#it was one thing to break up him and drac

[freaky-flawless]

Does Mattel think people dislike Clawd?

Do people dislike Clawd???

[frenchkisstheabyss]

⛧ 𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 ⛧

⛧ Pairing: poly!slasher!minsung x chubby!fem!reader

⛧ Genre: slasher au/horror/fluff/angst

⛧ Summary: It's Halloween 1996, you've just broken up with your toxic ex, and there's a killer on the loose. When you go to the local video store to find your next distraction, you run into your longtime crushes who have their hearts set on looking after you. But you must be careful. Not everyone's who they appear to be.

⛧ Word Count: 2.1k

⛧ Warnings: brief discussion of murder, implied possessive ex, intro to knife play if you squint, suggestive, psycho Minsung, you probably have a killer fetish, & that's all my loves. It's otherwise quite fluffy tbh.

⛧ A/N: I'm starting this series as my love letter to 90's slasher films aaaand because I just love Minsung. I'm writing this in "tapes" instead of chapters for ✨ ambiance ✨ so I hope the vibes come across. I'm already working on part two so I'll have my knives and fingers crossed you babes enjoy this one.

💀 >>> Go to Tape 2 >>> 💀

A bell dings overhead as you step through the door of Topline Video. A crowd of middle school kids dart by, nearly knocking you over in their excitement to get home with some cheesy slasher flick they definitely shouldn’t be watching. All are in full costume, wearing the kind of plastic masks that smell sorta funny when you put them on. 

The kid dressed as a goblin turns back for a second, peeling up the murky green mask to reveal an apologetic face. “Sorry, lady!” he shouts, taking your gentle smile as a sign of forgiveness and racing to catch up to his friends. “Lady?” you whisper to yourself, the door creaking shut behind you, “Great, now I feel ancient.” 

Lucky for you there’s no time for an existential crisis as you’re swept into the frenzy of the video store. The walls are packed with what must be a thousand VHS tapes. Double sided displays line the aisles with hundreds more. Every one of them is some brand of horror movie with even the most obscure subgenre present. 

Black and orange streamers travel from one end of the ceiling to the next with tiny spiders dangling from them. Giant skeletons lurk in the corners guarding jack o lanterns with flickering eyes. Every year people eat it up but this year is particularly spooky. It sends a shiver down your spine when you recall why. 

“I heard they found another leg” a red haired girl says, casually smacking on a piece of bright pink bubblegum. Beside her a shorter girl files through tapes under a large bloody hand drawn sign reading SERIAL KILLERS.

“I thought they already found both of his legs. A guy can’t have three legs.”

The red haired girl shakes her head, smiling mischievously. “That is not true. I hooked up with him once. You could for sure consider that thing a third leg.” The girls break into a fit of giggles. Dodging their insensitivity, you squeeze yourself into the Monster Movie section. 

“Hey Drac” you sigh, staring up at the Dracula cutout looming over you, “I live in a town of idiots.” “You don’t mean everyone, do you?” a voice answers back with the worst Dracula impersonation you’ve ever heard. Suspicious that it isn’t coming from the cardboard cutout, you peek around to see a familiar face stocking the shelves. 

Your heart immediately begins to flutter, a blanket of warmth encompassing you. Han Jisung. If you flip through the dictionary you’ll find him under D for dreamy. The glow of the setting sun kisses his dark curly hair, making it almost sparkle. And those brown eyes, they’re so…no…keep it together. 

“That’s a terrible Dracula voice” you tease, arms folded across your chest. “I don’t know what you mean. Bleh, bleh, bleh” he carries on, pretending to bare his fangs. Now it’s you who’s giggling and you can’t stand how easily he gets you to.

“You are such a dork, Han.”

Returning to his normal voice he only shrugs, “But that’s why you’re so insanely in love with me isn’t it?”

His words intensify the heat moistening your palms. Fidgeting with the sleeves of your jean jacket, you wrack your brain for some witty response only for nonsense to tumble out. 

“No. What? I…uh…um…early.” 

Popping a copy of Megaverse Massacre 2 onto the shelf, Han raises an eyebrow at you, “Early?”

Your brain finally catches up to your mouth and you spit it out. “Uh, yeah, early. I heard you guys were closing early because of the…” 

“Body hacking psycho killer?” a voice cackles, gripping your shoulders from behind. You let out a blood curdling scream that draws the attention of a few nearby shoppers. Swinging around, your fist ready to dish out a debilitating gut punch, you come face to face with Lee Minho. You haven’t quite decided if he can be filed under “dreamy” or “asshole” yet.

Minho grins, never finding you cuter than when he’s getting on your nerves. “I’m sorry, babe. Didn’t hurt you did I?” he teases, straightening out your clothes with a gentleness you weren’t expecting. The sun’s doing that thing again. The sparkle. The glow. The radiant brown eyes searching yours, threatening to make you fall even deeper into them than you already have.

Han dips between the two of you, separating you before you rip Minho’s head off. “I’m sorry. Really. He was deprived of air in the womb. Being an asshole’s just a side effect.” 

Over Han’s shoulder Minho frowns, “Hey! Rude much?” Digging into his pocket, Han pulls out a lollipop. It’s sugar blown into the shape of a blood drenched kitchen knife. “Are you bribing me with a sugary murder weapon?” you ask, staring at it skeptically. Han flashes you a close lipped smile, his cheeks so fluffy it’d be a crime to deny him.

Snatching the lollipop you waste no time popping the wrapper off and tapping Minho on the head with it. “Hey! What was that for?” he winces, wiping lollipop residue from his head. “Sorry, babe” you grin, sucking on your tool of revenge, “Didn’t hurt you did I?” Han buries his face in his hand but it does nothing to hide the joy he takes in his best friend’s pain. 

This is nice. Laughing with someone. With them. It’s been a while since you felt this light around other people. The recent weight on you hasn’t been of some invisible boogeyman sneaking off with one of your limbs. No, your boogeyman was someone you knew well, or at least thought you did, and he’s haunted you every chance he can.

Speak of the devil…

A bell dings, drawing your attention to the door where a man in a demon mask scans the room for someone. You recognize him immediately. Those boots. Those pants. That flannel shirt you always found totally hideous on him. Your heart sinks, the lollipop in your hand tumbling to the floor.

You see Minho and Han’s hearts sink too. It’s as if they sense that any joy you’d been feeling just went down the drain that instant. Minho whispers something into Han’s ear. You can’t make out what, only the calculated tone of his voice. “Hey!” Han says, perking up again, “We’re having a movie night tonight. You should come.”

As the man in the demon mask spots you, your eyes dart back and forth between the men. “A movie night? Sure that would be…I’d like that.”

Han takes you by the hand, “Wicked. Come on, you can pick a movie from the back.” He leads you towards the backroom just as the man advances towards you. Peeking over your shoulder you spot Minho blocking his way. A quick left turn stops you from seeing what happens next, filling your vision instead with tattered old movie posters.

