#I love painting The Horrors its my favorite thing

[dino--draws]

IF TWO ONES MAKE TWO AND TWO TWOS MAKE FOUR WHAT'S TO DO WHEN TWO TWOS WON'T MAKE FOUR ANYMORE?

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"It's 11 PM, I'm just going to do a sketch for this idea" <- the words of a liar who then spent 30 minutes borderline painting a Creaturified verison of the LOGICIAN from scp

I will make fucking ANYTHING a dragon if you let me, even a formless multiuniversal semiontological bureaucratohazard

Tempted to also post this over on the wiki. God I need an art page for all my miscellaneous stuff like this <- still needs to make a damn author page god someone yell at me to do that

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[ashtreelane]

"I dont like Jonny Simms" is kind of a catchall 2 me of like . I just dont like how he approaches horror . I dont know enough abt him as a person to actually form a deep like or dislike LOL

[saikira999]

~ Headcanons for twst characters playing Minecraft.

Another parts about:

Idia and Malleus!

Riddle and Leona!

Jade and Floyd!

[Azul]

Headcanon, what if Idia and Yuu somehow convinced Him to play minecraft, Azul...:

1) "Why are there cubes everywhere??? I don’t understand anything...."

2) When he learns that monsters are appearing in the dark, he places two stacks of torches around himself in horror.

3) Crying from the physics of trees.

4) Will try to make a copy of Mostro in Minecraft.

5) He does not like to dig in mines and fight, but prefers to engage in agriculture, construction and trade.

6) He built his own village, with a complex hierarchy, its own economy and an underground mafia, where he keeps all the villagers under iron grip.

7) Every five minutes:

<Octo_businessman> fell from a high place.

<Octo_businessman> tried to swim in lava.

<Octo_businessman> was blown up by creeper.

<Octo_businessman> was drowned.

<Octo_businessman> starved to dead.

8) If one of the players hits or kills an squid in front of Him, He will take it as a personal insult.

9) The only one on the server who goes to bed on time and swears at everyone in the chat, because he cannot miss the night while others are awake.

10) Chief of food, armor and potions (Not for free, of course)...

11) Tries to negotiate with the pillagers.

12) Most likely, his house is either a clumsy box decorated with vines and blue flowers, or a huge penthouse with twenty rooms. There is no middle ground. Also, it seems to me that his house would be somewhere on the beach, or in the middle of the lake.

13) Drowned people are his worst enemies.

14) Makes secret chests with all sorts of treasures that he clearly does not intend to share.

15) Already dug up all the gold and ransacked all the treasuries, while the others fought with the ghasts and withers.

16) He comes into the game the least often, because “I actually have my fill of things to do.”

17) He is afraid of dolphins, because he personally knew real ones and knows that they are not the friendliest guys (No, seriously. Dolphins are assholes. Just Google it).

18) Terrible in PVP and always dies first.

19) He says that He doesn’t care about griefers and considers their tricks to be child’s play, but in reality, he is very offended and complains to Yuu in PM on discord.

20) Likes to play in small groups of 2-3 people and does not like to play alone or with too many players.

(A SMALL UPDATE! Previously, this post was dedicated only to Azul, but I decided to make two characters for each post, for beauty, so I'll add another Lilia from the request here.)

[Lilia]

Lilia has been familiar with Minecraft since the game's inception:

1) "Ha-ha, I love adventures!"

2) Competes with Idia, who spends more time in the game and brazenly takes advantage of the fact that fairies do not need sleep as much as people (even the cursed).

3) Daddy's house is either a cave full of vegetation and bats, or there is none at all, since Lilia prefers to roam the entire server. Usually wanders the world on a fast black horse in leather armor painted green, but often runs on His own two feet.

4) He named His horse Samson.

5) He is constantly accompanied by bats.

6) During His adventures, Lily has found many interesting resources and items, and in order not to carry everything with Him, He makes ingenious warehouses with traps, which the entire server covets.

7) Sometimes takes other players on His campaigns. For example, Malleus, Sebek, Silver, Idia and Yuu.

8) Thunderstorm of PVP. Want to fight Him? Good luck.

9) Seriously... You will need luck VERY much.

10) His favorite biomes are forest ones. He hangs out especially often in Taiga and Tundra.

11) The second admin and dad of the server, who suggested Idia the idea of ​​creating a world for the rest of the Twst guys.

12) The most secretive player on the server after Idia. In most cases, He disappears somewhere far, far away, but occasionally, He can be found bargaining with other players, sitting in a tree, or on a campaign. He also likes to play pranks and make fun of other players.

13) For some reason, all the monsters in the area ignore Him, or quickly run away.

14) Collects records (He especially likes "Ward" and "Pigstep").

15) His favorite soundtracks from the game are "One More Day" and "Firebugs".

16) Lilia has already cleared out all the treasures, sunken ships and pyramids, and in order to further annoy other players, He usually leaves signs next to the empty chests saying “Lilia Vanrouge was here :3”

17) Didn’t go to the End because caught flashbacks because of the dragon.

18) Was the one who informed Malleus that a dragon egg cannot be hatched and raise a baby dragon, and without knowing it, he regrets it.

19) Helped Idia find suitable mods for hatching and taming the dragon :D

20) "Silver, bring Your old man a glass bottle of water..."

...And then He goes off to brew an invisibility potion so he can shoo away and banter other players around with an evil giggle.

If you like My post, please reblog Me! :3

Also, if You want a doodle and headcannons for some other twst character, I will be happy to answer Your requests. They are open :D

[wholoveseggs]

Hi there!! I been reading your works and I love your writing. This my first request ever.

I had this idea, and I was thinking about a gothic vampire reader with the personality and the looks of Morticia Addams, and the love for the macabre. And Elijah catches her attention and she catches his attention. Of course, they meet at a gala, a opera etc. And for weeks, they have been getting to know each other. Until one day, he comes over to her house, they are having a good time then the visit turns steamy and smutty, it is passionate and feral. And maybe with blood sharing between the two.

But of course, if you don’t want to then you don’t have to and you can ignore this.

Decadence

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah meets an intriguing woman at the opera, leading to an evening of music, wine and vampiric indulgences.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @thealienartist!! Absolutely obsessed with this idea, I LOVE gothic romance & horror!!! This was an absolute dream to write. Can Elijah please be the Gomez to my Morticia heart? ♡♡

5.9k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, blood drinking, I was self-projecting hard with this one... {I just want to be her}, black cats, chocolate cake, vintage wine, a love letter, Victorian gothic everything... I listened to Totentanz on repeat while writing this... {its a vibe}

Elijah had always enjoyed the arts, whether that be in music or literature or even painting and live performances. He found that the arts were one of the only things that made him feel truly alive. Even with his undead heart beating within his chest.

Around the turn of the century, Elijah discovered his love for horror. It amused him to see how humans depicted the supernatural, their interpretations of his kind were rather off. Vampires living in run down castles, with no regard for the world around them, their main purpose to drain the blood of the innocent. It was almost laughable, though some of his kind did enjoy that lifestyle.

It was during this time that he fell in love with opera, something his siblings didn't exactly agree with. Rebekah found it to be dull, Klaus found it to be pretentious and Kol didn't care either way.

They just didn't get it, the music, the drama, the costumes, had him completely enraptured.

So, when he heard that La bohème was being performed, he immediately made plans to go. He had seen it many times, but never got tired of the performance. He just wished that he could have somebody to go with, but none of his family wanted to attend.

He put on his favorite four piece suit, combed his hair, grabbed his black trench coat and made his way to the opera house.

As the lights dimmed and the stage lit up, Elijah couldn't help but feel a little sad, wishing he had someone to share this interest with, but he was content watching alone.

He watched as the curtains parted and the actors began their first scene, he immediately fell into a trance as he took in the performance.

Intermission was announced and he went outside for some fresh air, he was surprised to see a woman, who looked like she was plucked straight out of the past, standing on the balcony.

She was smoking a cigarette, the long stick held elegantly in her fingers. Her nails were red talons and her dark hair cascaded down her back, stopping at her hips. She was dressed in a all black Victorian style dress, which complimented her pale skin, making it look almost ghostly.

She tilted her head at him in acknowledgement, then went back to staring out into the night.

Elijah usually wasn't the one to approach women, he preferred for them to make the first move. But something about this one intrigued him, he was curious about her.

He stepped onto the balcony and approached her slowly. Watching the wisps of smoke rise into the air.

She looked up at him and smiled.

"Elijah Mikaelson, I presume?" Her voice was deep, but still feminine, her eyes darker than his own. She was strikingly beautiful, there was no doubt about that.

"You know who I am?" Elijah raised his eyebrows.

She chuckled, gracefully flicking her cigarette butt away.

"Who doesn't? The infamous Mikaelson's, who rule the streets of New Orleans with blood and fear... I'm a big fan," she said.

He smiled and shook his head, "We do not rule the city, we simply protect it from our enemies."

She hummed, a smirk gracing her ruby red lips.

"You do have a reputation," she replied.

Elijah nodded and stepped forward.

"What is your name, darling?"

She chuckled and leaned against the railing, gazing up at him with a smirk. "Y/n," she said, extending her hand out to him.

He grasped her hand gently, his lips brushing against her knuckles, her eyes sparkled as she watched his lips.

"Hmm, they don't make them like you anymore," she mused, her eyes traveling up and down his body. "You are so very old-fashioned," she added with a sly smile.

"Well I am quite old," he jested, matching her smile.

They stood and stared at each other for a moment before Elijah broke the silence. "What do you think of this performance?" He asked, gesturing towards the theater.

She shrugged, "I've seen worse, I've seen better," she replied.

Elijah found himself smirking at her response, not really knowing why. Maybe because he had found himself feeling the same.

"May I ask what brings you here?" He wondered why she was attending an opera alone.

"I was bored, looking for someone to eat," she stated. Her eyes roaming over his body once more.

Elijah let out a chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. There was only a handful of times in his long life that a woman actually made him nervous, this being one of those times.

She reached forward and placed her hand on his chest, leaning closer towards him, her lips ghosting against his ear, her scent surrounded him, it was intoxicating and Elijah found himself leaning into her.

"I'll see you around Mr. Mikaelson," she whispered and gently pulled away from him, giving him a wink before going back inside. Elijah watched her go, letting out a sigh as he shook his head, not being able to wipe the smile off of his face.

You considered yourself a solitary creature. Even in your human life, you tended to keep people at a distance. You felt misunderstood, even a bit judged by your peers, you didn't really like being around people.

After you were turned, things hadn't really changed that much, you still found it difficult to connect with others, but now you were mostly untethered and unburdened by society's rules.

The freedom of being a vampire was nice, to be able to go and do whatever you pleased, whenever you pleased and live however you saw fit.

You spent most of your years traveling, seeking out new places, experiencing new cultures and meeting people along the way. And with all this knowledge you learned exactly who you are and what you like.

New Orleans was one of your favorite places, full of vibrancy and life. It was an aesthetic heaven for you, a place that celebrated death, promoted the macabre, had strong connections to magic. Not to mention their appreciation for the arts.

For the last few decades, you had taken up residence in an old Victorian home. You compelled the local historical society to allow you to paint the exterior completely black. Planted dark red roses along the windows and hung little chandeliers made of animal bones along the porch.

You had spent quite a bit of time decorating the interior, making it a space that you could feel truly comfortable in. Something that made your home feel like it truly reflected your personality.

The house fit you perfectly; outside looking like something from a B-horror film, but the interior was homely and feminine, decorated with macabre pieces, gothic furniture, tapestries adorned the walls and candles were scattered everywhere.

You never really acclimated to modern society, you were turned in the 1800s and preferred to live according to the time. You liked old things, dark antiques, things that held a certain kind of energy within them.

So when you met Elijah Mikaelson at the opera house, you knew you had to add him to your collection.

You had heard about the Mikaelson family for a long time, whispers of them among the vampires. You had become intrigued, they were the oldest of your kind, the knowledge they possessed fascinated you.

You couldn't help the smirk that had stretched across your lips when you finally came face to face with Elijah, he was exactly how you imagined him. Tall, dark and handsome, dressed to perfection, emanating wealth and power. Finding him at the opera added to your attraction, knowing that his interests matched your own made it all that more charming.

Elijah Mikaelson was the fine wine of men and you wanted to bathe yourself in it. Wanted to drink up every drop of it, savoring the taste of it on your lips.

You sat in your living room, your cat on your lap, purring contently as you ran your fingers through his fur. You were dressed in a large silk robe, your hair tied up in a bun, dark wine colored lipstick on your lips. A mug filled with blood sat on the table beside you.

You were writing out a letter to him, with ink and parchment, your favorite fountain pen adding a certain flourish to your lettering. Your cat jumped off of your lap and you grabbed an envelope to place the letter inside. You folded the parchment and stuck it in the envelope, sealing it with wax and writing Elijah's name onto the paper.

You hoped he would like the gesture, you knew he was an old fashioned man, so sending him a letter with a gift was bound to catch his attention. It had been a long, long time since you felt nervous, and it had been at least a hundred years since you had a crush like this.

You grabbed the parcel with his gift in it and walked over to your front door, slipping on your heels, you headed out of the house and down your side walk, plucking a rose along the way.

The postman was close to leaving, just as you approached his mail van.

"Hello," you greeted, and watched as he turned and jumped, clearly startled by your sudden appearance.

"Jesus lady, I didn't hear you coming," he stammered, looking you up and down, a nervous smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you left."

He shook his head and smiled, waving away your concern.

"I have a parcel for you to deliver," you said.

He nodded and held out his hand for the letter.

"What's the address?" He asked, staring down at the envelope, taking note of your fine penmanship.

"The Abattoir, in the French Quarter. For Elijah Mikaelson," you told him, running your fingertips along the thorns of your rose.

The postman nodded his head and placed the letter in his van.

"Have a nice day," he said as he walked away.

You watched him climb into his vehicle and drive away, a smirk playing on your lips, hoping your letter would get the attention you desired.

