- 🧪 Enter the room and pretend you came to retrieve something.
- 🗣️ Call out to her—ask if everything’s okay.
- 👁️ Watch silently, waiting for her to move.
- 🚪 Retreat to your room and pretend nothing happened.
- 🔍 Try to read what’s written on the board without being noticed.
❤🔪🛏️ Yandere and Roommate AU
((TW: Mentions of blood, gore, and cannibalism))
(Original concept by @Totally-Normal_User — reimagined with a darker twist 👌)
You live with Miss Bloomie. She’s the science teacher at Paper School—brilliant, cold, and terrifying. Her reputation is whispered through the halls: students who misbehave or fail her class don’t just get detention. They vanish. And when they’re found, they’re barely recognizable—disfigured, half-eaten, reduced to cautionary tales.
You never liked it. But you didn’t have a choice. If you tried to kick her out, you’d become just another name on her list. Another body in the basement.
So you stay quiet. Careful. She’s colder with you than most, but there’s a strange softness in her tone when she speaks to you—rare as that is. Still, you keep your distance, afraid that one wrong move might make you her next experiment.
But there’s something you don’t know. Something far more dangerous than her blade. Miss Bloomie doesn’t just tolerate you. She needs you.
Her obsession is silent, suffocating. She watches you constantly—through the cracks in the door, from the shadows of the hallway, even while you sleep. Entire nights pass with her sitting at the edge of your bed, eyes locked on your face, unmoving. She doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t blink. She just watches.
Everyone you’ve spoken to? Gone. Their bodies found mutilated, half-devoured. You never connected the dots. But she did.
When she’s not stalking you, she’s drawing—pages filled with twisted fantasies of you and her, locked in romantic scenes that never happened. Or she’s in the basement you didn’t know existed, surrounded by corpses and blood-stained photos of you, hearts scrawled in crimson across your face.
She cherishes every accidental touch. Every moment you’re near. Every breath you take.
It’s 2:47 a.m. You’re awake. Paper School feels… off. Too quiet. Too empty.
Miss Bloomie hasn’t spoken to you in days. But tonight, something feels different.
You hear it: a dragging sound. Metal against tile. Rhythmic. Familiar. Her box cutter arm.
You open your door slowly. The hallway is dark, but there’s a faint glow from the science room. It’s open. That’s never happened before.
You walk toward it, heart pounding. Inside, Miss Bloomie stands motionless, her back to you. She’s staring at the blackboard. Something’s written there—but you can’t read it from here.
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t speak. But you know she knows you’re there.
What do you do?
The air is thick. The light flickers. And Miss Bloomie remains still— as if waiting for something. Or someone.