Passing a few of Han’s coworkers, you wave politely and they smile in return. The back room’s like a dustier, quieter version of the sales floor. The walls are still lined with tapes, only there’s no way these have been watched any time in the past decade. Through the dust you see the spine of a tape titled Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 4.

“That one” you decide, stopping dead in your tracks.

Han stops too, squinting to spot what caught your eye, “A woman of taste I see.” 

Pulling it from the shelf, he blows the dust away and hands it to you. “Only the finest for you.”

You feel that lightness again. It's easy to feel it when he smiles at you like this. Such an unexpected but welcomed sense of safety. “Han, thanks for…” you start but the surprise sensation of his lips pressed to yours makes anything you were about to say feel insignificant.

With one hand still holding yours, his other hand comes to rest on your lower back. Your lips are somehow softer than he’d imagined. Even in the absence of the lingering strawberry flavored lollipop, he knows they’d taste just as sweet. Minho’s gonna kill him when he finds out that he kissed you first but nothing could be more worth it.

“Thank me by not worrying about your ex,” he says, “He won’t bother you anymore. I promise.” 

You want to tell him how much he doesn’t understand. That your ex doesn’t give up that easily. But you decide not to ruin the moment, even if letting yourself believe him feels delusional. “Jisung, we need you up front!” one of his coworkers shouts back. He hesitates, unsure if he should leave you or not.

You kiss him first this time, turning him loose, “Go. I’ll be fine back here. Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 1-3 have gotta be rotting around here somewhere right?” One last kiss and he’s rushing back up front, clueless as to how he’s supposed to focus on anything else now.

Turning back to the shelf you realize how big of a challenge you’re in for. Maybe there’s a feather duster somewhere? Or a respirator mask?

“Give it here. That has to be wrong.” Minho approaches the kitchen counter where you sit, playfully swinging your feet. He reaches for the magazine in your hand but you clutch it tightly to your chest, refusing to fork it over.

“Live with it, Minho. You are Suspicious Boyfriend.” 

“Suspicious boyfriend” Han sings, retrieving a bag of freshly popped popcorn from the microwave, “I think it has a ring to it.”

Hopping down from the counter, you skip your way over to Han extending the magazine and the pen in your hand out to him. “Your turn, Hannie.” You see the skepticism all over his face but don’t give up. All torture must be equal after all.

“I’ll take that” Minho smiles, stealing the popcorn for himself.

“Sure. Why not?” Han surrenders, grabbing the magazine and the pen. You and Minho watch on, far more amused than you should be, as Han skims the pages checking off answers to silly personality questions. Pick a country to travel to. Pick a favorite food. Upstairs or downstairs?

After a minute or two he finishes and slides the magazine back over to you. You can barely contain yourself as you assess his results. Leaning across the counter, you share them with Minho who immediately begins to laugh. 

“What’s so funny? What did I get?” Han asks looking so genuinely concerned that you almost feel bad for telling Minho first. Minho empties the popcorn into a bright orange Halloween bowl, shoveling some into his mouth. “Comic Relief Best Friend” he mumbles. Han frowns, coming to see for himself. You hold the results page up for him. 

Which Horror Character Are You?

You point to his score beneath the headline “Comic Relief Best Friend”.

“Oh, okay. So I’m funny and I die before him. Perfect.”

“Aww, come on. Don’t be like that” you say, poking at his chin, “It’s not like I got the best result either. I’m the Final Girl.” 

“What’s so bad about that?” Minho asks, his words muffled by food, “It means you make it to the sequel.” 

“No, it means that I’m boring. Badass but boring. I wanna be the killer. They have more fun.” 

Han shakes his head, a sympathetic hand resting on your shoulder, “I hate to break it to you but you’re not really killer material.” Minho takes your hand like a doctor prepared to give you some bad news, “Yeah, you just…you don’t have it in you, kid.” 

“Don’t have it in me? I do so!” you protest, your tantrum not doing much to make you less adorable. Minho moves toward the knife rack behind him, carefully selecting the biggest, sleekest one he can find. “Okay, so kill me.” 

There’s a long, tense silence.

“Come on. It’s not that hard. Just…” Minho mimes stabbing himself in the chest, his tongue stuck out sideways. “Give it!” you shout, running to take the knife away. Minho catches you by the wrist, slipping the knife into your hand and raising the tip of the blade an inch away from his throat.

“Do it” he dares, his hand tightening around yours, “Prove us wrong.”

There’s an unnerving excitement in his eyes as he awaits your decision. An excitement that doesn’t seem to want you to back away. No, it wants you to come closer. He wants you to come closer.

“Hannie,” you plead, “Can you talk some sense into him please?” Han joins the two of you, saying nothing at first, simply observing. The way that they watch you is intensely sexual and some part of you, one you hadn’t known existed until now, seems to take pleasure in it. 

Han laughs, bringing his arms around your waist, “Oh but sweetie, we’ve played your game. Don’t you wanna play ours now?”

[bettyfrommars]

Part 4: My Name is Eddie

a continuation of the Gargoyle Eddie story

masterlist

18+ONLY

⚠️smut, monsterfugging, unprotected sex, gore, mention of a decapitated head, a murder, oral for all, size kink, Eddie wears glasses, Eddie is a demon and a gargoyle, creampie, language barrier, true love, impossible love. wc: 2.1k

This part takes place shortly after the events of part 3. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged this story, and to my talented friends Somna and Drac for the amazing gargoyle Eddie artwork they did here and here.

Please remember, this is monsterfucking.

--------

“Eddie?” You stifled a laugh.  “Centuries of years old and your name is…Eddie?”

You flipped back a page in the delicate binding of the antique, leather-bound book, trying to decipher the syllables of his ancient language.  You’d just been for a swim in the secluded lake behind the mansion to wash the blood off from Eddie’s latest kill. 

Your ex was dead, and while his heart pumped the last of his blood from his body, you watched Eddie’s face shift from rage to uncertainty as he wondered if he’d crossed a line and now, he was too much for you.  His black tail dripped with blood, and he'd held the severed head by the hair; tendrils of guts hanging down as the eyes twitched one last time.  

You were more worried about Eddie than anything. The defined, smooth muscles under his stone-gray flesh flexed tight and did not release as he searched your face with caution. His wings that had once been stretched out wide as a threat, fell slowly down, disarmingly so.

You went to him then, with your arms out, and Eddie’s clawed fingers released the decapitated head to pick you up into his embrace so that your legs wrapped around him.  You felt the viscous blood connect your chest to his with a sticky smack, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that you were naked with your gargoyle lover who just murdered a man right in front of your eyes. You ran your fingers lovingly down one of his horns from the tip to the base, and then pushed some of his dark hair behind his pointed ear.  

You put your forehead to his and rubbed your noses together.  With a deep voice, he said something in his language, and even though you’d been doing your best to try and learn, it was a difficult task, and you could only speak and understand a few words.