Elijah was spending the day lazing about, enjoying a rare day of peace and quiet, catching up on his reading. He wasn't expecting any visitors, but a knock sounded at the front door, which was a highly unusual occurrence.

He wandered downstairs, a nervous looking postman was waiting at the gate, looking around the old compound with fascination and hesitation.

"Elijah Mikaelson?" He asked timidly.

"Yes?" Elijah looked at him in bewilderment, it had been a long time since he had received anything in the mail, it wasn't like he had a registered address.

"This is for you," he said, handing him the envelope and a small package, wrapped in crimson coloured paper and tied with a black ribbon.

Elijah thanked him and made his way back into his home, he wondered who could have sent him a letter, the handwriting was immaculate, a skill that wasn't common in today's world.

He realized who it was from instantly when he saw the initials, y/n. A smile graced his lips, feeling like a giddy schoolboy instead of a thousand year old vampire.

He quickly undid the black ribbon and opened the paper, revealing a beautiful piece of art, depicting a flying demon eating a young woman's heart. The detail was incredibly fine, and he realized after a quick sniff, that the red of the painting was not paint. It was blood.

A thought crossed his mind, he wondered if it was a piece of your art, he found your work to be truly frightening, beautiful and enchanting, reminding him of the piece Nighthawks, though darker and macabre.

Opening the letter, he read it carefully,

Dearest Mr. Mikaelson, I hope this letter finds you well, if not please pardon my forwardness. I never understood the flirting etiquette of the modern woman. I find myself longing for the company of a man with your refined tastes, such a delicate palette. I was intrigued from the moment we met, our meeting felt fortuitous. I must confess that I have not felt this way in centuries, being in your presence awakened something within me that I wasn't aware still existed. I find myself completely enamored. Perhaps my feelings are returned? If not, then please accept this gift in hopes of extending our friendship. Though I do wish you share in my hopes of something a little more. I will be home tonight, perhaps you would do me the honor of joining me for a drink? Until then I remain Your Admirer, y/n.

Elijah couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he gently folded the parchment and placed it on his desk. He immediately went to check himself in the mirror, fixing his hair, combing it neatly to the side. He found himself anxiously changing his tie, nothing matched what he was wearing, but he wanted everything to be perfect.

He found a pair of ruby cufflinks, feeling that they complimented the letter and would perhaps set the mood.

Grabbing his black wool jacket and adjusting his tie, he made his way outside before stopping and running back inside, he couldn't possibly come empty handed and he knew just the thing to bring you.

You waited nervously inside your house, you had decided to wear a simple black slip dress, your hair flowing over your shoulders in waves, your black winged eyeliner perfectly defining your eyes.

You needed a way to quell your anxiety, so you decided to play a tune on your organ, something to fill the silence, create a soundtrack to go along with the nerves that bounced around inside your mind and heart.

If he didn't show, you would understand. It had been quite a while since you've expressed your affections to anyone. It had been a lifetime since you were courted.

Your fingers idly drifted over the ivory keys, producing a somber yet melodic tune. Your nails were filed into sharp talons, painted a deep crimson, matching the lipstick on your lips.

The melody flowed through the house, the tune reverberating against the walls, seeping through the floorboards. Your cat jumped up and settled in your lap, the soft vibrations from the organ lulling him into a purring trance.

A soft knock broke the melody and you felt your heart stutter. Placing your cat on the seat you walked over to your door. Taking a steadying breath, you grabbed the handle and opened the door.

Men usually didn't have you so utterly flustered, but with Elijah, it seemed like even your centuries old blood could grow warm.

"Good evening, I received your letter and gift, thank you."

He greeted you with a genuine smile, an excited glint in his eyes. You let your eyes wander over him, taking in his appearance, he was dressed to perfection, like always, obviously following along with your old fashioned aesthetic. You liked that you didn't have to ask him, he just got it.

"Please, come in," you stepped to the side to make room for him, you shut the door as he walked inside.

"Quite a lovely home you have here," he said, admiring the interior of the house.

You took his coat and led him into the sitting room, pointing to one of the antique sofas.

"Please, take a seat."

He sat and placed the bottle of wine he had brought on the table.

You took the bottle and marveled at the label, your interest peaked, feeling slightly taken back, it was one of the rarest reds, bottles of this were difficult to come by, most of them now lying at the bottom of the sea.

You knew it was not a simple gesture, this was the kind of thing you save for very special occasions. Knowing that he considered this date that special made your stomach flutter.

"Now how did you manage to get your hands on this?" You asked, placing the bottle beside the two glasses you had set out earlier.

"My brother was the culprit behind a number of shipwrecks, during the golden era of piracy," Elijah responded, a smirk gracing his lips.

You chuckled as you grabbed the corkscrew. "That is no surprise," you replied as you popped the cork out.

You grabbed the glasses and walked over to him, passing him one of the glasses before sitting across from him.

You both raised your glasses and clinked them together, taking a drink, closing your eyes and savoring the taste.

"I heard you playing as I approached the house, you have a lovely talent," Elijah said.

You smiled and nodded your head, looking down at your wine.

"That was very sweet of you to say," you looked up at him through your lashes, admiring his handsome features.

You took another sip and watched him over the rim of your glass, his eyes watching you as well.

"What were you playing? Totentanz?" He asked.

"Indeed, it’s one of my favorites," you said, tilting your glass in his direction, "and it felt appropriate," you jested.

A beautiful smile stretched across Elijah's face as he let out a chuckle. His smile made your lips curl up, mirroring his expression.

"So tell me," he began, "What made you decide to come to New Orleans?"

You shrugged and crossed your legs, the sliver of skin left exposed as the fabric cascaded over your thighs, capturing his attention.

"I love it here, the culture, the art, blood tastes sweeter here," you said, letting a sly smile grace your face. "I like the way this city weaves death and beauty," you paused and took a sip, "it just feels like home to me."

Elijah nodded his head in understanding, he appreciated what you had said. "Yes, there is a certain allure about this city,"

"Your family helped build it back in the 1800s, no?" You asked, running your finger along the lip of your glass.

He nodded, "yes we did, from swamps and brothels to one of the wealthiest cities."

You chuckled and shook your head, "yet the swamps and brothels remain," you mused.

"But not nearly as much," he joked.

You both sat and talked for hours, getting to know each other, laughing and drinking. Elijah was surprised to find that you didn't mind listening to him talk about his travels and life, in fact you hung onto his every word. To him, you were utterly enchanting, the way your eyes lit up as you talked, your laugh, the way you looked at him.

At one point he got up and sat closer to you, his hand gently grazing your thigh, leaning in close as you spoke, his eyes locked on yours. Your lips parted and you felt his breath ghosting across your mouth, his eyes flicking down to your lips. He was such a gentleman, waiting for you to initiate the kiss, but you wanted to do one last thing before you tasted his lips.

"I made something for us, if you would like to try it," you whispered.

He leaned back and tilted his head, his eyes curious.

You smirked and placed your wine glass down, slowly standing up.

"Follow me," you told him.

Elijah trailed after you into your dining room, a large wooden table in the center of the room, filled with silver platters and a centerpiece of black and white roses.

You had made a decadent chocolate cake using human blood, the dark rich blood mixing with the cocoa, making a sinfully dark and delicious dessert.

You pulled out a chair for him and motioned for him to sit.

"This looks delicious, did you make this?" Elijah asked.

You nodded and cut a slice for him, placing it on a plate.

"Yes, I made it from scratch," you said, a small smirk playing on your lips. "Gathered all the ingredients from local suppliers."

Elijah hummed, taking his first bite, his eyes widened and he let out a soft groan.

"This is divine," he exclaimed, the veins around his eyes darkening.

You sat and watched him eat the entire slice, his eyes were blown out, the bloodlust apparent in his expression. You bit your lip, trying to hold in your excitement.

You pushed your plate towards him, a wicked grin on your lips. "Would you like another slice?"

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the bloodlust making him look feral, his eyes completely black.

"I would prefer to taste something else," he said.

Your lips curled into a smile as he stood, pushing his chair back and pulling you out of yours.

His arms snaked around your waist, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, pulling you flush against him. You ran your hand up his chest and wrapped it around his neck, your lips meeting his.

He tasted like red wine, chocolate and just a hint of blood, his mouth soft and pliant, his tongue brushing against your lips. You nipped at his bottom lip and he growled, pushing his hips against yours, walking you backwards, pinning you against the wall.

"Where did you come from?" He marveled, his hands grabbing your ass.

You laughed and ran your hand through his hair, giving it a light tug.

"Does it matter?" You whispered, pressing your lips against his again, kissing him hungrily.

"You've been in my city for so long, yet I only just met you, how very unfortunate," his voice was gruff as he spoke, his hips rolling against yours.

"I guess we will have to make up for lost time," you said, your voice dripping with lust.

Elijah picked you up and flashed up the stairs, his hands cupping your ass, his lips attached to your neck. He walked you into the bedroom, tossing you on the bed.

You laid there, propped up on your elbows, staring up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips, your dark hair fanning out on the pillow.

He looked at you in awe, your red lips were swollen from his kiss and the hem of your slip had risen up your thighs. He climbed onto the bed and crawled towards you, hovering over your body, his mouth finding yours again, his hands running up to the hem of your stockings, his fingers teasing the skin under the material.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and flipped him, straddling his hips. Your hands ran over his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt, revealing his toned chest.

His hands roamed over your body, slipping the straps of your slip off your shoulders, revealing your black corset, his hands trailing over the boning, the lace covering your breasts, the garters that held up your stockings, and the panties that were already ruined.

"I miss when women would dress this way," he sighed, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, a look of hunger in his eyes.

You chuckled, bending down to nip at his bottom lip, your lips moving along his jaw.

"Happy to keep the tradition alive," you whispered, nuzzling your nose against his neck, your fangs running along the artery, feeling his pulse against the tip of your fangs.

Elijah flipped you over and pressed his body against yours, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing the sides, his thumb tilting your head back. His other hand found the ties inn the front of your corset, slowly undoing the knots, the ribbon sliding through the eyelets, the corset loosening with each pull.

You watched his eyes flicker over your breasts, his fangs extending, his breathing heavy. He looked up and met your gaze, his face shifting, his veins spreading underneath his eyes.

He bent down, his fangs sinking into your chest, your blood filling his mouth, dripping down his chin. Your eyes rolled back as he fed from you, his hand squeezing your breast, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipple.

The pain of his fangs and the pleasure of his hands were overwhelming, you felt drunk, you felt euphoric.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, your mouth colliding with his, tasting yourself on his lips. He groaned into your mouth and rolled his hips against yours, his bulge pressing against your core.

You both frantically began to undress, his pants and belt tossed aside, your dress and corset ripped off, thrown onto the floor. You laid back, wearing nothing but your stockings and panties, his boxer briefs the only piece of clothing left on his body.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you back underneath him, his lips finding yours, his hand running up your leg, hooking his finger into the thin strap of your panties, tearing them off.

"That was entirely ungentlemanly," you said, a teasing glint in your eye.

Elijah smirked, kissing his way down your stomach, stopping at your pelvis, his fangs lightly scraping the skin above your pussy.

"You don't seem to mind," he mused, his hand pushing your thighs open, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your hips bucked and your hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging it, urging him on. You appreciated his enthusiasm as he indulged in pleasuring you.

His tongue felt deliciously warm against your skin, your eyes shut, your breath ragged. It had been so long since you had a man between your legs, and Elijah was no ordinary lover, his skill level matched his age.

You moaned and writhed beneath him, his thumb pressed against your clit, your wetness covering his chin.

"Fucking hell," you panted, your body starting to tense.

Your hands gripped the bedsheets, your body a ball of pent up tension, with one final stroke of his tongue, your orgasm broke through the last sliver of control.

You shook and gasped as your climax took over, your whole body erupting in pleasure. Elijah lifted his head, watching you, his lips curling into a sly smile.

"That's a sight," he praised, sitting up and wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

You slowly opened your eyes, a blissful smile plastered on your face.

"Indeed it is," you replied, your breathing uneven.

"But you should watch your language, I thought you were a lady," he teased, his eyebrow raised, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

You narrowed your eyes and smirked, leaning forward, grabbing his shoulders and rolling him onto his back. Your bodies were slotted together, your faces close to each other.

"When have I ever claimed to be a lady?" You asked, kissing along his jawline, nipping the soft skin at the end of his neck.

Your hands trailed down his body, running over his chest, letting your nails run down his torso, breaking the skin, long bloody tracks appearing.

You kissed your way down his chest, licking the blood up, your fangs scraping against his abdomen. You looked up and caught his hungry gaze, his body tensing under you, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers.

Smirking, you kissed the fabric that separated you from his cock, your hands reaching up and tugging at the waistband, pulling them down slowly.

Your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, licking the pre-cum. His eyes fluttered shut and he hissed in pleasure, his hands tangling in your hair.

"Mr. Mikaelson," you said as you slowly descended on his cock. "I may look like a lady," you popped off him and kissed the head. "but I fuck like a dirty, filthy whore."

Elijah groaned at your words, the hands in your hair tightening, gripping your strands, guiding you back down, taking in more of him.

You bobbed your head along his shaft, sucking and lapping at the vein along the underside, one of your hands pumping the part you couldn't fit in your mouth, the other gently cupping his balls, squeezing and massaging them.

Elijah slowly began to rock his hips, matching your rhythm, his breathing heavy and rapid, his voice hoarse as he murmured your name.

Pulling his cock out of your mouth, you looked up at him, tilting your head, "yes?" You smirked, blowing air onto the tip.

Elijah pulled you up and kissed you, flipping you over and once again pinning you underneath him. He pulled your thigh up to hook around his waist, gripping your ass, letting his cock rub along your slit. He pulled on the hem of your stocking, letting it snap back against your skin.

"Gorgeous, intoxicating thing," he cooed, slowly sinking into you.

