's back hit the cold brick wall of the alley, his eyes darting for any escape. The sound of distant laughter and car horns was a stark contrast to the horror unfolding in front of him. "Billy, please," he whispered. "Just let me go."

"Let you go?" Billy spat the words out. "After all we've been through? You're my muse, Stu. Without you, I'm nothing."

Stu's eyes searched the alley for any sign of life, any hint of salvation. But the night was unyielding, swallowing the sound of his desperate pleas. "Billy, please, I'm begging you," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

Billy took another step closer, the knife in his hand glinting in the moonlight. "You think I can just let you walk away from this?" His voice was a feral growl, a stark reminder of the monster lurking beneath the veneer of their teenage friendship.

Stu's eyes darted around the alley, desperation clouding his vision. "What do you want from me?" he pleaded, his voice trembling.

"I want what we've always had," Billy said, his eyes glinting with madness. "The thrill of the hunt, the power of the kill."

Stu felt bile rise in his throat. "That's not who I am anymore, Billy."

"But it's who you were," Billy whispered, his eyes locked onto Stu's. "And who you'll always be."

The air grew thick with tension as the two stared each other down, the knife in Billy's hand glinting menacingly in the moonlight. The distant sounds of the city faded away, leaving only the harsh echo of their ragged breathing and the thunderous beat of their hearts.

"I'm not going to let you ruin my life," Stu said, his voice shaking with fear and determination.

"You think you have a life without me?" Billy sneered, pressing the knife closer to Stu's throat. The metal was cold against his skin, sending a chill down his spine.

"Yes," Stu said, his voice firm despite the tremor of fear. "I do. And it's a life without fear, without looking over my shoulder every second."

Billy's grip on the knife tightened, his eyes narrowing. "Fine," he hissed, "you want to live your little 'normal' life? I'll make sure you never forget who you really are."

With a sudden jerk, Billy sliced the knife across Stu's cheek, drawing a crimson line down the side of his face. The pain was blinding, white-hot agony that seemed to sear through to his very soul. He stumbled back, the metallic scent of blood filling his nostrils, his vision swimming.

"You're mine, Stu," Billy whispered, his voice a sinister promise. "Always and forever."

The world around them grew hazy as the pain from his cheek sent shockwaves through Stu's body. His hand flew to the wound, feeling the warm wetness that seeped through his fingers. He stumbled, trying to keep his balance as the alley swirled around him. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and he knew he had to get away.

He pushed himself off the wall and took a step back, but Billy was relentless. His eyes glinted with a crazed excitement that sent a shiver down Stu's spine. "You can't run forever," Billy said, his voice a chilling whisper. "You're a part of this now. You're a killer, just like me."

The alley was a dead end, and the realization hit Stu like a punch to the gut. He was trapped. The only thing separating him from Billy's madness was a thin layer of skin and the desperate hope that he could somehow talk his way out of this.

"You don't have to do this, Billy," he said, his voice shaking. "We can still walk away from all of this. We can start over."

Billy's laugh was chilling. "Start over? We've gone too far for that, don't you think?" He took another step closer, the knife still in hand. "You're mine, Stu. You always have been, you always will be."

Stu's mind raced. He had to find a way out, had to survive this nightmare. He searched the ground, his eyes landing on a piece of metal debris. He lunged for it, his hand closing around it with surprising strength. Billy's eyes widened in surprise as Stu swung it at him with all his might. The metal connected with Billy's hand, and he yelped in pain, dropping the knife.

Seizing the opportunity, Stu stumbled away, the warm blood from his cheek painting a gruesome path on the cold concrete. He didn't dare look back, didn't want to see the fury on Billy's face. He just had to keep moving, keep putting distance between them.

The alley grew narrower, the walls closing in around him like a vice. His breath came in ragged gasps, each step a struggle as his body screamed for him to stop. But he knew if he did, it would be the end.

Behind him, Billy's footsteps grew fainter, but the echo of his manic laughter remained, a haunting reminder that his nightmare wasn't over. The sting of the knife wound on his cheek was a constant presence, a pulsing reminder of the blood they had spilled together. “I fucked you, Stu! We had sex and you enjoyed it!” Billy yelled. “We killed Tatum!”