You could’ve sworn he said, “I’m sorry,” but you weren’t sure, and your mouth found his, to seal his words in, to let him know that everything would be alright.

Now, as you sat across from him on a blanket under a tree near the lake, you asked him again, just to be sure.  

“Eddie?” You liked saying it.  You’d been calling him Goyle for so long, you felt bad for not knowing his full name, especially considering all  you had been through already, and how often he came inside of you.

He had a pair of reading glasses perched on his demon nose and he looked over the top of them at you to give a few slow nods of his head.  In his huge hand was a children's alphabet book—he wanted to learn to understand you, as well.  More so, he wanted to communicate to you how much he loved you, and he wanted to be able to comprehend the stories that you read to him at night by the fire.  

He did his best pronunciation of “my name is Eddie,” in that deep, guttural voice of his, and it made you smile so big—he was doing so good.

You were so proud, you took his book from him and crawled up into his lap.  Eddie had a huge beach towel around his hips, and you were naked under a big, oversized shirt.  

This was the fourth pair of glasses you’d had to get for him because they kept breaking.  You had to teach him how to treat delicate things, and train him not to accidentally poke one of his claws through the lens.  When you got him really relaxed, his claws would retract and sink back into the beds of his fingers like a cat.  

When your hand slotted under his ears to kiss him, you wondered—not for the first time—how you would introduce him to some of the other people in your life.  You were also struck with the realization that maybe that would never happen; maybe it would be just you and Eddie forever.  You didn’t have any close family left, but you did miss a few of your friends.  What would they think about your gargoyle Eddie?  You’d been successfully able to placate a few emails and phone calls because everyone knew you had been through a lot.  You worried about the day that one of them would come looking for you unexpectedly, much like your ex had.

But now, you could feel him getting hard as you sat in his lap, and you gave him a sheepish grin before slinking down on your knees to remove the towel.  His unholy manroot was the size of a forearm, and you couldn’t fit it all in your mouth on the best of days, but you always did your best.

He watched you wrap your hand around the base to pull the straining length toward you.  Being that he was a gargoyle, Eddie was completely hairless and stone-smooth, and you knew you could get one of his balls in your mouth, so that is what you did first.  He sat propped up against the big tree trunk, grunting at how good it felt as your tongue worked in circles around the soft skin, sucking it in your cheeks like it was a round, jawbreaker candy.

You worked your way with kisses back up the shaft and flicked your tongue at the big vein and up the slit at the head.  There was precious, demon pre-cum there now and so you sucked and wrapped your lips around the tip, offering a few fluttering licks.  When you looked up, you saw that he was watching you from under hooded eyes, lips parted.

You spat a few times on the head, and then ran the saliva around with your tongue, enjoying the soft whimper he let out.  “My King,” you mewed, right before the tip disappeared inside your mouth, stretching your lips to their max as you went down as far as you could.  Your hand worked in tandem, like an extension of your mouth, your tongue swirling whenever it reached the top.

Your eyes watered a bit as you sent it to the back of your throat, and Eddie bucked his hips at the sensation.  His cock was messy with your saliva, and when you pulled off, he liked the way your spit collected in your mouth for him.

You noticed his breathing catch and you could feel his balls tighten up close to his body as one hand massaged them.  He told you he was about to cum in his own language, growling, and you jerked the tip, holding your mouth open.  

The first hot spurt hit your lips, and then you closed your mouth down over it, swallowing, jerking him, moaning with soft pulls of hunger for every last bit your man had to give.  

You cleaned him up, not wanting to miss a drop, and afterwards, you took a nap together on the blanket under the tree with Eddie spooning you from behind, one of his massive arms caging you in and locking you against him.  The cool, early evening breeze hit your face and woke you a little first, but then you heard Eddie groan as his pelvis twitched against your backside.  The air smelled like alfalfa and sun kissed skin and the metallicity of wet earth. 

His voice deep and hot against  your ear, he whispered something in his language that sounded like a question, and you nodded, even though you didn’t understand.  His fingers scraped up your thigh, pushing up  your tee shirt so he could rub his growing length against your slit.  He kissed down your neck and your shoulder, coaxing you with his hands to take off the shirt altogether, which you did, and then his hand sank between your legs to find your cunt.  

You arched back against him, mouth open.  You were drowsy but ready as he worked the head of his beastly cock along your wet offering, talking dirty to you in that breathless way you loved—even though you couldn’t decipher any of it.  

Still on your side, he lifted your top leg up with one strong arm so he could line himself up with your hole.  When he sank the tip in, you pushed against him and his long, black tongue came out to flick the shell of your ear.  Your fingers came down to work your clit, to help open up for him as your tight entrance squeezed around his tip with resistance.

“Let me in, my Queen.  Let me have you,” he murmured in his language.  

You were already soaked, dripping down your ass, but even then—it took your muscles a second to expand.  

“Take me, take all of me,” you begged, arching your hips back so that he sank in even more.  You brought your hand up to grab onto one of his horns and turned your head to kiss him.  

You felt Eddie shiver at the way you took him; he braced himself and held your leg in the air as his muscular hips began to work.  You could feel the intensity in his cat-like brown eyes as he met your gaze; he wanted to see the look on your face when he filled you up like no one else ever could.  You whimpered his name over and over and bit your lip and pulled his head down so the tip of his tongue could dance along yours.  

“Fuck,” you gasped, desperately, finding that sweet spot on your clit again, feeling the stretch with your fingers from where he was splitting  you.  Your sex made wet smacking noises as they met and your body jerked from the force of it. 

Eddie flipped you over onto your back and pulled your legs up in the air so that your upper back and head were the only parts of you on the ground.  On his knees, he buried his face in your cunt, smelling deeply first, running his nose through your folds, and then he sucked at your bundle of nerves, pushing his tongue inside, lifting his eyes to look at your face—to make sure you liked it.

“Eddie I love you,” but you said it in his language, so it sounded more like “me is loving you Eddie” but he understood.

He lowered your hips enough so that his cock lined up with your hole again, and your feet were at his shoulders, draped in his dark hair.  

He stared down, locking eyes with you, and you saw that familiar softness there; the centuries of loneliness and yearning.  “Need…my Queen… inside.”

He could’ve been meaning to say so many different things, and they all touched your heart.  Just then he sent his throbbing cock in balls deep with a passionate thrust, making you arch your head back with a curse. You heard the crunch of another pair of Eddie’s glasses breaking, but at that moment it didn’t matter. 

He licked his thumb and worked your spot with the right pressure and speed—knowing you were close by the way you milked his cock in fluttering pulses.  He bent forward slowly as he fucked, just far enough so he could take your face in his hand and rub his thumb along your cheek. You moved to kiss his massive palm that was almost the size of your head.

“This is love?” He said it in the form of a question, and you wondered if he’d meant to, but you answered anyway, nodding.