You threw your head back and let out a moan, your leg hiked up to allow him deeper access. He placed one hand under your thigh, holding your leg in place, while the other found your neck, his thumb grazing your windpipe, applying the perfect amount of pressure. The hand under your leg holding you firmly. You knew that a part of him wanted to give into the bloodlust, the animalistic side of him that was desperate to sink his fangs into your neck. His gentleness mixed with his aggressiveness drove you wild.

You felt every inch of his cock as he slowly rolled his hips, pulling out of you almost fully before entering you again. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing along yours. It was intense and overwhelming, the way he had all your senses tied up in his touch, his mouth, his taste, the sound of his breathing, his movements.

You struggled to hold it together, your pleasure building with each stroke, and he knew, he loved seeing you come undone.

He began to pick up his pace, his hips snapping against yours. It was like the perfect dance, his hips moving so smoothly and perfectly in time with yours, both of you chasing the inevitable crash.

Your eyes met, and everything else seemed to fall away as you lost yourself in his gaze, everything slowing down. He kissed you softly, tenderly, making you melt in his hands.

You brought one hand down to rest on his cheek, holding his face against yours, kissing him back just as tenderly. You ran your index finger along his jaw line, your sharp nail drawing blood, dipping your finger between your lips. He tasted so much better than you imagined, like pure power and divine lust.

Elijah groaned at the sight of your blood stained lips and he sped up, his lips on your neck, his fangs running over your skin.

You tugged on his hair, urging him to bite you, to drink his fill, you wanted nothing more than to give yourself over completely.

His fangs sank into your neck, your blood spilling into his mouth, some of it dripping onto your chest, his teeth slicing into your skin.

The sensation pushed you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you, your hands grabbing at his shoulders, a strangled cry of his name leaving your lips.

He didn't stop, just as he was reaching his peak, he sank his teeth in deeper. He growled, his hips losing their rhythm as his climax hit him. You were both a gasping, moaning mess, clinging to one another, your fingers digging into each other's skin.

The two of you collapsed in a sweaty heap, tangled in the sheets, your skin glistening, breathing heavy.

You felt light headed and euphoric. His gaze was piercing and loving, his fingers brushing across your neck, softly wiping the blood off. His mouth gently caressed yours, his hands cupping your face.

He brushed your hair behind your ears, pulling you into his embrace, his fingers tracing your skin. It was hard to believe that you had only known him for a night, it felt like a lifetime.

A long overdue release of tension and you were happy to be the object of his affections. He was by far the most interesting man you had ever met.

You melted into him, his hands wrapping around you, holding you close. Everything felt perfect, the dim lights, the sound of rain in the background, the weight of him beside you.

The slow creak of your bedroom door opening, cut through the stillness of the night. The soft mew of your cat greeted the both of you, followed by the sound of him jumping onto your bed. The comforting feeling of his paws walking along the sheets as he came to investigate the disturbance in his home.

He walked along Elijah's body, bumping his head against Elijah's outstretched hand, purring happily.

"And who might you be?" Elijah asked.

"Erebus," you responded, stroking Erebus' fur. "It means darkness."

Elijah nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

"An appropriate name," he mused, watching the black cat turn around on his chest, finding a comfortable spot to settle.

Erebus yawned and curled into a ball, closing his eyes.

You smiled and snuggled in closer to Elijah, your head resting on his shoulder.

"I guess Erebus wants me to stay," He chuckled.

You laughed and reached over him, scratching the cat behind the ears.

"It does seem that way," you teased. "And I have no intention of kicking you out."

Elijah smiled, kissing the top of your head.

"Good," he said. "Because I intend on staying right here."

You looked up at him and smiled, your heart skipping a beat. You had never met anyone who could make you feel so special and desirable.

Elijah's face was gentle, his eyes crinkled, his mouth curled into a smile. He kissed you again, a sweet, chaste kiss, and then he turned his attention back to Erebus, who was now fast asleep on his chest.

"Did you know that Erebus fathered Eros, the god of love and desire?" He asked.

"I did," you chucked, watching your little cats chest rise and fall.

"There is a play house not far from here, they are putting on a performance about it, the play is called Sweet Eros. Would you like to go see it? It's quite twisted, it seems like something you would enjoy."

You nodded and kissed him, a grin on your face.

"Mr. Mikaelson, I think this is the start of something beautiful," you teased, your fingers tracing his collarbone.

"Oh my darling," he said, his lips brushing against yours. "It already is."

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Emil Ferris’s long-awaited “My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Book Two”

NEXT WEEKEND (June 7–9), I'm in AMHERST, NEW YORK to keynote the 25th Annual Media Ecology Association Convention and accept the Neil Postman Award for Career Achievement in Public Intellectual Activity.

Seven years ago, I was absolutely floored by My Favorite Thing Is Monsters, a wildly original, stunningly gorgeous, haunting and brilliant debut graphic novel from Emil Ferris. Every single thing about this book was amazing:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/06/20/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-a-haunting-diary-of-a-young-girl-as-a-dazzling-graphic-novel/

The more I found out about the book, the more amazed I became. I met Ferris at that summer's San Diego Comic Con, where I learned that she had drawn it over a while recovering from paralysis of her right – dominant – hand after a West Nile Virus infection. Each meticulously drawn and cross-hatched page had taken days of work with a pen duct-taped to her hand, a project of seven years.

The wild backstory of the book's creation was matched with a wild production story: first, Ferris's initial publisher bailed on her because the book was too long; then her new publisher's first shipment of the book was seized by the South Korean state bank, from the Panama Canal, when the shipper went bankrupt and its creditors held all its cargo to ransom.

My Favorite Thing Is Monsters told the story of Karen Reyes, a 10 year old, monster-obsessed queer girl in 1968 Chicago who lives with her working-class single mother and her older brother, Deeze, in an apartment house full of mysterious, haunted adults. There's the landlord – a gangster and his girlfriend – the one-eyed ventriloquist, and the beautiful Holocaust survivor and her jazz-drummer husband.

Karen narrates and draws the story, depicting herself as a werewolf in a detective's trenchcoat and fedora, as she tries to unravel the secrets kept by the grownups around her. Karen's life is filled with mysteries, from the identity of her father (her brother, a talented illustrator, has removed him from all the family photos and redrawn him as the Invisible Man) to the purpose of a mysterious locked door in the building's cellar.

But the most pressing mystery of all is the death of her upstairs neighbor, the beautiful Annika Silverberg, a troubled Holocaust survivor whose alleged suicide just doesn't add up, and Karen – who loved and worshiped Annika – is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Karen is tormented by the adults in her life keeping too much from her – and by their failure to shield her from life's hardest truths. The flip side of Karen's frustration with adult secrecy is her exposure to adult activity she's too young to understand. From Annika's cassette-taped oral history of her girlhood in an Weimar brothel and her escape from a Nazi concentration camp, to the sex workers she sees turning tricks in cars and alleys in her neighborhood, to the horrors of the Vietnam war, Karen's struggle to understand is characterized by too much information, and too little.

Ferris's storytelling style is dazzling, and it's matched and exceeded by her illustration style, which is grounded in the classic horror comics of the 1950s and 1960s. Characters in Karen's life – including Karen herself – are sometimes depicted in the EC horror style, and that same sinister darkness crowds around the edges of her depictions of real-world Chicago.

These monster-comic throwbacks are absolute catnip for me. I, too, was a monster-obsessed kid, and spent endless hours watching, drawing, and dreaming about this kind of monster.

But Ferris isn't just a monster-obsessive; she's also a formally trained fine artist, and she infuses her love of great painters into Deeze, Karen's womanizing petty criminal of an older brother. Deeze and Karen's visits to the Art Institute of Chicago are commemorated with loving recreations of famous paintings, which are skillfully connected to pulp monster art with a combination of Deeze's commentary and Ferris's meticulous pen-strokes.

Seven years ago, Book One of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters absolutely floored me, and I early anticipated Book Two, which was meant to conclude the story, picking up from Book One's cliff-hanger ending. Originally, that second volume was scheduled for just a few months after Book One's publication (the original manuscript for Book One ran to 700 pages, and the book had been chopped down for publication, with the intention of concluding the story in another volume).

But the book was mysteriously delayed, and then delayed again. Months stretched into years. Stranger rumors swirled about the second volume's status, compounded by the bizarre misfortunes that had befallen book one. Last winter, Bleeding Cool's Rich Johnston published an article detailing a messy lawsuit between Ferris and her publishers, Fantagraphics:

https://bleedingcool.com/comics/fantagraphics-sued-emil-ferris-over-my-favorite-thing-is-monsters/

The filings in that case go some ways toward resolve the mystery of Book Two's delay, though the contradictory claims from Ferris and her publisher are harder to sort through than the mysteries at the heart of Monsters. The one sure thing is that writer and publisher eventually settled, paving the way for the publication of the very long-awaited Book Two:

https://www.fantagraphics.com/products/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-book-two

Book Two picks up from Book One's cliffhanger and then rockets forward. Everything brilliant about One is even better in Two – the illustrations more lush, the fine art analysis more pointed and brilliant, the storytelling more assured and propulsive, the shocks and violence more outrageous, the characters more lovable, complex and grotesque.

Everything about Two is more. The background radiation of the Vietnam War in One takes center stage with Deeze's machinations to beat the draft, and Deeze and Karen being ensnared in the Chicago Police Riots of '68. The allegories, analysis and reproductions of classical art get more pointed, grotesque and lavish. Annika's Nazi concentration camp horrors are more explicit and more explicitly connected to Karen's life. The queerness of the story takes center stage, both through Karen's first love and the introduction of a queer nightclub. The characters are more vivid, as is the racial injustice and the corruption of the adult world.

I've been staring at the spine of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Book One on my bookshelf for seven years. Partly, that's because the book is such a gorgeous thing, truly one of the great publishing packages of the century. But mostly, it's because I couldn't let go of Ferris's story, her characters, and her stupendous art.

After seven years, it would have been hard for Book Two to live up to all that anticipation, but goddammit if Ferris didn't manage to meet and exceed everything I could have hoped for in a conclusion.

There's a lot of people on my Christmas list who'll be getting both volumes of Monsters this year – and that number will only go up if Fantagraphics does some kind of slipcased two-volume set.

In the meantime, we've got more Ferris to look forward to. Last April, she announced that she had sold a prequel to Monsters and a new standalone two-volume noir murder series to Pantheon Books:

https://twitter.com/likaluca/status/1648364225855733769

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/01/the-druid/#oh-my-papa

[bookshopsbizarreblog]

Can we talk about how good the Moon Mining song in Midst S3E14 - Shindig is? Like, I've heard lots of songs across the various podcasts I've listened to, some of them quite good. But I have yet to encounter one that was situated in the story as masterfully as the Moon Mining song, or that conveys a fraction of the emotionality. Even without getting into story spoilers, the (at least seemingly) improvised nature of each verse, the layering of shouts and cheers and merry heckling to create a whole crowd leaning into it, the way each character expresses themself and their situation (and is expressed to us as the audience), and even just the way the song is introduced paint such a vibrant and lively setting. The entire 5-ish minutes just radiates a community coming together and having fun.

S2E4 - Weather used to be my favorite episode, as someone who has a deep love of cosmic horror and general eldritch shenans, but I've gone back to Shindig at least seven or eight times just to listen and relisten to that single song. I can't imagine not getting swept up in the revelry, and its position within the episode (and season overall) just sells it so much harder. More concrete spoilers beneath the cut.

If you haven't listened to Midst, please do. Gracious goodness, it's so good.

The entire episode is a rollercoaster of highs and lows for these characters and the community of Stationary Hill that we've gotten to love at this point. Sherman and Tzila finally arrive home, to celebration and joy. The community is barely recognizable but we've seen them band together and rebuild. And at a pinnacle of tension, after the gut punches of Hieronymus' confession to Saskia and the Vault demolition plan and Weepe's victory over Kozma, we finally get a brief break. But even that break is tainted with uncertainty and pain. Right before the song begins, we get Emmet's toast to the fallen, Sherman's uncertainty and fear of staying in Stationary Hill, all the festivities and merriment tinged bittersweet. And then the catharsis hits. It's not announced as a song. It's not a side bar where the ambiance cuts away so a tune can be inserted above the story. All we know is that Goe is getting on stage, and the narrators are saying we're missing something, but what? "That's right." "It wouldn't be a party on Midst without-" "Goe: It's time, you dang raskals!"

It's like the podcast version of show, don't tell. They could have laid out that a song was coming up. They could have even just launched into it. But by merely having uncertain build up and sudden increasing excitement and anticipation from the crowd, we get dragged along with it too. Straight from all the emotions of the previous conversations into this building energy with no clear outlet. It isn't until the cheers and diegetic voices demand "that friggin' moon tune," now that we are also fully on board, that the end point is revealed. And then it slaps.

The different methods of singing for each person, of which Saskia and Ettie (x2) and Ned (whose voice makes me understand the random background lady) stand out the most. Bets and Walter's and Tzila all representing different versions of how a kid would approach being asked to sing in front of their entire community. Sylvester and the chanting and everyone joining in on the chorus and the way each person's verse is a snippet of their life and perspective and situation and story without it being overbearing. It just. The whole thing. It screams of the close-knit Stationary Hill community, which then also pays off in another big way during the last episode.

I highly recommend listening to the song again, with headphones and the volume cranked up to get the full experience if you haven't already. I'm losing my mind over this song. If tumblr woulda let me, I would have just uploaded the full 5:19 clip I isolated, but unfortunately it wound up being too big to post. So here's the link to the time where the song specifically starts.

Thank you so much Third Person ( @midstpodcast ) for creating such a full and magical world.