Stu's legs burned as he sprinted down the alley, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The cold metal barricade at the end looked like a prison gate, but it was his only way out. He threw himself against it, the rusty metal screeching as it gave way. He tumbled into the dimly lit street, his heart racing so fast he could feel it in his throat. Stu almost let sobs escape him as the memories of Billy killing Tatum and Billy and him having sex came back.

The cool night air slapped him in the face, bringing him back to reality. The street was empty, the occasional car passing by without noticing the bloodied figure staggering down the sidewalk. The distant sound of Billy's laughter had faded, but the fear remained, a constant drumbeat in his ears.

Stu's eyes darted around, searching for somewhere to hide, somewhere to catch his breath. The neon lights of a nearby convenience store flickered in the distance, and he stumbled toward it, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.

"Help me," he gasped to the clerk as he burst through the door, blood seeping through his shaking hand. The man's eyes went wide with shock, but he managed to call the cops, handing Stu a wad of paper towels to press against his cheek.

The wait for the police felt like an eternity. Each tick of the clock echoed in his ears, and every shadow outside the window made him flinch. The pain in his cheek was a constant throb, a grim reminder of Billy's wrath.

When the sirens finally pierced the night, Stu felt a momentary relief that was quickly replaced by a crushing weight of dread. The door swung open, and the bright lights of the cop cars bathed the convenience store in a harsh, blue glow. The officers rushed in, their eyes scanning the room before settling on him. He was a mess, blood-soaked and trembling, but he managed to recount his story between gasps for air.

The police were skeptical at first, but the terror in his eyes and the blood on his shirt told a story they couldn't ignore. They questioned him in detail, their eyes hard and unwavering as they searched for any sign of deceit. But all Stu could do was repeat his tale of fear and desperation, his voice breaking with each mention of Billy's name.

As they tended to his wound and took his statement, he could feel the weight of his secrets pressing down on him. How could he explain their history without revealing his own complicity? How could he convince them that he was a victim, not a participant?

The interrogation room was cold, the harsh light glaring down on him like a spotlight in an empty theater. The cops took turns asking questions, their expressions a mix of concern and suspicion. Each word he spoke felt like a lie, a betrayal of the pact he had made with Billy so long ago. But he knew he had to convince them, had to make them believe he was not the monster Billy had become.

"We need to find him," he said, his voice shaking. "He's dangerous."

The cops nodded, scribbling notes on their pads. "We'll look into it, son. But you've got to be honest with us. Did you have anything to do with those murders back home?"

Stu's heart skipped a beat. The room felt like it was closing in on him. "No, I swear. I didn't want to, but Billy…he made me." The words tasted like bile in his mouth.

The cops exchanged a knowing look. "Look, we're going to need more than that. We have to get a warrant to track him down, and for that, we need the whole truth."

Stu took a deep breath, his heart racing. He knew he had to tell them everything if he wanted to survive. "Okay," he whispered. "Billy and I…we killed those people in Woodsboro." The words hung heavy in the air, a confession that felt like a betrayal and a relief all at once.

The officers leaned in, their interest piqued. "Tell us everything," one of them urged, his pen poised over the pad.

Stu swallowed hard, the bile rising in his throat. "We wore a mask," he began, his voice a shaky whisper. "Ghostface. We killed together, but it was Billy…he was the one who started it all. He had this plan, this…obsession." The words spilled out of him, a confession he had been holding in for so long.

The cops listened intently, their expressions a mix of disbelief and horror. "Why did you do it?" one of them asked, her voice gentle despite the gravity of the situation.

Stu took a deep, shaky breath. "We were just…messed up," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were kids, and it just…got out of hand. We swore we'd never do it again after graduation, but here we are."

The cops exchanged a look, their expressions a mix of pity and revulsion. "Why did he come after you?" the male officer asked.

"I-I don't know," Stu stuttered, his voice breaking. "I guess he didn't like that I wanted out. That I wanted to leave all of that behind."

The officers nodded, jotting down notes as they listened intently. The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional murmur of radio static from the officers' shoulders. The gravity of his words hung in the air like a fog, thick and suffocating.

"We need to get you to the hospital," one of the officers said, standing up. "We'll have someone check on you there and make sure you're safe."

Stu nodded, the room spinning as they led him to a squad car. The sirens pierced the night as they sped through the city streets, a cacophony of sound that seemed to mirror the chaos in his own mind. The pain in his cheek was a constant throb, a grim souvenir of Billy's visit.