“Yes, Eddie, this is love.”

He swallowed hard, dragging his fingers away from your face as if it pained him to do so, and then the thrusting continued slow and deep. He rocked that spot deep inside of you over and over, making fireworks explode behind your eyes.

“Fuck Eddie baby I’m gonna--oh god,” you said it all in one breath just as he snapped his hips against you, urging you with those ancient words, promising that no other man or monster would ever have you--you were his for eternity.  

Your pussy rippled around his fat cock, dripping with desire, as you spasmed and wailed.  Eddie came close to you again, bracing his hand on the ground, so that he could be closer to you when he came.  

This time it was you who put your hand on his cheek, watching his brown eyes go black as he shuddered and came so deep and so hard, that his fingers clawed into the dirt at your side.  As he trembled there, watching you, he kept his cock buried and held your hips up on purpose so that none of his seed could leak out.  

When he finally pulled out and released you, you climbed up into his lap again. He crushed you against him with an innocent urgency, spreading his large wings out fold them in and wrap them around you protectively.  

He whispered in your ear: “My name is Eddie,” repeating the phrase that had made your eyes light up earlier, hoping it would have the same effect.

You nodded against his shoulder, feeling emotional.  “Your name is Eddie, and I love you.”

[cascadiums]

A continuation of the What The Fuck Is Up With Quincey Morris stuff I've been talking to @animate-mush about - the weird shifts in the way Quincey evolved as a character between Stoker's notes, the manuscript, and the original publication (no spoilers for the actual novel, but references to a deleted ending)

In Bram Stoker's notes, Quincey first shows up as The Texan. which is sort of ???? because generally characters start out as job titles or specific roles in the notes. The Lawyer, The Professor, The Doctor, The Patient... Quincey's job is just being from Texas I guess

Before he was narrowed down to being The Texan, Stoker plays with a couple of ideas for Texan characters: one guy called Brutus M Marix and a nameless American Inventor From Texas. I am so curious where he was going with that one. I have visions of Dracula being defeated by wacky contraptions operated by a cowboy and it breaks my heart we never got to see that.

The Texan wasn't always a suitor. It looks like the plan was for him to travel to Transylvania for his own reasons, encounter Dracula and then show up in England with knowledge to help the Drac Pack solve the mystery - I think this is why Quincey is always referencing wild stories about places he's been and things he's seen; he was originally The Adventurer, and his main contribution is unique experiences.

In the manuscript, following Quincey's actions at the end of the novel, Castle Dracula explodes. The word 'volcano' is used. I have real trouble believing this one. I'm constantly waiting for someone to reveal it as a joke, but there we are. Quincey sort of indirectly blew up the damn castle. It's much bigger and more dramatic than the ending we have, and maybe that would have kept him a bit more firmly in people minds.

Looking at it, I think Quincey was more stripped back than developed during writing. Inventor, lone traveler bearing key information, demolitions guy turned to something more watered down. There's echoes of it - he's the one who has encountered a vampire bat before and he comes complete with guns so we have some of the adventuring castle destroyer left, but really the published Quincey is more of the ambiguous Texan who first showed up in Stoker's notes than anything that followed.

I have no idea why. Quincey is just bizarre. The story doesn't know what to do with him or who he should be. He's great and I love him but what the fuck is going on with this guy

[the-moons-ace-card]

So I have a new OC in the works for Hotel Transylvania of all things, but I don't really have many people to rant to about him, so I'm just gonna info dump about him here

It all started when I heard a rumor that Griffin was originally gonna be queer coded, but the creators ended up being cowards and that's how he ended up with Crystal at the end of the second movie. Don't get me wrong, Crystal's a queen, but Griff being gay just makes so much sense to me. He literally called Drac "irresistible" and was the only one without a gf in the first movie

IDC what anyone says, in my mind, he and Crystal only "zinged" for benefits and they're mlm and wlw solidarity. They're only "dating" until they find their true zings.

Anyway, I heard that and went "Dang, that's TWICE now my boy got robbed!" so I'm gonna give him the bf he deserves (maybe I'll make a gf for Crystal, too, who knows)

I haven't drawn him YET (he's in progress) but his name is Cyrus and he's a phoenix. He looks mostly human, but he also has red and gold wings, and markings on his face and shoulders. He can regenerate from ashes when he dies, his tears can heal any injury, and he's a firebender. He can also shapeshift and take the form of a giant red and gold bird. He's pretty quiet, reserved, and doesn't trust easy.

Like other monsters, Cyrus was feared by humans. But unlike other monsters, humans hunted him down for a different reason - his tears. Since his tears are like the ultimate ointment, people wanted to get their hands on them for either themselves, or to make money off of them. Cyrus had been caught many times, either straight up, or lulled into a false sense of security and got backstabbed. Each time, he went through intense levels of agony, anything that would get him to spill tears. But he always managed to escape.

It didn't take long for him to become distrusting of everyone he meets.

When Cyrus heard that humans and monsters got along again, he wanted nothing to do with it. Sure, humans may no longer be afraid of him, but what could be done to change that he was still wanted for selfish reasons?

When he first came into the hotel looking for a break from it all, Griffin zinged first since he spotted him from afar.

When Cyrus first interacted with Griffin, he was taken aback by the personality brighter than his flames. He knew Griffin was basically just an invisible human, but he knew off the bat that something about him was different. In that moment, the zing became mutual, but Cyrus didn't know it yet.

Griffin knew, though, and he immediately ran to tell Crystal the first chance he got. She was super excited for him.

From there, the romance blossomed in the form of a slow burn. Cyrus cautiously took his time to build up the trust and courage to feel completely safe and relaxed around Griffin and Griffin was super patient with him. When Cyrus finally did feel comfortable, he also embraced his loving feelings and then the ship set sail

And that's all I have to share for now. Any feedback or ideas would be appreciated!!

[asteriastarr]

HIIIYYAAA!!! its me again i bloody L O V E D the messing around b4 class one you did.

(for this one Deuce and Y/N are already together and she is a shapeshifter) if you arent busy or anything like that a cute thing I thought of was Deuce, Y/N, Heath, Clawdeen, Drac, Frankie, etc all chilling in a chill room or common room during free period or on a weekend messing around and having fun and just laughing about dumb crap. Then Komos walks past and Y/N uses her piers to turn into him and yells out something funny to him just to mess with him but he knows its her which causes everyone to laugh again.

Just another weird thought/concept I thought of!!!

Luv ya💚🖤

A/n: Thank you for the request! Idk how I did but I tried to fulfil it, hope you enjoy, love ya!

POV: Shapeshifter!Y/n and the group messing around in their free period.

Y/n rested her head on Deuces shoulder, his hand wrapped around her shoulders, happily joking around with their friends as the group threw a small rubber ball around the room.

“Okay, okay, do Headmistress Bloodgood.” Clawdeen said as Y/n playfully rolled her eyes and straightened herself up.