[dreamerdeity]

𝐊𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐀'𝐒 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓: 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐏𝐒

a/n: Really happy to be back on tumblr! College apps have been kicking my ass but it's getting better. Don't be shy to request a matchup, a fic, or a wip for Gaza! I'm also very sorry @tinysoulmentality for not including moodboards I had no time 😭

❁ཻུ۪۪♡ word count: 2k

Keira's Fundraising Event

███▒▒▒▒▒▒ 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . @tinysoulmentality 's character matchup

Hi! Id like to request a matchup for jjk, bllk and aot. Im mexican and being connected to my culture is very important to me. I love reading dc comics and watching old slasher/horror movies. My favorite color is purple and my favorite holiday/time of year of Halloween. When it comes to relationships, the most important thing to me is being with someone that I know i can be myself with and that I dont have to worry about their loyalty towards me. Here are my donations and pls lmk if theres any other info you need !!!💜💜

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇: 𝐈𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐌𝐀

Ino is an interesting little guy. He’s cute, but to say he has game would be like saying that cats can fly (handsome loser :3). When he first met you, he had to do a little double take because hold on a minute. Who’s that pretty lady? He casually walks up to you and blurts out a “You’re not from around here, are you?” ft. nervous voice crack that he manages to play off somehow. The question definitely elicits a few mental eye rolls from you. Typical male-tries-to-hit-on-foreign-girl one-liner, but he makes it… work? Maybe it’s the nervous flush on his cheeks, or the hand that sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck, or the bright smile he musters up to mask the nerves. 

I like to think that Ino is a very cosmopolitan person. It’s not really that he’s traveled all around the world, but more so that he has varied likes and interests spanning many different cultures. He likes to listen to old-school hip-hop and reggaeton. He’s into Italian and Turkish dramas. He sleeps well at night knowing there’s an Indian restaurant and another Mexican one down the block that can curb his cravings for butter chicken and quesadillas. 

So, it’s no surprise that he’s quick to grab a throw pillow and get comfortable on the couch whenever you talk about your Mexican heritage. He doesn’t know much about Mexico apart from the fact that the food goes extremely hard, so he’s always enthusiastic to learn more about the other aspects that characterize your country and its people. 

He also tries to learn some Spanish to “surprise” you but then it’s literally just a “¡Buenos días!” enunciated really badly. There’s a proud smile on his face every time he greets you good morning in your mother tongue though, and it’s very endearing, to say the least. 

To add onto his culture vulture, cosmopolitan vibes, I think he’s also really into movies. The type to just drop a niche movie reference every two seconds and frown deeply when no one gets it. 

Watching horror movies with him is interesting because for some reason he thinks that abruptly grabbing your shoulders mid-movie and growling menacingly would jump-scare you into oblivion, but you’re used to the genre so all it does is make you eye him narrowingly, unimpressed, ready to tell him off for interrupting a very crucial plot development. 

For whatever reason, Ino gives me major horror-enjoyer vibes. He likes analog horror and you’re lucky Halloween is your favorite time of year because it’s his too! Watching The Prowler (i just really like this movie lol) under the blankets with warm, freshly-made popcorn and a pretty lady in his arms? Yeah, count him in. 

One last thing, sorry to be the one to say this, but Ino is definitely the “can you draw me” person whenever he sees your sketchbook or art in general. It’s all in good nature, and he wouldn’t mind it if you say no, but if you do draw or paint him, let’s just say that that drawing will be in his wallet for the rest of his life. Sometimes he’d just randomly pull it out when someone brings you up and proudly hold it up to his company like “Uhuh, my girl drew this. Yup.” 

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐋𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇: 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐈 𝐇𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐀

I think that, unlike Ino, Chigiri used to be less “out there” in the world in his youth and kept more to himself in terms of being an experiencer of cultural diffusion; It was how he was brought up. But after going pro and meeting many people, traveling to many different places etc, he’s been exposed to the world on a greater scale. That’s how he finds himself meeting you one day at a party. He was charming. Need I say more tbh? That hair, that gentlemanliness, that whole aura surrounding him is hard to resist. He knew just how to sweet-talk but actually meant every word he said. 

Chigiri is one wealthy man, let’s be honest. Pro footballer?  Mbappe in another font? Yeah. I think he genuinely enjoys spoiling and lavishing you with gifts if that’s your thing. 

He loves hearing you talk about your heritage and if you don’t live in Mexico, I feel like if you were to even remotely express that you’re kind of missing your country he’d immediately be like, “Then let’s book a 2 week stay and you can show me all those things you were telling me about.” No biggie. 

Would also rent out the entirety of Playa Sisal in advance because you mentioned (once. 1 [one] time. ) that you were looking forward to taking a dip come the vacation. 

I think that there’s this stigma surrounding footballers and how they’re a bunch of players who sleep around but don’t commit. While that may have some merit, Chigiri is different. Like, have you seen him? Not to mention that he has a sister. 

I feel like he values loyalty and genuine companionship as much as you do, and should you ever feel yourself questioning where you stand within his life, or whether he’s trustworthy, he would be so quick to reassure you and make you feel heard, basically quelling the doubts before they even surface. (Communicative king). 

On the note of communicative king, he’s very good at praise and voicing his appreciation. The sort to genuinely encourage your creative hobbies and praise you for any work you create. He would literally not mind building a home art studio for you to promote your love for art and writing. Like, “Oh, I saw you painting the other day and you didn’t look very comfortable at your desk. Thought I’d make you a little art corner,” he’d say as he sheepishly shows you the “art corner” in question which looks more like a state of the art professional studio. 

I think Chigiri himself is a very artistic person beneath the surface. He just gives off that vibe quite a bit. Picnics where you guys sit at the park and paint the scenery together? So him. 

Would post your art on social media (if you consent ofc!) to his 5 million+ followers and bring you business if you ever decide to open commissions. 

In terms of entertainment, Chigiri is the type to be so clueless when it comes to media because he just doesn’t have the time. Like you were shocked when he told you he never watched Star Wars. Sir, what do you mean?? 

It became your job to educate him on the vast world of entertainment, namely movies. He doesn’t really care what you pick as long as you’re happy. So when he’s got some free time on his hands, he’ll binge horror or DC/Marvel movies with you and even try to analyze the plot as it’s happening (don’t kill him please he’s just trying to show he’s interested). 

Would buy you merch of your favorite movies and get giddy when you wear it/decorate your room with it etc.

Lastly, I think Chigiri would sulk in the corner if you insist he let you dye his hair purple since it’s your favorite color, but he literally can’t say no to you, so eventually he yields reluctantly but shockingly, once all is said and done, he figures out he actually really like how purple looks on him. 

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐓��𝐇: 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍

I’m gunna be honest. I think it just makes sense for Levi to like you because black cat x orange cat trope?? Him and Hange? Him and the Eren gang in general? Yeah. 

Going by your mbti, I imagine you’re not very extroverted, and I think that’s something that genuinely makes Levi let out a sigh of relief sometimes. 

*glance at each other* You: “wanna leave this party?” Him: “You read my mind.”

If loyalty were a person, it would be this man. He shows it in the small things, I’d say: Leaving you short messages before he leaves for work every morning, bringing you things that remind him of you, etc. I feel like that would be his way of saying “I’ve got eyes for you only/I’m always thinking about you and you alone”. 

Levi is such a meanie on the surface and I find it kind of hilarious. Like, I think you guys would complete each other's snark and sarcasm and people would not know whether you two are joking or not meanwhile yall are just trying to bite back giggles. 

If I’m being honest, Levi doesn’t strike me as a very creative person. He seems more of a STEM sort of guy if we think of him in a modern au, so he doesn’t pay much mind to the arts as a field. 

That’s not to say he isn’t supportive of your creative endeavors of course. You know when parents have no idea how a sport you play works but they still passionately cheer at your games regardless? Yeah, that’s Levi with your art, writing, etc. It’s all impressive to him even if you don’t think so and he’ll make sure you know that. 

“I love this poem you wrote. You could be famous if you took this up professionally,” he’d say even if there was like a single sentence on the page. 

Would be the type to send you anything art or writing related he gets on his fyp like “yup, she’s definitely gonna love this/find it helpful”. 

This might be an unpopular opinion, but I think Levi is actually a film buff. There, I said it. Something about him strikes me as movie lover. He would be the type to drop a quote from some obscure movie from the 50s with a straight face in the most serious tone ever which makes it even funnier. 

So, when you two have some free time, he loves to watch things with you while cuddling on the couch. he’s the type to read the captions before the characters actually say them and it just spoils the scene for him, and then he’d sulk as if it’s your fault, but it’s cute. 

When you two are watching horror movies, he’s the type to tsk and mutter under his breath complaining about the costumes or about how if he were there he would’ve totally killed that demon in like two seconds.

[thatfandomslut]

Social Pariahs

Janis Imi'ike x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Trigger Warning: shameless flirting, cringy pick up lines, two anarchists in love (sry not sry)

Request:

please do a Janis x reader where the reader is new at school and doesn’t want to get into the social pyramid and they are outcasts together idk some fluffy stuff

Mean Girls requests are open.

Janis Imi'ike would be lying if she wasn't enamored by the new girl. She was just so cool. For starters, the Plastics offered her a spot at their table, and she swiftly shot them down, opting for a seat by herself in the lunch room. Watching Regina's face fall as she tried to hide the shock with a scowl was honestly Janis's favorite thing to ever happen. Additionally, they shared three classes: chemistry, English, and, most importantly, art. That was how Janis learned how amazing the new girl was with a paintbrush as she finished an art assignment on the inner self.

"Ms. (L/n)," the teacher cleared his throat, analyzing the canvas. On it displayed the brain on fire. A worry line slowly appeared on the teacher's face before a forced smile fell on his lips as he put the canvas back onto the easel. "Would you like the pleasure of explaining your art as a way to also get to know everyone a bit better?"

It was obvious that (Y/n) didn't want to as she pondered for a moment. "Okay, yeah, sure." (Y/n) stood up, removing the smock that covered her clothes. Though, the paint did find its way to her hands, arms, and face. Janis watched intently, her chin resting on her fist. She knew that if Damian was there, she would be receiving the biggest side-eye in the entire world. Thankfully, within the four walls of the classroom, she was safe from his judgmental stare as she admired the girl from afar. "My name is (Y/n). My art on the inner self represents how I feel the school system is doing more harm than good by frying our brains as they mold us into the people they want us to be rather than the people we want to be." (Y/n) said, sitting back down as the teacher stared in shock.

After a moment, he cleared her throat as he looked around. The other students, with the exception of Janis, seemed to be just as shocked and in a brief moment of confusion. "Right, right… Thank you, (Y/n)." He said, feeling slightly resigned as he plopped back into his chair. He had the sudden realization that one, he didn't get paid enough for this shit, and two, she was going to be a brilliant artist one day using her political ideologies to guide her.

Janis stared brightly at the girl but quickly looked away when they made eye contact with each other. Janis didn't notice the girl approaching her work. It was a small version of her with Cady and Damian with music notes and horror movies stitched over her paint strokes. "Your work is really cool." (Y/n) said, startling Janis, who looked over. She was at a loss for words. She had so much she wanted to say but couldn't. She finally understood how Cady felt about Regina and Aaron. "Are they your friends? I've seen you with him, but who is she? Your girlfriend?" The girl inquired, pointing over at Cady.

"Cady? No, no. She is not my girlfriend. She's cool and all but not for me." Janis said, waving off the feeling of embarrassment that wanted to stain her cheeks a bright shade of red. There was a small hint of a smile on (Y/n)'s lips as she listened to Janis. "I- I notice you sit alone at lunch. Is there anyone I can convince you to sit with Damian and me?" Janis offered, a feeling of dread settling on her chest as she feared rejection.

However, the familiar blow never hit. "Yeah, sure, as long as you're not a part of whatever weird social pyramid scheme that the rest of the school seems to be in." She said as the bell rang. Grabbing her bag, (Y/n) offered Janis a wave that caused Janis to feel like she was floating momentarily. While Cady described the feeling she had for Regina and Aaron to make her feel 'stupid with love,' Janis felt confident. (Y/n) was so beautiful and they shared so many of the same ideas (though she only knew two of them). Janis couldn't help but find herself crushing on (Y/n).

At lunch the next day, (Y/n) showed up, standing behind Janis. "Excuse me, ma'am," Damian smirked over to Janis when (Y/n) began speaking. Janis went red as she looked behind her with a sheepish smile. "I might not be a photographer, but I could see us together." (Y/n) said playfully as she sat next to Regina. Once again, she had rendered the very outspoken Janis speechless. Damian could almost applaud the action teasingly, but he could see how nervous his best friend was. Mercy was Janis's friend that day, and Damian accepted that.

When Janis still said nothing, Damian stepped in to transfer the attention onto himself. "So, (Y/n), Janis tells me you're an amazing artist. Are you entering the art show with Janis?" He questioned, hoping the new conversation would help Janis ease herself out of the shell she had put herself in. "I heard there was potential scholarship money for the winner," Damian added, trying to recall everything that Janis had shared with him. Janis looked over at (Y/n), wondering if she was going to put her artwork in, too.

"Yeah, I was considering it. I was looking through the categories. I was thinking about doing a portrait, but anything I could create would never achieve what Janis's art does." She said, glancing over at Janis who perked up at the mention of the category. She wouldn't want to compete with (Y/n), but she was curious to see what she could paint. "But, there are several different sub-categories with different awards. I might do that so I could get a sense of the competition for next year. I like to scout the competition before entering my work so I know how hard I have to go."

Damian nodded thoughtfully, gently kicking Janis under the table so she would finally say something. "I think you should enter. Your work is amazing. Like the Brain on Fire piece? It was so amazing, and Mr. Callahan didn't even know what to say. You're are speaks volumes. I hope you do enter." Janis gushed unintentionally, hoping she wasn't rambling. Pink dust covered (Y/n)'s cheeks as she looked down in order to allow her hair to hide the blush and the smile that was growing on her face.