At the hospital, the world moved in a blur of white coats and sterile smells. Nurses cleaned and stitched his wound, their eyes filled with a mix of pity and curiosity. The doctor spoke in hushed tones, asking him if he needed anything for the pain.

Stu's thoughts raced. He knew he had to keep moving, had to stay one step ahead of Billy. But the exhaustion was overwhelming, and the painkillers they gave him were pulling him into a dark abyss. He fought to stay conscious, fearful that Billy would find him here.

Days turned into weeks as the wound on his cheek healed, leaving a jagged scar that served as a daily reminder of the horrors he had survived. The police had launched a manhunt for Billy, but there were no leads. The fear of his return was a constant shadow that followed him everywhere.

Stu threw himself into his studies, burying himself in film theory and late-night editing sessions. The more he distanced himself from the past, the closer he felt to finding a way out of the nightmare that was his life. But the whispers in the back of his mind grew louder, a cacophony of doubt and dread that he couldn't silence.

One evening, as he sat in his apartment, the quiet hum of the city outside, his phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. His heart skipped a beat as he read the words: "I'm coming for you, Stu."

The air grew thick with fear as he realized Billy had found him again. The walls of his apartment felt like they were closing in, and he could almost feel the cold metal of the knife against his skin once more. He had to get out, had to find a way to protect himself.

The phone call to the police was a blur of panic and desperation. They promised to increase surveillance, but their words did little to ease his fears. The cops had been searching for Billy for weeks with no success. What if he was already here, watching him?

Stu packed a bag, his hands shaking as he gathered his most precious belongings. The thought of leaving New York, the only place he had ever felt safe, was unbearable. But he knew he had no choice. Billy's obsession with him was like a cancer, spreading and consuming everything in its path.

With a heavy heart, he left the city that had promised him a new beginning, the scar on his cheek a stark reminder of the darkness he couldn't escape. The night was cold and unforgiving as he stepped onto the bus, the engine rumbling beneath him like a restless beast. His eyes searched the shadows outside, watching for any sign of his stalker.

As the bus pulled away from the station, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed. The headlights cast eerie shadows on the pavement, and every face that passed by was a potential threat. His mind raced, playing out every worst-case scenario, every possible way Billy could be waiting for him.

The road ahead was long and uncertain, but one thing was clear: he would never truly be free until Billy Loomis was behind bars or six feet under. And as the city grew smaller in the distance, he made a silent vow to do whatever it took to ensure that one day, he would be.

The months that followed were a blur of restless nights and paranoid days. He moved from one small town to the next, always looking over his shoulder, always waiting for the moment Billy would strike again. He changed his name, his hair, his entire identity, but the fear remained.

In the quiet moments, when the shadows grew long and the whispers of doubt grew loud, he wondered if he had made the right choice. If he had truly escaped or if he was just running in circles, playing into Billy's twisted game. The scar on his cheek was a constant companion, a whisper in his ear that he could never truly leave the past behind.

But with each town he passed, each new face he saw, he found a spark of hope. A belief that maybe, just maybe, he could outsmart the monster that haunted him. That he could build a life, free from the shadow of his dark past.

The film school was his haven, a place where he could lose himself in the art of storytelling. It was there, amidst the clatter of cameras and the hum of editing suites, that he found a new purpose. To create a narrative so compelling that it could drown out the horror of his reality.

He threw himself into his work, crafting short films that reflected his inner turmoil. Characters who were trapped, haunted by their past, desperately seeking a way out. His classmates and teachers noticed the change in him, the intensity that burned in his eyes when he talked about his projects.

But the fear remained, a persistent shadow that grew darker with each passing week. The messages grew more frequent, more personal, taunting him with the knowledge that Billy was always watching, always waiting. He knew he couldn't hide forever.

One night, as he was walking home from the library, the rain coming down in sheets, he heard the unmistakable sound of a knife being sharpened. His heart hammered in his chest as he picked up his pace, his eyes darting to every alleyway and shadow. He could feel Billy's presence, a malevolent force that seemed to breathe down his neck.

And then he saw it. The glint of a Ghostface mask in the window of an abandoned store. A message, clear as day, that Billy had found him again. He broke into a run, his feet splashing through puddles, the rain mixing with his tears of desperation. He had to find a way to end this, once and for all.