She closed her eyes, focusing on Headmistress Bloodgood’s basic appearance and features, turning herself into an exact replica of her.

“My goodness children, have you been breaking rules?” She says her voice almost exactly matching Headmistress Bloodgood’s.

“Draculaura!” She yelled suddenly causing Draculaura to jump “Have you been doing witchcraft? That is so horrible, how dare you be doing something so humanlike in our school. Witchcraft is an abomination!”

The group laughed as she turned to Deuce.

“Mr Gorgon!” She yelled causing Deuce to raise an eyebrow at her, flinching slightly “Are you causing trouble?”

Deuce shook his head.

“Don’t lie Mr Gorgon, I see you just sitting there with your green snake hair and glasses, very clearly breaking rules. Detention for two months due to all your rule breaking.” She says, making a mock angry face at Deuce before turning back to her normal self and moving herself closer to Deuce.

“You should get used to saying my last name, it’ll be yours someday.” He whispered in her ears making her cheeks heat up as she lightly slapped his chest.

“I dunno, I think it should be L/n-Gorgon but whatever.” She whispered to him.

“Ooh Y/n! Do the music teacher.”  Frankie requested.

This time instead of standing up she merely transformed into their music teacher and did an ungodly impression of their teachers singing (causing most of the group to cover their ears and laugh, except Deuce of whom was too busy wincing in pain).

Just then Mr Komos walked past causing Y/n to crane her head around with an evil smile on her face.

She closed her eyes and turned herself into him before yelling out.

“I’m Mr Komos, Here’s a musical number on True Monster Hearts instead of a lesson! I have a massive crush on Headmistress Bloodgood, hence why I keep sucking up to her!"

The group snickered.

“Y/n! We’ve talked about this! What did Headmistress Bloodgood say about imitating teachers?” He scolded walking over to the group causing them to laugh harder.

She transformed herself into Headmistress Bloodgood again before mimicking her.

“Never under any circumstances should you ever imitate a teacher! If you are caught doing it again I will give you a detention. Blah blah blah, this is a very serious offence- oh hello Dracula, are you here to donate some money to the school? You are looking wonderful by the way, very dead. Now where was I? Ah yes! No more transforming into teachers or else, blah blah blah blah blah.” Y/n mimicked.

“You just did it again.” Komos scolded.

“Headmistress Bloodgood isn’t technically a teacher though, she’s a Headmistress, she didn’t say anything about that.” Y/n said matter-of-factly, the group laughing even harder.

Unfortunately for Y/n, the look on Mr Komos’s face indicated no matter her excuse she’d be getting detention.

“Uh- You can’t give detention to what you can’t catch!” Y/n yelled turning herself into a rabbit and running off.

[rosetyler42]

A ship dynamic meme with two of my favorites. I love two characters who've been through bleep finally getting to rest, and one will fuck you up if you disturb the other. These two could go either way, but...Drac's definitely the traunatized worrywart between him and Ericka while she knows he's been through enough hell already. She's the one who can actually get him to take a break, which is rare enough she'd be protective as heck of his peace. (Plus, most Vampires get staked in their sleep. Ericka knows this better than ANYONE.) And for Bent Halos....Alice is the perfectionist workaholic and most visibly traumatized while Bendy is the Gomez who will quite literally rip you apart if you disturb his angel.

Drericka's pose is taken from the OG reference, while Bent Halos, I was going for a more cat-like thing. Dracula is more like a person while Bendy is more like a big giant feral cat.

Original by @mud-muffin

@lovelylivelyv @black-ak9 @hotelt-resurrection @ssleeping-in-a-coffin @serial-serializednovelreader @deathfangirl9 @twinklecupcake @ebevkisk @roydoodler-blog @doodledrawsthings @thedopedemon @thedobermutt @thedemonsurfer @inkiedraws @inkhyaena @inkspottie @inkwelldevil @wingingfromthezing @howling-nightmare

Bonus: Sorry, Boris and Knight XD

[moonlightmaeve]

This is one of the first Dracula fanfics I wrote, I put Dracula's words and actions into red to help distinguish them from mine. Let me know your thoughts on how this affects the flow/readability. For a bit of context, this is based on BBCs 2020 Dracula. One of his powers is obtaining memories and information through the taste and smell of blood. That's why he licks for a term he'd forgotten. Please let me know if you enjoy this and if I should post more of my writing!!!

"Drac, do you think I'm a bad person?"

"I think that's a bit too philosophical for a Friday night."

"But you love philosophy."

"I like to study philosophy in the same way that you like to study black holes. You cannot even imagine–"

*looks pensively and moves his tongue around in his mouth before resorting to licking the small wounds on my neck*

"–ah yes spaghettification. I cannot even imagine morality. You don't wish to be crushed by the indescribable force beyond an event horizon and I would hate to believe in good or evil."

"Now THAT'S too philosophical for a Friday night. Just answer my question."

"I'll humour you since I am the closest thing to a god that you will ever know. Everything I know about morality is what the blood tells me. Some people regard themselves as honourable but are quite bitter."

*he moves closer to me, and places his hands authoritatively on my shoulder and looks into my eyes.*

"You often have the soured tinge of guilt, a habit that you must cut back on, for the sake of my enjoyment."

"So my blood tells you I'm guilty? By that account I should be terribly ugly as well."

*getting notably frustrated* "No. Your blood tells me that you are still caught up in the lies humanity likes to tell itself. Concepts of good and evil, beautiful and ugly. They are nearly completely absent from the rest of the universe. They live only in feeble minds that allow them to simmer and grow."

"But when I feel guilt, it becomes real because it is real to me. Isn't that how everything is created?"

"My god, clearly you're not listening to me."

*I grin at the opportunity for a joke to break growing tension* "my... what? I thought that's a name we don't say in this house."

*he flashes a mischievous smirk back at me* "quite right my dear" *moving his hands from my shoulders to my waist to pull me closer to him* "we also don't talk about good and bad" *he kisses my head*

"I'll try to avoid it in the future, maybe we should start a swear jar or something, in case I bring up ethics again."

*looking obviously amused and curious, his voice takes on a decisively playful tone.* "a swear jar??"

"Ya know it's like I have to give you some money every time I swear. Except for instead of saying FUCK, it'll be 'good or evil.'"

"Watch your tongue young lady, or I'll pierce it for you. And yes now that you say that I do recall it, from the 80s. Money is something I have little need for and much of. Now attend my words very carefully darling. Your beloved cat kills baby birds because she was made by nature to do so. I erm ‐harvest‐ blood because I need it to survive. And you, you are often moved by something unseen and powerful that you crave. There is no good or bad in that. Do not bring it up again. Come back with sweet, shame-free blood."

"Drac?"

"Yes?"