Finally, giving herself grace since she knew it was a natural reaction, she looked up at Janis. "Okay, I'll consider it. I am working on something new. I've been going to the art room every free period to work on it." She said thoughtfully at first as she grew more confident. "I think it could work. Mr. Callahan says it looks amazing so far. Though, I think he's scared of me." (Y/n) jested, causing Janis to laugh. Mr. Callahan did indeed keep his distance after (Y/n)'s response last class. "Wait until he finds out I'm a pyromaniac anarchist who loves putting fire and politics in my art to spread my messages." She said with a giant smirk. Janis didn't know she could fall more until that moment and the weeks that followed.

"Hello, may I have your attention please?" Principal Duvall's voice filled the halls just in time for morning announcements. Janis barely had it in her to pay attention since she was texting (Y/n). For about three weeks now, she had been flirting and trying to build the courage to ask (Y/n) on a date. "I want to first announce that there are two students we need to wish luck to. Miss Janis Imi'ike and Miss (Y/n) (L/n) are finalists at the Illinois Art Expo this Saturday. Go lions! Even for art." Principal Duvall said as Damian looked over at Janis cheering 'Art! Art! Art!' Janis could barely think for a moment as she went to text (Y/n), only to receive a congratulations message first.

At lunch, Janis was excited to see (Y/n) in person since the announcement. She was practically buzzing with excitement to ask if she wanted to go with her and Damian. So much so that Damian gently reminded her to calm down because she was shaking the table as her knee bounced in participation. "Hey, Damian," (Y/n) greeted as she sat beside Janis. "Hello, my fellow finalist." (Y/n) winked, nudging Janis softly with her elbow. There was a giant grin on her face, showing that she was just as excited as Janis was.

"Hey, congratulations on being a finalist. I knew that you would be. Quick question, by the way… Since Cady is going with her mom somewhere this weekend, there is enough room on Damian's hot ride. Do you want to come with us on Saturday?" Janis questioned as Damian instinctively smirked at the two. He did it every time one of them joined the other. "I promise it'll be a safe ride. If we hit a bump, I'll hold you close."

(Y/n) looked over at Janis, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I know you would, babe. I want to say yes but my dad wants to take me." She said with a soft pout. But none of that mattered because Janis was stuck on the fact that (Y/n) had just called her babe. Janis smiled to herself as Damian looked over to see if she'd say something. "I definitely will find you when I get there. I want to see your work. I'm excited to see what you've done." (Y/n) put a hand on Janis's knee gently, and Janis's already red cheeks turned maroon as she smiled more.

That Saturday, the art expo was buzzing, and (Y/n) found herself waiting on Janis at the front while her father wandered through the building to look at the other artworks. "Hey, you," (Y/n) turned to see Janis and Damian riding in on a scooter. A laugh bubbled through her chest as she looked over at them with her brows raised. "Like our sweet ride?" Janis questioned as Damian went up the ramp to make his way over to them. Janis got off, wrapping her arms around (Y/n) as Damian parked the scooter by the bike rack, and put a bike security chain on it to make sure no one drove away with it.

"I love it," (Y/n) chuckled, allowing her arms to envelope Janis, too with a smile. Their cheeks were both burning, but neither broke the hug. "I definitely wasn't expecting it. I thought Damian would be coming in a car with the bass-boosting Nicki Minaj or Beyonce."

Damian gasped, pleased by how well (Y/n) knew him. "You know me too well." He wiped a fake tear away as he approached the two with a grin. He didn't want to interrupt their moment, but it was cold outside and he was ready to see the works that they had been talking up so much (even though neither one of them had seen it yet. "Let's go, lesbian, let's go." He gently gestured for them to go inside, causing them to hesitantly spill up and head inside as they headed for the North Shore High table.

On one side of the table was a group portrait of Cady, Damian, (Y/n), and Janis. "Wow, Janis," (Y/n) grinned widely. "This is freaking incredible." She had to resist her fingers tracing the string that was stitched into the canvas, over Janis's broad brushstrokes. She was constantly amazed by Janis's works and talents. "You won first place!" (Y/n) pointed over at the ribbon. As she looked back at Janis, she noticed the girl wasn't paying attention. Instead, Janis's focus was on (Y/n)'s work.

Nerves exploded in (Y/n)'s chest as she hoped Janis liked it. It was a portrait of Janis with poetry placed around her in calligraphy. Her jaw was dropped as she looked over at (Y/n). Before (Y/n) could say anything, Janis kissed her deeply. Her eyes widened before she kissed back, her hands moving to the back of Janis's neck to pull her closer. Damian looked around for a brief moment before slipping away to give them privacy. "I've never been captured like that before," Janis spoke in a hushed tone, smiling at (Y/n).

"Well, I've been trying to figure out how to ask you on a date since the day I first talked to you. I figured this might be the best icebreaker." (Y/n) said, pressing soft kissing to Janis's cheek. Janis grinned at the action, biting her lip. "I wanted to paint you because nothing makes me feel more passionate than when I think of you. You've encouraged me to go after what I love in art and you've helped me grow. Not only as an artist but as a person." (Y/n) expressed, her fingers intertwining their fingers gently. She was thankful that Janis felt the same since she was nervous about how the art would be perceived.

"I love it," Janis's breath was absolutely taken away by the art and over the fact she kissed (Y/n). "And, I like you, too. I thought you were cool before we officially met. But your Brain of Fire art piece is what made me fall for you. You were so cool and outspoken. I really like that about you. I just really like you." Janis shared with a soft smile. (Y/n) grinned at this before kissing Janis again. Happiness swelled through the two, and the Art Expo around them seemed to fade as they stayed in each other's arms for a couple more long moments.

As (Y/n) pulled away, she kissed Janis's cheek gently. "My dad is going to be looking for me at some point. I should go find him. I'll pick you up at six on Saturday?" She waited a moment for Janis to nod. (Y/n) grinned widely before waving back at Janis. She couldn't believe that they had finally kissed. She couldn't wait for their date. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place in her life, and she felt excited and lucky to experience that with Janis.

A voice broke her from her thoughts, causing her to turn around. "(Y/n), wait," Janis called, holding the canvas with (Y/n)'s work. (Y/n)'s brows rose as she looked at Janis. "Don't forget your artwork." She said, passing the canvas over.

(Y/n) shook her head, pushing it back into Janis's hands gently. "It's for you, Janis Imi'ike." She teased out Janis's last name as she winked back at the girl. "I'll see you later, babe." And just like that, she left Janis there with her heart beating quickly and a stupid grin on her lips because she called her babe.

[freemansgirl]

dating amber sfw and nsfw headcanons

SFW

* very sweet, she loves you so much

* contact name in her phone for you is “my final girl”, your name, or “baby” with the 🖤👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 emojis

* can be clingy and overprotective (even too overprotective at times) especially when the ghostface killings happened

* loves to show you off, she is hers and you are hers, the whole school knows it

* petnames for you are “princess”, “baby”, “babe” “honey”, “sweetheart”, “love” and “darling”, she doesn’t really call you by your name that much but if she does that mean shes either mad or something serious

* very huge on pda, she loves to leave her hands on your waist, hips, thighs, hands, etc. shes very touchy and always has her hands on you somewhere. she likes to have you sit on her lap sometimes and loves to have you cuddle against her

*when people usually hit on you, she will come up from behind and grab you while giving the person in question a glare that screams “back off” or she’ll usually just tell them off herself, “she’s with me.”

or she’ll just play dumb and act like she doesn’t know what is happening, while walking up to press a kiss on your cheek, “oh who’s this?”

*you guys have definitely snuck off from class to have intense make out sessions, the main places you guys go to being the girl’s bathroom and/or the janitor’s closet

*if you’re ever stressed with school, she usually tries to get you coffee to energize and also gives you lots of words of encouragement “you’re more than just your grades, i believe you are smart with or without academic validation.” she also will help you study for anything

* big on compliments in the relationship especially when she sees you dressing up for her

* speaking of cuddles, she’s a huge cuddler, she prefers to be the big spoon majority of the time but can be the little spoon if you ask her to be

* lots of hangout session usually consist of you at her place crashing the night and watching stab a lot. if not stab then any type of horror movie/tv show, drama show, or true crime does the trick! if not watching things, then you guys may play horror games together or you watch her play some (especially dead by daylight).

*watching horror movies together, if you ever get scared or jumpy, she loves to grab you tightly to her and rub your shoulders in a soothing way to calm you down. “hey baby, it’s okay, i’m here… it’s just a movie, you’re safe with me.”

*also comforts you if you ever have nightmares about ghostface or as you watch the news about another ghostface murder has happened

* when crashing at her house (or just in general), she lets you wear her clothes such as an oversize t-shirt of hers, jacket, a hoodie, just any type of her clothing that she has. if it’s raining or cold, i feel like she’d be the type of girlfriend that’d let you’d give you her jacket to make sure you’re not wet or cold.

* LOVESSSS spoiling you! you want a new shirt? she’ll get it. jewerly? already on it. something related to one of your interests or hobbies? yes. likes to get you flowers too, bonus if its your fave. she’s the type of girlfriend that pays close detail to things you like, she knows how to surprise you. she’s very good on details and attentive, just like you are to her about her favorite things.

* as a couple, she may like to do cute things together as painting each others nails or she may let you do her makeup (if you like makeup)

* matching bracelets or lockets is a must

* date nights consist of a simple restaurant date, shopping dates, movie night dates (whether it’s at her place or the theater) haunted house, amusement parks (you’ve gotten her a ghostface plushie before once), escape rooms, walks around the park esp at night bc it’s romantic (pre-ghostface killings)

*as the ghostface killings happen, you guys have your locations shared so you always know where each other are at. sometimes, she will follow you around as ghostface to make sure you get home safely from the bus stop or just anywhere in general really.

*definitely kills for you

*she tries to keep you out of the killings (and richie) from getting involved. when it came to wes’s party, she didn’t want you to go so she hid your keys to your car so you couldn’t drive there.

*definitely has argued with richie a few times about keeping you out of their plans so you don’t get hurt.

NSFW

* so first things first, shes definitely a boobs girl. like dont get her wrong, she loves all of you from the top to bottom of your body, but she gives special attention to your boobs. she doesn’t care if they’re small, big, or medium, she just loves your boobs. enjoys fondling them, sucking/licking them, etc. when you guys cuddle and she’s the little spoon, you let her lay on your boobs and she loves it. if you’re wearing a top that really shows off your bust, she might catch herself staring and checking you out🤭

*turned on by weight gain, she thinks its so sexy if she saw you gain weight in your ass, tummy, thighs, boobs, wherever! so if you ever feel insecure abt your body, ambs wouldn’t care, she loves you for you!

*loves seeing you in lingerie, it gets her in the mood so QUICKKK

* shes a switch but leans to tops and is definitely the dominant one in the relationship (top or bottom), it makes her feel like shes in control

* can be rough or very sweet but mainly rough

* has a high sex drive, she carries her strap on her all the time. in terms of g!p, she definitely can’t help but get hard when she’s around you majority of the time

* favorite positions: honestly she doesn’t care about positions, as long as she’s fucking you is what matters but she mainly likes one where she can see your face. missionary (loves to see your face and the facial expressions you give as you guys get down) and cowgirl (she loves seeing you ride her and enjoys the view of seeing your boobs bounce up and down as you ride her strap or (dick if we’re going down the g!p! route). she likes to have her hands on your hips and roughly move up and down your body. sometimes she wont touch you, and let you fuck on her as she gets to watch with a smirk.) standing missionary against the wall is another fave of hers too (she loves having your legs wrapped around her hips and giving u support with her arms)

* kinks: somnophilia, spanking, dacryphillia (gets turned on seeing you cry during her pleasuring you), roleplay (especially when you get to pretend you’re a “helpless victim” and she is portraying as ghostface chasing you down), knife kink (i mean would she really be ghostface if she didn’t hold a knife against your throat as she fucks you?), choking, loves pulling your hair, phone sex, mirror sex, praise kinks (use of “good girl” is heavily used), degrading kink (likes to call you names especially whore, that’s her favorite), daddy kink, public sex to an extent, tying kink (likes to tie your wrists up as she has sex with you occasionally), leash (i can see her putting one on reader's neck and pulling on it as she fucks)

*now about the daddy kink thing, when having sex with her she doesn’t care if you call her by her full name or whatever in sex when shes normally herself, BUT when shes mad or jealous, she prefers be called daddy, nothing else but that.

*about the video games thing, she loves seeing you ride her or suck her dick off when she plays them. she’ll return the favor when you play video games by eating you out or fingering you🫣

* enjoys facesitting (loves hearing your cute moans all for her while you ride her face, also vice versa she likes to ride yours too)

*uses sex toys while she fucks you sometimes (yes sometimes because amber wants you to feel good from her AND only her, and not the sex toy)

* dirty talker

* enjoys hate sex a lotttt, you guys just got into it and how will you repay her? fucking. the angrier she is, the better.

*has definitely taken sex toys in public when shes with you. she’ll take a remote and switch between low or high settings to just humiliate you if shes in playful or bad mood

* her strap on is DEFINITELY BLACKKK or purple lol

* loves to leave hickies and bite marks all over your body

*likes to mock your moans after sex if shes in playful mood

* fingers you with or without the ghostface gloves

*huge on sexting (mainly at school) esp if she wants to get you so flustered and embarrassed. the more flustered you are, the more she’ll tease you

*speaking of teasing, she loves to tease you too!

[thatonebirdwrites]

Realized a truth yesterday about how far I have come in my healing

My abuser destroyed my love and joy of writing. I've alluded to this story off and on, but honestly, the only time I ever came close to encapsulating the horrors of that time was the poetry I wrote during therapy.

In fact, the only things I wrote in this dark period of my life was either:

Poetry, which came at a great price.

Essays that I treated like a college assignment.

For several years, attempts to write anything were physically painful. I couldn't write my original fiction at all. Attempts to write fiction left me in spirals of panic, where I drowned in the flashbacks of my abuser.

The one consistent thing in my life had been stolen from me.

It slowly ate its way into everything I wrote, until I could barely write journal entries, and I've written in journals since first grade.