The following weeks were a blur of feverish planning. He studied his own films, looking for clues, for a way to outwit the monster that had defined his existence. He knew Billy's patterns, his obsessions, his weaknesses. It was time to turn the tables.

In the dead of night, he set his trap. A script, laden with symbolism and a hint of his own fate, placed in a prominent spot where Billy couldn't resist. It was a story of a killer, a story of a survivor. A story that ended with the final frame of freedom.

The wait was agonizing, each tick of the clock a torturous reminder of the danger that lurked outside. But finally, the moment came. A shadow fell across the script, and he knew Billy had taken the bait. The tension was palpable as he watched from the shadows, his heart racing like a caged animal's.

Billy emerged, the rain plastering the mask to his face, the knife glinting in his hand. "You think you can play me, Stu?" he sneered, the mask's grin a twisted reflection of his own madness.

"No, Billy," he said, his voice steady. "But I can finish our story."

The chase was on, through the deserted streets and the alleys that had once been his escape. The rain muffled their footsteps, the world around them a blur of neon reflections. It was a dance of death, a ballet of shadows that had been choreographed long ago.

But this time, it was different. This time, he wasn't the hunted. He was the director, orchestrating every step, every heart-stopping moment. And as they reached the rooftop of the tallest building in town, the city spread out before them like a stage, he knew it was time for the final act.

With a surge of strength born from terror, he tackled Billy, the knife clattering to the wet pavement. They grappled, the rain a cold, unforgiving witness to their struggle. And as they reached the edge, the wind howling around them, he looked into Billy's eyes and saw the fear, the doubt, the humanity that had been lost so long ago.

"You're not going to win, Billy," he shouted over the storm. "You can't win."

Billy's grip loosened, and for a moment, they teetered on the precipice. Then, with a final push, Billy went over, his scream lost in the thunderous applause of the city.

Stu lay there, panting, the rain washing away the blood and the fear. The mask lay discarded beside him, a symbol of the monster he had once known, the monster he had helped create.

As the sirens grew louder, as the police closed in, he knew he had made a choice. He would face the consequences of his past, but he would do so as a survivor, not a killer.

The story of Billy and Stu's deadly dance was picked apart by the media and the authorities. The truth of their twisted partnership in Woodsboro unraveled, leaving a trail of horror and disbelief in its wake. As the days passed, the press descended upon the town, eager for every sordid detail of their macabre history.

Stu faced his new reality with a mix of relief and trepidation. The trial loomed ahead, a public spectacle that would force him to confront the demons he had tried so hard to leave behind. But he knew it was necessary, a step towards closure for the families of the victims and a chance to pay for his own sins.

He found solace in the support of his newfound friends from film school, who had rallied around him despite the dark secrets he had revealed. They saw the pain in his eyes, the remorse etched into every line of his face, and offered a glimmer of hope that he could still find redemption.

As the court date approached, Stu poured his soul into his film, crafting a narrative that was as much confession as it was art. The story of two lost boys who had stumbled into darkness, one unable to find his way back to the light. It was raw, it was painful, but it was honest.

The trial was a circus, a gruesome exhibition of their crimes. Stu's heart was heavy with every tear shed by the families, every whisper of condemnation from the gallery. But as he took the stand, he held his head high, ready to face the consequences of his actions.

He spoke of the fear, the manipulation, and the moments of doubt that had led him down the path of violence. He spoke of the guilt that had haunted him, the nightmares that had driven him to run. And as he told his story, he felt the weight of his past begin to lift.

The verdict was swift and severe. Billy was sentenced to life without parole, and Stu was given a chance to atone for his sins, to serve his time and then build a new life. It wasn't freedom, but it was a reprieve from the constant terror of Billy's shadow.

The cameras flashed, the reporters shouted their questions, but all Stu could think of was the future. A future where he could tell stories that mattered, that could change lives, maybe even save them. A future where he could live without the fear of the Ghostface mask in the mirror.

As the gavel fell, Stu took a deep breath and stepped away from the shackles of his past. He knew that Billy would never truly let him go, that the whispers of their crimes would follow him always. But he was ready to face the world, scarred but not broken, a survivor of the horror they had created.

The years passed, and Stu became a name known in the film industry, not for the blood he had spilled but for the hearts he had touched. His movies were a reflection of his journey, tales of redemption and hope that resonated with audiences around the globe.

I hope you enjoyed, Lovelies! Thank you, anonymous, for the request!

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