"You said 'good or bad' just then, now give me £5"

[pinkiepiebones]

Let’s see if this works... Talkin’ about Renfield’s apartment again PART ONE OF TWO

So Renfield’s apartment is located right by one of the stairwells. In this shot you can see Rebecca opening his front door (no number on the door) and you can see beyond her into the apartment just a bit. The curtains that are visible behind her are the same curtains in this shot; window by the dinette set

Back outside, based on where Rebecca and Renfield are standing on the stairwell (is it a stairwell if it’s uncovered and exterior?), as well as windows inside the apartment, I believe Renfield’s apartment is on the same level of the W in the TOWER part of the SUNRISE TOWER sign. (Do you think he chose the place because it’s SUNRISE??? Like, as an anti-Drac measure?)

This is a shot of the same basic space, when Rebecca sees the cop cars arriving. I’m like 90% sure this is the level Renfield’s apartment is on.

Back to the apartment itself.

Here we have Renfield standing outside, letting his bugs free. Notice the one window behind him- it’ll come up here in a sec.

That one visible window correlates to the window beside his TV in this shot-

Please take a moment to appreciate that he keeps every light on and has a lot of little plants everywhere. Okay, moving on. See the window above his sink? That’s what breaks this. Scroll back up to the exterior shots. There is no place where that window can exist. This is an eldritch apartment. In the kitchenette there you can also see an indent in the ceiling that has got to be recessed lighting, because, as I established earlier, Renfield does not live on the top floor, so it sure as fuck isn’t a sky light.

Just a full shot of his little kitchen here.

This is a capture from one of the behind the scenes things on the BluRay, I’m including it because it’s just nice to see the stuff on counter. Is that a retro as fuck toaster? A cookie jar? Precious. And behind them is the second of three windows along the “far wall,” if you will. So, if you were to walk in to his apartment, directly in front of you would be the “living room” (sofa, chair, table, TV) with the “dining room” behind it (dinette set), kitchenette to the left... And I don’t know what to call this space in front of the kitchenette. There’s a record player on that dresser, and there is at least one bar stool. “Entertaining room”?

Here’s a shot from the “living room,” you can see the record player, some records, and a speaker behind Renfield here.

And at this angle you can *just* see the top of a stool like I said. It’s hard to spot. Look at Renfield’s right knee, it’s the tiny white bit below that. Boom. Stool.

Renfield’s “bedroom” is directly beyond the “entertaining room.”

In the confrontation scene, as Dracula keeps moving in to Renfield’s space, you can see more of the “bedroom.” After Dracula passed through the “entertaining room” we get this great angle which shows a dresser with what I’m like 99% sure is a nice printer on it, and curtains framing the third window on that “far wall.”

The final window is centered on the “bedroom wall.” I’m only pointing that out because I misremembered and thought it was closer to the corner space and Renfield could, like, look out the window from his bed.

After Dracula leaves we get a fuller shot of the side of his “bredroom” that does not contain his bed. There’s one window there, which makes no sense based on the exterior shots, of course. On the left you can *just* see what seems to be a sink counter? I’m wondering it that’s a wash basin of some kind, and the space immediately to the right of it- you can see a black robe hanging on a door there- is a shower and toilet space. Also, beanbag chair.

I rotated and lightened the shot from when Rebecca wakes up on the sofa. YOu can see the closet door and beanbag chair from this angle. The kitchenette flows directly into the “bedroom.” Also notice the floor- shaggy rugs on what I think is linoleum

Another rotated shot of basically the same thing, just, again, floor. And stripey socks :3c

[gerardway-is-my-babygirl]

Hi here is a renfield ask do you think once he got free he found himself overwhelmed by just not having to be at anyone's beck and call and how did he fill the quiet hours where no one was demanding all of his physical and mental capacities

Ohhh this Is such an Interesting question!!!

Absolutely, his only purpose for the past 90 years has been to serve someone else, so that's definitely going to result In him trying to recreate that attachment to Dracula with someone different. When DRAAG had suggested he try to focus on his own needs he was still trying to please them and make them happy, he did It for himself too of course but It was mainly from them shoving him In the right direction. He's unable to do things for himself unless people encourage him to, so he definitely struggles with reminding himself to eat/drink/shower post-Dracula and gets quite overwhelmed by how many needs he has and how dull his life Is without having to go hunting every night.

For the first few weeks I Imagine he tries to Ignore Dracula's entire existence (It doesn't work very well) and he distracts himself with the hobbies he's been wanting to do for the past century: knitting, crocheting, baking, etc. Everything he does unfortunately reminds him of Dracula though, and the support group and Rebecca keep telling him to stop burying his emotions which doesn't help him to stay In the denial phase, so eventually he snaps.

I Imagine that his grieving process can go one of two ways:

There's a good route, where he falls apart a lot at the beginning but In the end he learns to accept Dracula's death and allow others to help him.

And then there's a bad route, where he doesn't get past the bargaining phase and ends up bringing Dracula back and pushing everyone around him away.

In the good route he tries to recreate a codependent bond with Rebecca, trying to fulfill every need or want she has until she finally opens up his eyes and makes him realise that he can't let Dracula's shadow follow him forever. He still takes a long time to grieve and to process everything that happened to him, but he has Rebecca and the support group by his side. He still has bad days and Insomnia, but he's determined to get better. Some part of him wants to heal just to spite Dracula, but he also wants to be able to enjoy however many remaining years he has left on earth.

To answer your question of what he would do to fill the quiet hours without being given orders; he's very sensitive about dirt and grime post-Drac, so In the good route his OCD ends up coming back In full swing and he forces himself to clean every Inch of living space that he can reach, out of determination not to let another bug Into his life or to be as dirty as he was when with Dracula. He hoards cleaning sprays and cloths as a way to take back control of his life, accidentally exhausting himself most nights and passing out after entire days of scrubbing the floors and counter tops. This continues until Rebecca finally puts her foot down and drags him to therapy.

In the bad route Renfield ends up falling back Into the pit of self-loathing that Dracula had dug out for him. He knows he got out of It before, but being trapped In It a second time only worsens the affects of his hatred for himself, and this time he doesn't try to get out. Over the course of a few months he lets himself fall apart more and more, not getting out of bed, not answering texts, not answering the door, etc. And when Rebecca finally decides to break down the door, he's gone. Renfield returns to the Lobo mansion and collects Dracula's pieces from the sewers, bringing him back to the hospital to heal him up and to get what he thinks Is his happy ending. Their relationship Is worse this time around, but Renfield would rather have a lifetime of pain than a life without Dracula.

Thank you so much for the ask! I love exploring Renfield's life after Dracula and his feelings and decisions he makes!

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Killjoys Never Die 15/15 - Save Yourself

Chapter Summary: There is only one way out: the way forward. And BLI does everything in their power to stop you. What nobody saw coming was your backup. Pairing: Fun Ghoul x fem!Reader Chapter Word Count: 4 360 Series Warnings:  mentions of drugs; poor mental health; suicidal tendencies; insecurities; throwing up;  jealousy; slavery (?); experiments on living humans; mentions of eating disorder; graphic descriptions of: violence, injuries, torture, death

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist

Recap: You had made it into BLI’s headquarters, freed Kobra, but on your way out directly walked into BLI’s trap.