I tried everything to repair this, but that looming abyss of horror obliterated my attempts each time.

One of my chosen family offered a suggestion I'd never considered.

"Bird, what if you write fanfiction?"

But how does one undo years of hurt? Could fanfiction be the key to rediscovering a loophole in my trauma?

When I asked my chosen family, one of them countered with a question, "If there was one thing about a favorite show you'd change, what would it be?"

"Asami needed more screentime to explore her trauma," I replied. "Oh, and Lena and Kara from Supergirl deserved to kiss at Alex's wedding."

"Well, go write that."

Which sounded utterly terrifying. So I dabbled and wrote shorts to familiarize myself with the lore, but that wasn't helping me. It only spun me in circles. I kept tumbling back in the terrifying void that the abuser had hurled me into years ago.

Fanfiction was meant to be shared, right?

So I wandered to AO3, and I read a Korrasami story by Paxbanana. Then I read a supercorp story by @snowydragonscave.

Each word those authors painted on the page spilled hope into my veins. I discovered other stories through the tags on these tales.

These stories on AO3 brimmed with creativity, amazing talent, and lit the flames of a tenuous hope.

Maybe I could find my way back to fiction writing.

Maybe I could eventually return to my original SF novels.

Fanfiction might just be that loophole.

So I took tentative steps in the Korrasami fandom because it's smaller, quieter, and older than Supergirl's. The first fics I posted were not up to my usual writing standards, but it'd been so long since I really exercised my fiction writing muscles.

When I panicked about whether to share or not, my Legendfire chosen family deluged me with words of support. Reminded me that no matter what the response was, I deserved to be heard.

So I posted my fics to AO3 for the first time. The trickle of kudos and kind comments startled me.

People liked what I wrote?

It wasn't even good, I thought.

So I tentatively wrote more.

Then, after a sixth rewatch of Legend of Korra, I found myself wondering, "What if I rewrote Book 2 so that Korrasami happened by the end of it?" Then I wondered if there was a way to reveal Raava's tale piecemeal to Korra and the reader, and thus Book 2 of Shared Moments was born.

I wrote at a feverished pace because I was terrified that if I dared to stop and rest then I'd lose my ability to write fiction again, where the claws of my abuser's legacy would suffocate me once more.

Not a healthy approach, especially as my fear of loss almost burnt me out mentally and physically.

A new approach appeared after a week long, forced break from writing. I randomly read a ficlet by @fazedlight, and felt so compelled that I wrote a follow-up from Lena's perspective.

Not my best work honestly, but it taught me an important lesson. I don't have to write feverishly in a desperate bid to cling to the act of writing.

It hadn't left because I took a break (mind you, the break was partly due to a week long hospital stay, but that's not the point).

I was still able to write after a break.

The claws of my abuser had started to fade.

So I snatched up Kate and Kia from my original science fiction novel -- The Lost Ones -- and dived into a scene with them.

That was a mistake. It set me back. Panic soaked my neurons, dissociation stalked me, and I almost deleted all my fanfiction and nuked my AO3 and Tumblr from the agonizing pain of that set-back.

That's when I got a surprise message from a Korrasami fan @snazzy-korra, who wrote a wonderfully kind message. (Which became the start of a beautiful friendship). That saved me from my own urge to self-sabotage my own healing.

I put away all the original writing, and acknowledged I had not healed enough for it.

But fanfiction?

I could still write that, even if I never felt fully satisfied with the prose. So I returned to carefully staying in the fandom lane. I suspect this journey is why my fanfiction focuses heavily on healing.

A few weeks after that fateful start of a new friendship, I found some GIFs on Tumblr from Supergirl Season 4. The idea for the scene formed, and I tentatively wrote it and posted to AO3.

Also not my best writing. Honestly, I didn't really like it at first. I knew I write it better. That I had written better prose in the past, but I couldn't get past that suffocating terror of loss yet.

I named the fic Confession, and it became my first Supercorp fic on AO3. The amount of kudos and comments on that fic deluged me, and I almost drowned in the shock.

Korrasami felt like friends whispering stories to each other around a campfire.

Supercorp was a whole-ass writing and reading community that felt as big as a city.

To say I was a bit intimidated at first? Maybe terrified? Is putting it lightly.

But then I read more fanfiction by fazedlight, snowy, @luthordamnvers, nottawriter, and others. (One of them shared a link to a supercorp server, and I have a bad habit of collecting discord servers only to lurk out of fear of revealing how broken I am).

Little by little, fanfiction began to heal what I thought had become too shattered, too broken for me to ever recover.

Maybe writing could be a joyful act again.

At that time, I wasn't there yet. My soul still hurt. I still trembled in fear, shrouded in dissociation, lost in a feverish fog, desperate for any nugget of hope that healing was possible.

I didn't really understand how to interact with readers that first year of fanfic writing, and I made mistakes thinking I could befriend people. I still make that mistake, and I often end up hurt by it.

I didn't have to try to appease these readers and live up to what was impossible expectations that I set on myself. I didn't understand yet that fanfiction writing didn't mean I had to keep writing a story when reader's demanded.

Part of the healing process is relearning trust in my own mind.

I'm not there yet. I'm better, yes, but the healing is not a linear process.

A few months ago, I re-learned the lesson of how nonlinear healing truly can be. I reacted badly to someone who left a bizarre and accusatory comment on the most vulnerable fanfic I've ever written -- my Shattered fic.

Shattered was a fic where I poured my heart and soul into exploring my pain and healing, where I dared to share that with others in this fictional lens. I had not done this since before my abuser.

The accusations in the comment (and DMs) triggered massive flashbacks. I panicked, dissociated, and spiraled into a dark place, especially after reading the claim that 'that no one can stop another from writing.'

My wounds still bleed at times, where for several years of my life, my writing was stolen from me, ripped from my hands, torched by abuse, until I was nothing but a husk of a person.

This happened in the same week as my disability healing, and both threatened to torch my healing progress.

I came very close to deleting my AO3 account and Tumblr yet again.

Yet this time my friend, Raveneye's random picture of a cat reminded me of a crucial truth:

Reach out when in crisis.

@fazedlight and @nottawriter came to my aid right away, faster than even my LF chosen family (which is impressive). They talked me through the panic. They provided support when my mind was on fire, when I dissociated so bad that I lost days if not an entire week of time. Their encouragement and kind words prevented a major backslide in my healing.

While they helped me on that front, my LF chosen family showed me the evidence that my perception of reality is accurate.

That two-pronged approach rescued me from spiraling into a very, very dark place. (The disability hearing being that same week really was the icing on a major trauma cake.)

That incident is life reminding me yet again that healing is a nonlinear journey, but it's not one we must walk alone. We can reach out to others for support.

We may not know one another's stories until those stories are shared with each other, and even then, it's often not the full story. it takes time and effort to truly listen and seek common ground.

That's not easy to do, so finding a community of people who holds space for a shattered, broken husk of a person like myself? Where I mess up more than I can count? Who struggles against the spiral of panic and dissociation?

I never thought I'd ever find community again.

I realized recently that a piece of me still believed my abuser's claims that I'm unworthy of such care, that no matter how much love or support or hope I try to share with others, no matter what I write, no matter how hard I try to heal -- I was doomed and too broken for care or support.

But so many people have, often without realizing it, taught me that my abuser is wrong.

I am worthy of care and support.

And yes, it is possible to hurt someone enough to suffocate the words from them.

Because it happened to me.

But it's also possible to heal someone enough to rekindle their spirit.

Because that too has happened to me.

Re-learning how to write from my heart and soul? That is an ongoing journey I continue to this day.

It's why I write Shared Moments.

It's why I write Shattered.

It's why I write this meandering post. What I shared here is the tip of the iceberg of my journey. It's not the full story, as it can't be. That is beyond my ability to write in a nonfiction setting.

I can only share tidbits like this here and there.

But I am slowly rediscovering the heart of my writing -- where I explore my story through fiction. Where I explore themes I care about through fiction. Where I explore justice and healing and hope through fiction.

Can I lose all this yet again?

It's possible.

But I realized yesterday that even when people hurt me, intentionally or unintentionally, I no longer face it alone. Yes, sure, I might be physically isolated due to my disability, but through the power of the Internet, I found community despite that.

My abuser sought to rip me from my communities, from my Legendfire Chosen family, and slowly kill me. She almost succeeded, and for a few years, she did succeed in killing the one joy in my life -- writing.

But I found that joy again.

And I found it in fanfiction. Yes, it is true that I am still too hurt to write original fiction yet. This haunts me still, but I'm a step closer.

I have rebuilt connections with other people. I've found a new community who have been kind and welcoming. Who put up with my weirdness and fractured mess of a mind, who listen when I overshare, who let me listen to them in turn, who write with me, who share supportive messages.

When I mess up, they give me grace, accept my apology, and we work through it. When they hurt me, I do my best to offer the same, to try not to let the trauma speak for me.

Because of them, I have a fighting chance at surviving any future painful events.

Never underestimate the power of your words. Never underestimate the power of your presence.

I am here today, writing this, because of people whose writing and kindness helped me weave my spirit together again.

And to those people, I will forever be thankful.

May they never forget how amazing, how awesome, and how powerful they truly are.

Take care, and keep on writing, friends.

[perotovar]

hey sweeties!! kel and i put a list together of all the submissions we got for our event and split them into two masterlists of fics for you all to read and enjoy! this is my part of the list, so if you don't see yours give @beskarandblasters 's list >here< a look and see if that's where your fic/submission ended up!

we can't thank you enough for submitting and helping us give a voice to the smaller writers of the fandom ♥ oh, and for any multi chapter fics/series, we only read the first chapters to make it fair!

please make sure to read each fic's warnings carefully and happy reading! ♥

@iamskyereads - Compulsion (Ezra x ofc!Beatrice)

i can't even begin to describe how much i love this fic already. it's so smart and the worldbuilding?? incredible!! it feels like a sequel to the film, or like it could easily take place in the same universe. just brilliant. and ezra's voice is so clear here, i could hear him saying every word. and the oc, beatrice, is fascinating already, i can't wait to see where it goes!

@all-the-way-down-here - This Is Why We Fight (Dieter x nb!oc!Bell)

i love the start of this. both dieter and bell have excellent characterization and the conversations being had by every character feel so real and are so important. bell's group of friends all sound like friends i would have, and i would love to hang out with them. i love the direction this is going!

@linzels-blog - Delta Palms Tropical Resort (Frankie x f!reader)

ahh what a delightful little fic! it feels very much like an early 2000s rom com and i mean that in the best way! very cute and i love the vibes. everyone's characterization is great and i can't wait to sink my teeth into the rest of it!

@elvenmother - Context and Perspective (Marcus M x f!reader)

completely obsessed with this concept. i love a good enemies to lovers and this is such an awesome way to do it! i always see marcus m fics featuring someone without superpowers, but to have a character that's just as powerful as him? sign me up!

@kedsandtubesocks - In the Dead of the Night (Din x f!reader)

one of my absolute favorite din fics. the worldbuilding and din's creature form is incredible. i love a horror au that's flipped on its head. i also love the "creature is also the hunter" trope and this does that incredibly well. the atmosphere is off the charts.

@ghostofaboy - Rock Bottom (Frankie x original male characters)

god, i don't even know where to begin with this story. it's so raw and visceral and i can't say enough how much i enjoy it. i love reading something new and especially if it's coming from a male perspective. this is, unfortunately, something i could see frankie getting up to. frankie is such a deeply tragic character and this fic does that justice in a dark, but really intriguing way.

@ishabull - The Way We Were Drawn (Marcus P x f!reader)

ohh this is such a sweet fic. i love the imagery painted and the dynamic between marcus and reader is so sweet!

@secretelephanttattoo - Headshots (Marcus P x f!reader)

this fic is beyond sweet and so dreamy. the ideal scenario for anyone, in my humble opinion. who wouldn't want to take pictures of handsome fbi agents and then fall in love with said agent?

@lesbianhotch - you walk by and i fall to pieces (Frankie x f!reader)

THIS WAS THE CUTEST DAMN THING. i love me a nervous frankie (hello, have you read my fic lmao) and this was by far one of the cutest. i'm obsessed with reader's confidence and i just know those two are gonna be menaces once they're together. throw in some patsy cline and i am a goner. this is going on the reread list for sure.

@insomniamamma - Remain Nameless (Ezra & Cee w/ gn!reader)

ok, this one actually made me cry. i'm not sure if it's my own sleep-deprived ass that caused it but this is probably one of the most beautiful but sad fics i've read in a long time. i mean all of this in the best way because i don't normally get emotional from fics. prospect as a movie makes me emotional, though, so it doesn't surprise me that this did as well. it's such an incredible missing scene that i can, unfortunately, see absolutely happening. have some tissues nearby.

@sweetercalypso - Unlikely Friends (Joel x gn!reader)

this fic is one of my absolute favorite fics for joel. a big reason for that is i have a cat named tilly. and imagining joel reluctantly and grumpily cuddling with my tilly makes me emotional, ok??

@softstarlite - The Casualty of Love (Javi P x f!reader)

very cute! i love the awkward tension around not seeing someone for so long and there being a huge glow up maturity-wise from one of them! seeing someone in a new light is always a strange thing and i love the start to these two and their journey!

@julesonrecord - Shots (Jack x f!reader/oc)

probably one of the best post-movie fics i've ever read for jack. the way jack's trauma and therapy is handled is so fucking brilliant and tonic is one of the best fucking characters, god. eva is written so well and i just. i can't recommend this fic enough. if you like jack, hell even if you don't, give this fic a shot. i promise you'll come out of it liking it.

@coulsons-fullmetal-cellist - The Audition (Dieter x f!reader)

goddd this was so cute! dieter's insecurities don't come up very often and i absolutely love what a match he and reader make. she's so sweet with him and takes such good care of him. and he loves her so much and i love them ok

@max--phillips - A Little Lipstick Never Hurts (Max P x f!reader)

this is one of the best explorations into kink that i've ever read. it's so respectful and hot as fuck. completely obsessed with this take on max as a character and i can't get enough of the dynamic between him, reader, (and eventually dieter). it may not be everyone's cup of tea, but i highly encourage you to give it a try. max gets some well deserved lessons taught, and who doesn't love that?