You had made it so far, into the very heart of BLI, had found Kobra, but it had been a trap all along, and now a SCARECROW-unit had opened their fire on you.

You did not know how, but like a miracle the first salve of shot missed you, as you all simultaneously turned to run for the doors. Where would you go from there? Outside more SCARECROWs were waiting, and you had no idea where the Youngbloods were, whether they were even still alive. One step after the other, you reminded yourself, as you covered Jet and Party, who dragged Kobra along. First you had to make it to the doors.

Blindly shooting over your shoulder, you followed them. Judging by the noise behind you some of your shots even found their target.

The closer you got to the doors, the better you could make out the scene behind them. An explosion had set fire to a building across the square. Countless BLI vehicles and what looked like hundreds of SCARECROWs and DRACs had crowded between you and that building. Flames were lighting up the night, flashing cold-white lights from the cars flickered over the facades of the surrounding buildings.

There was nowhere you could go. Even if you made it out of this building, you were as good as dead. The DRACs outside would have surrounded you within seconds. The SCARECROWs behind you were closing the distance between you too fast. It was hopeless. This would be the end.

That was when Fun, being the first one in the group, reached the doors.

“Go,” he shouted, holding it open for Jet and Party, who dragged Kobra along between them. The poor guy looked like he was about to pass out.

Fun waited until you were past him, and shot you a smile.

“Save yourself, I’ll hold them back” he shouted at you, alarming you.

He wasn’t gonna do the stupid thing, which he had promised you not to do, was he? He just couldn’t, couldn’t! Still in full sprint, you tried to come to a halt, but you were already outside. And then Fun pulled the door closed between you.

“Fun!”

You scream alerted the other three, who also came to a stop, as you turned around to properly take in the situation. The glass of the door separated Fun and you. He was locked in with the SCARECROWs, you locked out, forced to watch from the other side of the glass.

He was trying to buy time, just like four years ago. He was sacrificing himself, breaking his promise to you. Because you had promised each other nobody would be left behind.

Everything else faded to the background, as you stared at him through the glass. His lips moved, saying something. You could not be sure but you were certain it was along the lines of “Can’t let you die.”

Anger bubbled in your chest, as you watched him turn his back on you, firing at the SCARECROWs who had almost caught up with him, bringing down one after the other. You remembered the huge scar right above his heart, where the blaster shot had hit him when he had been killed. History would not repeat itself, you swore to yourself. Fun would not die, sacrificing himself to save his friends. He would not die in an attempt to buy you time by protecting these doors. You would not let him die. You just couldn’t. As in a trance you lifted your own blaster, aiming at the glass, at a spot where Fun would not get hit, and fired.

Along with your first shot, suddenly the facade of a house several dozen feet to your side exploded into rubble. You could not be bothered, as you fired a second, a third shot. The glass did not splinter. Jet and Party had joined you, still holding up Kobra between them, firing at the glass relentlessly.

You ignored the SCARECROWs behind you, who had finally taken notice of you. You ignored the way the house next to the headquarters had a hole blown into its walls, ignored the white tank that suddenly rolled into the square.

No, not white. It once had been, but now graffiti and paintings were splashed all over it, the most prominent a first holding up a hand grenade. The tank moved surprisingly fast, until it was in the middle of the square, before it started firing. Not ammunition in the classical sense. It fired at the buildings, at their white facades, and wherever it landed a hit, colour exploded. Reds and greens and yellows and blues and purples and pinks.

The tank was followed by a pick-up truck, rattling over the rumble of the destroyed facade. A once blue pick-up truck with Sandman behind the wheel, Soul Punk on the passenger seat, and Novocaine and Phoenix setting of fireworks from the back of the truck; fireworks that flew to the sky, exploding into a million stars of purple and gold. They whooped and cheered over the noise of the vehicles, over the terrified screams of the SCARECROWs who had never seen this much colour in their lives.

And then came the Killjoys; shouting battle cries, and singing hymns of freedom, following the tank and the truck, dressed in the colours of the rainbow, armed with grenades of paint, and grim smiles. There were hundreds of them, swarming the square, washing over the white of the SCARECROWs and DRACs like a wave over the beach, leaving nothing in their wake but colours.

You saw none of it, did not bother. All you saw was the glass that would not shatter, the glass which separated Fun from you, the glass that trapped him with the SCARECROWs. Each shot by them that missed him was a blessing. He fired at them, while you, Party and Jet fired at the glass. But you were just as much in danger as Fun. Not all SCARECROWs had submitted to panic at the sight of the tank and the colours, instead heading straight your way.

You would not make it, you suddenly realised once more. The enemy was all around, and even with the help of whichever mysterious force the Youngbloods had brought out to play, you would not make it, not all of you.

As if to prove you right, the SCARECROWs behind you opened fire, their shots so barely missing your head that you could smell where it had singed your hair. Jet turned around, and fired back at them, but it was no use. There were simply too many.

If this was the end, you could at least say you went down fighting for the people you loved. And maybe an end like this was not too bad, with the flashes of blasters left and right, the white lights of the BLI car lights, the colourful fireworks in the sky, the colour and life of the Zones washing over the dead white of BLI.

A blaster shot from behind your back missed you so narrowly, that the white fabric of the BLI suit jacket turned brown from where it had been burned, just as the glass you had kept firing at relentlessly suddenly splintered, crashing to the ground.

Launching forward, you grabbed Fun through the splintered glass, and pulled him out backwards, your fingers twisted into the fabric of his jacket. As you turned around, you finally got a look at the scene in front of the BLI headquarters for the first time.

Colour and light were driving out the night, songs and triumphant howling roared through the air and right in the middle of it the tank, fat red letters splattered over the side. “American Idiots”. A myth, a legend, the story Killjoys told themselves to fall asleep at night. The rebels that lived on the narrow sliver of land between Battery City and the sea, the heroes who freed those citizens who began doubting BLI. None of those stories were myths, as the scene before you proved. You had never seen so many Killjoys in one place, and most likely never would again. They had come here, together with the Youngbloods. To save Kobra. To save the Fabulous Killjoys. To save you.

You only had a moment to take in the scene before the pick-up with the Youngbloods came to a screeching halt, blocking the SCARECROWs direct line to you.

“Jump in,” Novocaine shouted.

You did not have to be told twice. Party and Jet hauled Kobra to the back of the truck, trying to stay low enough to stay out of the SCARECROWs’ line of fire. Novocaine and Phoenix helped pull the others on board, before Party extended his hand to you, but you shook your head, pointing to Fun. No way would you leave him to get on last, he might just have another stupid idea. Party did seem to think the same, because he quickly grabbed Fun’s wrist and pulled him up, before both of them reached for you, helping you in as well, Fun tucking you immediately into an embrace.