@coastielaceispunk - The Gift of Lingerie (Max L x f!reader)

god, this was so fucking hot. i'm so here for a mentally healed maxwell in a healthy marriage with a fulfilling sex life lol the little bit of teasing on both their parts was beyond sexy and i loved how equal everything felt. ugh, will be rereading this one for sure.

@lotrefcp - Hidden Away (Javi P x f!reader)

i'm obsessed with a no nonsense reader with just as much attitude/sass as javi does lol i just kept reading going GET HIS ASS. an excellent start to a universe i'm excited to sink my teeth into!

@beefrobeefcal - On the Waterfront (Frankie x f!reader)

oh, this is dark. i love the vibes immediately. i've had a weird fascination with the mafia for most of my life and this has that air about it. a dark, chubby mob boss!frankie is right up my alley for sure. i love that he's still frankie tho. sensible, practical, but with an edge. mind the warnings.

@flightlessangelwings - La Estrella de Mi Vida (Javi G x f!reader)

ahhh so romantic and so tragic!! i swear, it's impossible to make javi unappealing but this fic is just so sweet and manages to make me love him even more (somehow). but i love the added drama and tension from outside forces!! i need to read the rest of it asap!

@littlemisspascal - Rockford & Roan (Tim x f!reader)

my god, i love this?? i'm not usually one for superpowers/soulmate au's but i'm in love with the practicality of this? it feels otherworldly without being too much and it's very grounded. i love the reader and the way tim is written is so believable. i love that we as a fandom have created such a visceral image of this character from only a minute's worth of footage!

@something-tofightfor & @the-blind-assassin-12 - Aphelion (Oberyn x Ellaria & f!reader)

goddd the imagery painted in this one. so heartbreaking. absolutely breathtaking. i'm a slut for vampires and i'm a slut for oberyn/ellaria. this is absolutely something i will be reading the rest of lol

@bluestar22x - The Rockford Files (Tim x f!reader)

ok this is insanely good. one of my favorite books of all time is "red dragon" by thomas harris and i felt like i was reading that again while i read this. the details of the case and the cadence of everything was top notch. obsessed with the psychic element thrown in there and i'm beyond excited to see where tim and psy end up next!

bonus:

@sweetenerobert - Fiction vs Reality (Tommy Miller x m!reader)

ohhhh my god. you give me a bisexual tattoo artist tommy miller with stretched ears and i'm supposed to be normal about it??? UNLIKELY. i am extremely tempted to edit this into reality ngl but my god. this was so fucking hot lmao

[fallenbaroness]

I wanna talk about Jacob Seed.

I think its impossible not be impressed by him during his presentation. He doesn't raised his voice all time, he dosent need that. His confidance is admirable. He knows he's right and don't care about makeing you believe on him: he knows you gona see for yourself sooner or later. I get fascinated by him.

You know, it would be too easy and kinda lazy just painted him as a tough brutalized military man. No, that's not suits Jacob. I was curious about understanding him.

According The Book Of Joseph, the eldest Seed brother took the most of the violence from their father, the Old Men Seed. But Jacob could handle that, after all, he is the bigest one and all he cares about is protecting his younger siblings. He despise his father for that, but he endure because of his brothers. Jacob know he could deal with all the beating, even Joseph could handle sometimes, but not the youngest one, not John. And when the violence of their father fall upon John, Jacob revide. And he got beaten even more.

You see, Jacob was the one who protects, the one who takes care. He is the one his brothers look for protection, care and affection. The one they look for love.

But all the bruises that the Old Man Seed left on the back of the young John call the atention of the teachers. And sooner, the three Seed brothers ended in a foster care.

It suposed to be the beginning of a normal life for them, filled with love and care.

But it was not.

The Seed brothers was adopted by a couple who wants workers to explore, nothing more. Not sons. And the world once again shows to the brothers his ugliest face. But this time, Jacob did something about: he sets the property of their foster family on fire.

Also, this time was diferent. This time the Seed brothers are separated from each other. Jacob ended in a juvenile center and later, his joined the military.

During his time in the army, Jacob see many horrors, many violence. But violence is something that Jacob knows how to deal with. After all, he grow up dealing with that every day. In the army, Jacob have been condecorated many times, he got respect and has his own group to leader. He becomes an major model of what a soldier should be. A war hero.

Until hes not.

Until Miller, his companion in army, colapse and Jacob have to take the most biggest decision of his life to keep going on. This and all the things he saw endende up breaking him completely. After all the bruises he accumulated, after have been burned during his service, his was discarted. Dismissed. He leave the army broken and traumatized. Jacob go to a veterans health center, but when he run out of money, they just left him in the streets.

Jacob was alone and broken. Not an expected ending to a war hero. They put in the record that Jacob has died and stop paying him. That's way his run off money and have to live in the streets. This is so fkng cruel.

When John and Joseph finally finds him, according The Book of Joseph, Jacob was in a shelter for homeless people, crying during his sleep, calling from his brothers. That is so heartbroken.

I mean, can you imagine Jacob Seed like that? When we saw him in the game, majestic, strong and confident, do you imagine him crying saying his brothers names?

Once Jacob was reunited with his siblings, he finds his purpose. He is the one who protects and he will guarantee that no one will ever separate them again.

Jacob is fascinating.

I find amazing that is he the one who play with our minds. The one who brainwashes us. Makes us his tool. Without raise his voice even once. And Jacob is so well constructed that during his trials, I find myself looking for his approval.

He is my favorite Seed.

I need to write about him.

[hvly]

most prized secret ft. getou suguru

— ⋆｡˚｡⋆ ｡˚ 𓆩𖥔𓆪 ˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆ —

sᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ : posted this on the wrong blog, but look who’s finally here ! i told y’all i’d post it on tuesday 🤭 never said which tuesday though. it was a long time coming, but i finally delivered. thank you @gayblade & @cu7ie for the help. truly saved this from going in the trenches. happy halloween, everybody 👹

𓆩𖥔𓆪 — disclaimer ! the following contains: getou's a straight up freak, kidnapping, body horror/amputation, mention of blood, wound kissing(?) implied noncon, reader is referred to as “his girl”, but there’s nothing gender specific

𓆩𖥔𓆪 — word count : 3.2k

“These are so pretty ! They don’t even look like they were ever damaged !” the woman exclaimed, gently placing her palm against the glass that separated her from the porcelain doll on the other side.

Getou smiled warmly as the woman marveled at the massive display of antique dolls, her head turning slowly in awe as she explored his workshop.

The last thing anyone would expect Getou Suguru to do for a living was play with dolls. Or at least that’s how it came across when he would casually say he collects and fixes antiques. When he was met with disbelieving stares and surprised “oh wow’s”, he would offer to show them his shop and let his handiwork do all the talking for him. He knew most people found it strange that a grown man would spend time fixing up dolls intended for little girls and lonely old ladies, but there was much more to it than that.

“They are, aren’t they?” he smiled, hands buried into the pockets of his smock as the woman continued to admire the delicate figures. She nodded, mouth agape as she returned to the counter Getou was leaning against. “You really fixed all of these up by yourself?” she asked, eyes unable to stray from the dolls on display for too long. Getou hummed, pushing himself off of the counter’s edge to admire his art. He opened a case, carefully taking out a doll in a white and blue laced dress into his hands, smoothing her honey blonde hair down her back as he gazed at her.

“When these precious things get sent to me, most of them are in pretty good shape.” He muses, rubbing a thumb over the doll’s delicate face. “Some are just a little dirty and faded. Nothing a little soap, water, and paint can’t fix. Others, like this pretty girl here,” he says, gently holding up the figure for the woman to see, “Are stripped of their beauty entirely.” He places the doll back on its display, slowly closing the case once it’s secured safely in place. “Broken with missing pieces, clothing torn; stripped of all their luster and dignity.”

Getou’s expression darkened a bit, his hands lingering on the display handles for a moment longer. “That someone could show such little care to something so delicate; it bothers me,” he said, indignation clear in his tone.

“But, no matter !” he exclaimed, throwing out his arms with a flourish, “I give them all the care they need to be returned to their former glory.” The woman stared, taking in all of what he had said. There was no doubt that he was talented at his craft. Restoring them didn’t seem easy, considering how half, if not all, could’ve been older than either one of them. It was nothing short of impressive.

Her eyes landed on the figurine Getou was previously holding, the doll’s subdued features a stark contrast to the rest of her bright lolita-esque appearance. “Is that one your favorite then?” the woman asked, motioning to the case the doll was in. Getou peeked over his shoulder to where she was pointing before turning back around, a gentle smile on his face as he answered.

“I love all my girls. But,” he paused, turning on his heels slightly. He motioned for the woman to come closer and whispered the last part, as if to not offend any of the dolls. “To be honest with you, there’s one I’m still working on that might just take that spot.”

The woman’s eyes lit up with intrigue as she looked around once more. Getou silently walked behind the counter as her head whipped from side to side in search of his current work in progress. He undid his smock and pulled the paint splattered piece over his head, his long raven hair messily draping his shoulders. The woman approached again as he was pulling his hair up into a more manageable style.

He smiled kindly as she returned, grabbing his apron and wiping his hands on a spot that was relatively clean. “Were you able to find what you were looking for?” he asked playfully, fully aware that the woman was never going to. The woman sighed in defeat, shaking her head with a good natured laugh. “No, but I doubt you’d just have an unfinished project out in the open for all to see, right?” she said, taking one last glance around the many cases in the store.

Getou chuckled lightly as he hung up his apron. “Well, this one’s a bit of a passion project. So it’s for my eyes only I’m afraid,” he spoke over his shoulder before turning to move from behind the counter space. “I like to work on it when I have some free time,” he added, kicking one leg over the other and leaning slightly against the counter’s edge. He stood with his fingers interlocked, a patient smile on his lips.

The woman hummed, catching onto Getou’s silent signal that it was time to wrap up her little visit. “Well, that’s a shame. I’m sure it would’ve been beautiful,” she said, pushing herself from the counter to take her leave. Getou thanks the woman for the compliment, walking her to the store’s entrance. The overhead bell rings as he opens the door for her, the conversation coming to an end with ‘thank yous’ and ‘take cares’ being exchanged.

Getou stands at the store entrance, waving after her until he was certain she was out of sight. With a sigh, he locked the front door and flipped the “open” sign to “close”, signaling the end of his day.

“Now then,” he muttered, walking over to a display far in the back and reaching behind it. A loud click sounded from behind the shelves before it began to slowly swing open, rumbling softly as it did. An engraved wooden door revealed itself from behind the shelf, an intricate design carved into the mantel overhead. Getou dug a key out of his pocket, unlocking the hidden door and pushing it open.

The heavy door groaned as it slowly opened, a steady shhh as the bottom of it dragged across the floor. The inside of the room was barely lit, overcasted in a soft white light. It wasn’t enough to see anything in detail, but it was enough to make out there was indeed furniture. A bitter sweet smell permeated throughout the room. A combination of cleaning products and a faint trace of a sickeningly sweet perfume. Getou clicked his tongue upon the scent hitting his nostrils, his face scrunched up in discontent. He had to remember this room didn’t have the greatest ventilation system and to maybe tone back the cleaning.

Getou reached over to the light switch, slowly turning the dial to an appropriate brightness. The room was cutely decorated, cream colored walls with various accents of soft pinks and white. Pretty stuffed animals and plush throw pillows were scattered freely (but neatly) around the room. It looked like something straight off of a soft girl’s pinterest board.

Well…with the exception of the operation cart and the statuesque person who sat silently in bed in the farthest corner of the room.

“Hello, my love,” he said, his voice soft as he made his way across the room. “I see you’re sitting up today. That’s quite the improvement,” He gazed at you tenderly, his hand gently caressing your face. He placed a gentle kiss on your temple and his lips lingered for a few seconds longer before he moved back, a placid smile gracing his features. You made no motion that would suggest you acknowledged his presence or if you even recognized someone was there to begin with.

You stared far off into the distance, eyes void of any emotion or awareness. Getou tucked his leg under him as he sat on the bed, pulling the medical cart placed beside it closer to his side. An array of medical instruments were neatly lined up on the stainless steel tray, along with various bandages, gauzes and antiseptic cleaning sprays. “Maybe we'll work on using our voice today, hmm?” He asked as he pulled on his latex gloves, watching you intently as they snapped against his skin.

You blinked at the sound, something reminiscent of a flinch. Getou cooed at your – frankly, interpreted – reaction, his hands coming to gingerly cup your face. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, dearest,” he reassured, rubbing calming circles on your cheeks with his thumbs. He adjusted to face you, carefully pulling the blanket that covered you to the side to reveal what should have been your legs.

Instead, there was a white casting that ended right before the knee. Same for your arms, surgical tape wrapped securely around where the rest of your forearm would be. Getou exhaled, cautiously taking one of your legs into his hand. He slowly and carefully unwrapped the material, going over and under in one smooth motion until it was fully unraveled into a pile on the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief upon the sight of your wound. The dark purple bruises along the stitches were clearing up, fading nicely into your natural hue. The stitches themselves also seemed to be faring well, the material less prominent against your skin from when it was first put there.

The wound was in the early stages of healing, your skin starting to mend back together with a fresh scab to aid in the process. Getou rubbed a gloved thumb along the suture before looking back at you with a small grin. “It’s healing really well,” he said, reaching over to grab gauze and saline solution to care for your stitches. He hummed to himself as he wet the cloth, being careful not to over saturate it. “In a couple more days, I’d say these stitches will completely dissolve.”

With his free hand Getou steadied your leg and prepared to clean your wound. He glanced at you one more time. “Alright, you know the drill. If you feel any discomfort,” he paused, giving your thigh a firm but gentle squeeze. “Let me know.” The last bit sounded something like a plea rather than a general statement. You continued to stare flatly at the wall and Getou took your occasional blinks as confirmation that you understood him.

Getou took a deep breath before exhaling, dabbing the damp gauze along the stitches. Once it was thoroughly cleaned, he took a dry gauze and patted it dry. He quietly repeated this process again on your other leg, the clattering of objects on the surgical tray being the only sound in the room. As he worked, Getou let his mind wander to fill the silence.

How long has it been since he last heard your voice? A couple weeks now? Maybe longer? God, it felt like an eternity had passed since then.

You were someone who frequented Getou’s shop often. Bouncing around display cases, enamored by the beauty of the countless dolls, childlike wonder dancing in your eyes. At first he paid you no mind, treating your visits like he would an elderly woman coming to reminisce and tell him stories of “how she had a doll just like this” when she was younger. Polite and available if you had any questions or just wanted him to lend an ear. But the more you visited, the more he felt drawn to you. Your guilelessness intrigued him, your excitement to see dolls you had already seen at least 50 times by now never waning.

Then one day you bounded up to him, smile wide and eyes bright. 

Full of joy and genuine curiosity. It was like a bottle of pure sunshine was opened right in the center of his shop. He felt warm in his soul when you looked at him, your jovial energy palpable and infectious to any and everybody. Getou couldn’t remember when he genuinely felt so calm and happy in the presence of another person. He wanted to bottle up this feeling and get drunk off it for the rest of his life. 

“Do you have any new dolls you’re working on? I’d love to see it when you finish.” 

 At the time, he hadn’t received any damaged or donated dolls. But he knew at that moment, you were what his shop was missing. What he was missing. Among the shelves upon shelves of porcelain figurines he possessed, he had nothing that encapsulated what you embodied. Full of glee, full of youth, full of wonder. He needed you for his shop. For himself.

In the beginning, you kicked and screamed, swearing someone would find you and expose him for the sick bastard he was. Cursing his existence and spewing phrases and words that he was positive you didn’t mean. Getou let you vent your frustrations with no threat of punishment. He let you scream, hit, bite as much as you wanted. It worked more in his favor than it did yours. Besides, it’s not like you could run away. He had made sure of that from the start. But now…

Getou was pulled from his thoughts when he heard something. A choked cry. Your voice.

“____?” He snapped his head up with wide eyes, sure his ears were deceiving him. He looked at you in stunned silence.  Your face was wet with sadness, tears and snot steadily streaming  down your cheeks and collecting to drip off your chin. Your mouth was open as your chest rose and fell rapidly, occasional sniffles and whines leaving your lips. Getou’s eyebrows scrunched in concern, his hands instinctively coming up to wipe your face. “What’s wrong?”

He paused, gloved hand inches away from your tear stained cheek. Where his palm should have been blue, it was red. He looked down at your leg, quietly gasping at the sight. The sheets underneath you had also been stained, a consistent line of crimson seeping from the once closed wound. Your stitches had torn from the pressure, peeling back your scab and opening your wound again. That would’ve been an easy enough fix had Getou not been lost in his thoughts and applying anything but gentle care to it. 

He clicked his tongue, cursing under his breath at his negligence. He removed his gloves, tossing them somewhere on the ground and cupping your face with his hands. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said softly, wiping underneath your eyes with his thumbs. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You know that, right?” He looked at you fondly, but expectantly. Silently praying that after so long, you’d acknowledge him again. That you wouldn’t look at him with empty, blank eyes. 

That you’d speak to him again.

He searched your misty eyes for that sign, but was met with nothing but silent tears and quiet sniffles. Getou sighed and stood from the bed, gathering the soiled bandages and gloves to be disposed of. He made his way across the room, opening a drawer to gather more bandages to dress your wound. Various sized bandages rolled to the front, snow white fabric unraveling then neatly wrapping itself back up. Getou stood for a moment, hands placed on either side of the counter space. 

He gripped the corners tightly, the cool marble squeaking underneath his hands as he stared into the drawer. He was so close to hearing your voice. So close to that pure, unadulterated joy you possessed. And you were denying him that. Was this your way of trying to get back at him? Keeping him from the one thing he wanted most? What he so desperately needed?

Getou was a relatively patient man. He could wait for the things that were worth it. But, this? You? There was no more waiting. 

He closed the drawer and turned on his heels in your direction, taking steady strides back to your bedside. Your eyes were closed now and your breaths were steady and even. Getou’s gaze was locked on your face. Dried tears streaked your cheeks, giving you the appearance of a crying angel. Even so, you were still as beautiful as ever. He sat in his previous spot, looking down at your reopened wound. 

The opening glistened in the soft lighting, the former trail of blood drying and beginning to start the process of scabbing again. He hovered a finger over the tear, following the outline down to the blood soaked sheet. He would never hurt you. He lowered himself to your residual limb and gently kissed it, following the stitch line. He continued leaving kisses up your leg, leaving a trail of  bloody lip prints up to your thigh

Getou peeked up at you, lips still pressed to your supple skin.  You stayed still, eyes still shut as if you didn’t feel a thing he was doing. He would never hurt you. Getou opened his mouth to let his teeth graze against your skin, saliva dripping out of his mouth. He bit into it  hard enough to leave a mark, but not hard enough to really hurt. His black eyes were trained on you, ready to catch any change. 

He bit harder, spit dripping down your leg. His other hand snaked up to cup your leg, fingers sliding underneath it. His knuckles rested on the bloodied sheets as his thumb traced over your wound. He would never hurt you. Getou pressed lightly into it, his digit being met with soft meat. 

Your eyes fluttered for a moment, but remained closed. Getou frowned, digging his teeth into the meat of your thigh. He would never hurt you. A small whimper rumbled in your throat, your eyebrows scrunched together in discomfort. Getou kept biting while continuing to push his thumb into you. You were almost there. He just wanted to hear your voice. The last thing he wanted to do was..

“Pl-”

His mouth was no longer attached to your thigh and he felt a cool breeze on his thumb. You were looking at him again, eyes wide open. You looked like a frightened deer. Big eyes glittering with tears that threatened to spill with one blink. Your lip quivered as you opened your mouth. Getou sat up, watching you intently. 

Your voice barely came out above a whisper. It was shaky and breathy. “Pl…Please…stop. Hurts.” 

Getou stared silently before chuckling softly to himself. He pushed a few strands of hair out of his face, an unsettlingly soft smile spreading across his face. He inched closer to you, stopping mere inches from your face.  You looked away, eyes averted towards the ceiling to keep yourself from crying.. He gently pulled your chin back in his direction, stroking your bottom lip with his bloodied thumb before kissing you. 

“There’s my girl,” he breathed. He placed kisses along your jaw and into the crook of your neck, whispering sweet words into your skin with each one. You took a shaky breath, closing your eyes tight as he slowly ran his hands up your sides and under your gown. “Please…,” you whispered, warm tears beginning to stream down your face. Getou shushed you, placing a kiss to your wet cheek. He looked at you with the same kind and tender eyes he had when you came to visit him in his shop. The same eyes that lured you here. And you couldn’t help but sob

“You know I’ll never hurt you. I take care of all of my girls.”

© 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 hvly 2023. 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧y.

— ⋆｡˚｡⋆ ｡˚ 𓆩𖥔𓆪 ˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆ —

[see-arcane]

The most screwed up thing about this particular "sexual liberation via undead serial killer" cliche is that in this case main female character literally dies in the process of such "liberation". Which remake now clearly tries to frame not as her own heroic actions of bravery and kindness and unselfishness, but as her fullfilling some of her deathwish and dark desires for vampire and whatever and as something which is now good for her (!), hey look people she's actually happy now. Barf.

The hell of it is that, on the one hand, this kind of framework really can work well in the horror genre. All the most alarming and/or deplorable themes of a narrative are welcome under that umbrella. Horror needs no moral, no happy ending, no healthy relationships. I see all that and it delights me. If I were to take some fragments of Eggers' interview answers at face value, I could really get behind the concept of these characters as he's painting them.

A leading lady who even as she Knows what she's doing is Wrong, throws herself at it anyway.

I could get behind the Conqueror Undone by Fixation.

The Plotting Zealot who Sacrifices Others for the Greater Good.

Even the Sole Innocent Standing/Technical Final Girl being the grieving husband who wanted to protect a loved one even when he knew she did not want him, arriving too late to see she'd chosen mutual destruction with her problematic undead crush rather than staying to live as the good wife she knew she could never be.

On the surface? This is all really good classic gothic fucked up shit. I might even do cartwheels if this was an original film in the veins of The Witch or The Lighthouse, both of which are A+ depictions of corruption arcs steeped in the supernatural. This is Bobby Egg's jam!

The poison comes in when, once again, we see just whose names and plot Eggers has stapled onto these figures. It really is a Dracula adaptation in all but title, because he's following in the exact same bullshit footsteps as his predecessors. These characters are not his. For as closely cloned as they are from Bram Stoker's cast and story, Orlok, Ellen, Thomas and the rest are F.W. Murnau's creations, born in his original Nosferatu.

Werner Herzog could recognize that (even if he got weird about the Dracula cast renaming for ??reasons??) and kept the foundation of the story and characters intact even as he built on top of them. Herzog didn't hollow out the cast and stuff his OCs into their skins to play out his fanficified 2 goth 4 U versions of them. The Count's tragedy buried in his compulsions, the proactive nature and power of the female lead, the miserable tragic result of her husband's unchecked contamination leading to the blow of oh god, we did everything right and the nightmare will continue anyway...that's all from potential that Murnau left in his film and Herzog ran with it.

Eggers' version of Nosferatu is, by contrast, shaping up to be a more elaborate version of Francis' wet dream, just without all the fancy costumes and reincarnation BS. No, it's not Count Chadracula Gary Oldman, but Orlok is still the Dark and Powerful Other Man who the Girl One reeeally wants due to her Secret Gothdark Nature and Long Distance Horniness which meek and mincing little Jonathan Thomas simply cannot satisfy..!

Like. Bobby. You know how to make an original story. You do. This, here, is clearly your story. It has Black Phillip's hoof prints all over it. It has the Lighthouse's cosmic toxic radiance. Every hint and line and trailer so far is painting it all in your very recognizable colors. And I would be so ready to love it like I have your others.

If only I didn't know you had to wring the neck of one of my other favorite stories to empty out its carcass and graft the hide on to your 'reinvention' that is in every way just a goth-grimier cousin to Coppola's take. Fittingly, it's not unlike what Murnau did to Stoker's work. 'I want to do that too, but slightly to the left.' Well, you're doing it. One hundred percent.

And it makes me so deeply, sadly disappointed.

[siblingskissing]

vance hcs pleeeeease 🤲

Vance Hopper Headcanons

-Momma's boyMomma's boyMomma's boyMomma's boyMomma's boyMomma's boy -Vance has anger issues that I believe are both trauma based and also possibly an undiagnosed disorder/mental health issue. It was the 70s so he likely wouldn't have been diagnosed but you see what I mean -He's not rich but he's also not dirt poor either. I imagine his dad probably has a really nice job and forced his mom to be a housewife/caregiver 24/7. That being said- Vance has a pretty humble mindset when it comes to finances despite the fact -When Vance went missing he was out walking after a fight with his old man- likely had some bruising already when the Grabber tried coaxing him into helping him. I feel like Vance probably didn't try to help but rather tried to fight him and that's how he grabbed him

- (I'm not gonna go into my headcanons for his captivity in this post but I will happily do a separate post if yall want that)

-Vance hates sweets but sour candy has a grip on his soul -He also loves salty foods

-His style is inspired by both his own need to rebel but also his mom's style when she was younger. I think she had hair similar to this:

-I think she actually has dark hair to and the color comes from his dad's side

-Vance actually is really smart and would do well in school if he was given the chance. however, do to both his environment and his temper he can't actually show that -He loves dogs. He prefers cats some days but he likes to feed the stray dogs that sit in the alleys -He loves bananas. Ever since he was a toddler he would munch on them. His mother once got concerned that he had a potassium issue. Nope. Just likes banana -He's allergic to kind of a lot. Cinnamon, peanuts,almonds, eggs, honestly he has a laundry list of allergens that his mom keeps handy -Thankfully most of his allergies (minus the peanuts and almonds) are mostly just irritants so he can still eat things he likes. However those two will kill him. -He likes horror films but isn't huge on them. He'll sometimes sneak into the drive in to watch them but that's more for the rush than the actual film. His favourite horror film is Halloween -I don't have a specific sexuality headcanoned for him. I guess most people would say Pansexual but i think he's unlabelled. He doesn't like many people but if he gets involved with someone? Well, good for them. -chocolate chip pancakes lover -Watches the Twilight Zone with his mom every week. His favorite episode is 'To Serve Man' - Vance always secretly wanted to be a firefighter when he got older. He thought they were cool and when he was like 5 he used to play with his mom that he was a firefighter rescuing her. - His favourite ice cream flavour is vanilla. He does not care that it's basic, he likes the simplicity and how its not too sweet. -Same reason he likes dark chocolate. -IDK why but I imagine him as an older brother?? Maybe his mom had a little girl after him or was pregnant when he went missing. -IDK but either way he is so protective. -He hates reading with a passion. He hates silence and he hates being silent the entire time he reads. He does however enjoy when people read to him/he can follow along with someone reading. -Rip vance you would've loved audiobooks -Know how I said he likes horror? He HATES horror stories. They aren't as fun for him and he things they're boring -I imagine he has a very clean room for some reason?? Like he likes things to be in their place, how he likes it and its organized for his needs -Kinda similar in the idea of this?? Like i doubt he has tons of decor but he has what he needs

-Secret art kid. He's really good at drawing but doesn't do it much outside of his room. He prefers traditional pencil drawings since paint leaves too much residue but if he gets his hands on colored pencils? He flourishes. -rip vance you would've loved alcohol markers-