You had not even sat down yet, when the truck already started driving again, accelerating so fast that you almost fell over, and off the back. Quickly Fun tightened his hold on you, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he could, keeping you from losing your balance, and dropping both of you to sit down.

“What the hell were you thinking,” you hissed at him, turning in his arms to be able to look up at him.

His eyes found yours, soft, and full of love.

“Couldn’t let you guys die there,” he answered, his face mere inches away from yours. You were wondering if he thought of kissing you. You sure as hell were tempted to kiss him, no matter how mad you were at him. Not the moment for such thoughts, you reminded yourself. “Not again. Least of all you.”

While the truck was racing over the square, Novocaine and Phoenix closed the back end of the truck, so nobody would fall off. You were heading right for the tank, as you could tell, now sitting squeezed between Fun and Kobra. Kobra’s body was strangely cool against yours, weakened from the years of malnutrition and torture, whereas Fun’s was hot from all the running and fighting he had done.

On top of the tank stood three figures, still firing what looked like paint balls, at the members of BLI, who were running around like a scared chickens, no order in their rows, as they were splattered in paint.

“Killjoys never die!” Soul Punk shouted from the front of the truck, a phrase that was repeated by the other Youngbloods.

It seemed to be a signal, because suddenly one of the Killjoys on the tank, one with dishevelled black hair, and black eyeliner, lifted a megaphone up.

“Killjoys never die!” He shouted through it, and as if on command, all the Killjoys on the ground suddenly began moving back towards the hole in the facade through which they had entered the square.

The truck took a different route though, sped off into the opposite direction and into one of the broad streets between the sky scrapers.

The last glance you got at the square before you turned the first corner showed you the extent of the damage that had been done.

The glass doors to the headquarters were broken, nothing left but shards on the ground now. The facade of the building next to it had broken down completely, where the tank had driven through it. The last Killjoys were just climbing over the rubble, the tank itself with its three Killjoys on top, the American Idiots, bringing up the rear.

The rest of the buildings were covered in paint that ran down the walls and collected in puddles of colour on the ground. The SCARECROWs and DRACs had crowded in the square, bathed in paint, still panicking, still running around aimlessly. They had been overrun. Terror had settled deep in their hearts. Within less than three minutes their precious, once white heart of the city had been turned into the most colourful place in all of the northern hemisphere.

Then they were out of sight.

Anxiously you waited for the sound of sirens, motors following you. Everyone seemed to do the same.

It was the groan of Sandman, over the rushing wind and the panting of the old truck’s motor, which drew your attention away from your fear of being followed.

“Hey, everything alright there,” Party asked. He had his arm wrapped around Kobra, but now he was stretching to see into the driver’s cabin where Sandman and Soul were sitting.

Doing the same, you found it was Soul behind the wheel instead of Sandman. You could have sworn it had been the other way around.

“Yeah, might need Jet to stich me up later,” Sandman answered, sounding both pained and amused. “Took a blast to the shoulder for you.”

The two had probably switched places after Sandman had gotten shot.

The last part was directed at Kobra, their eyes meeting, and Sandman grinned happily at the sight of his old friend.

Kobra had dropped his head to Party’s shoulder in exhaustion, but smiled too.

“Didn’t ask you to,” he answered. It sounded so awfully right to finally hear his voice again.

“I know. Still wouldn’t want it any other way,” Sandman answered, before he twisted back to sit more comfortably again.

Once the conversation had died down, you focused back on the noise around you. Wind, the motor of the truck. No BLI cars, no SCARECROWs or DRACs. No one trying to stop you from leaving the city.

The tall houses shot past, and you scanned the people around you.

Phoenix and Novocaine were sitting opposite you together with Jet. They all seemed to be as anxious to leave Battery City as you were.

As long as you were within these walls, you were in a lot more danger than literally anywhere in the Zones.

Next to you, Kobra had leant against Party, who kept his arm wrapped around his younger brother. On your other side, Fun was still holding onto the hand he had offered you when he had pulled you on the pick-up truck.

The truck was going as fast as its motor managed, and a few minutes later the tall, dangerously looming walls that marked the edge of the city, came into view. As you were driving closer and closer they seemed to lean down to you, as if they were to collapse on top of you at any moment.

You could feel yourself holding your breath, as you entered the tunnel underneath them, as you seemed to accelerate more and more. There was a barrier Soul just drove through, leaving wood and metal to splinter and fly through the air like a last reminiscence of the fireworks earlier. The tunnel was lit up with lamps, brighter than the night beyond, so when the end of the tunnel came into view it was just a growing black hole you were heading for.

You felt dizzy with relief. Finally you would be out of that damned city. The Youngbloods had saved you. You had Jet sitting opposite you, smiling at you as if to say ‘We made it. We really made it’. There were Party and Kobra, the latter’s shoulder pressing to yours, still cool, but slowly growing warmer and familiar. Oh, how you had missed him. And on your other side there was Fun, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, holding you close. You had them back, all of them. You were complete again, free.

The truck sped towards the black hole that was the night beyond the tunnel without slowing down, and the second the cool night air hit your faces, the smell of desert sand filling your noses, the people around you erupted in cheers. Soul Punk kept driving, but everyone was cheering and laughing, hugging each other. You were all alive. You had made it.

But before you could join in on the celebration, there was a tuck at your shoulder, and a moment later warm lips pressed to yours.

You did not think twice as you twisted around so you could kiss Fun back, just pressed yourself closer to him, wrapped your hands in his hair and pulled him in. He smelled of motor oil, and sweat, and pine trees. All these years you had dreamt of kissing him, all these nights you had spent next to him, wondering if maybe he felt the same. And now he was kissing you, breathless and euphoric about the life you finally felt pumping in your veins again.

You laughed as you kissed him, felt his lips pull into a grin too, but he refused to pull back. You had been separated for too long, he had been ready to give his life just so you had a chance to live, and you had proven that you could survive without him dying for you. That you did not want him to make such a sacrifice.

In the back of your mind you remembered the promise he had made you, that he would not try to sacrifice himself, and that he had broken it. But that was secondary now. Because he was kissing you, and your whole body tingled with endorphins, making you dizzy, but still you could not pull away from him, from his chapped lips, his rough hands holding you close.

You could feel his heartbeat, his strands of black hair whipping around you in the wind. When he pressed his tongue to yours lips, you almost flinched in surprise, but parted you lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth, running over your own.

Fun tasted of freedom, of life, of safety, of love. Nothing in the world would be able to compare to it. His hands found their way through the layers of your clothing, past the once white BLI uniform, and under your normal clothes, until his palms were flat on your waist. Rough hands on delicate skin. You could tell he savoured the feeling of you under his hands, of the life he could feel under his fingertips, and he sighed quietly into the kiss as you cupped the side of his face, pulling him closer to kiss you deeper.

His heartbeat thrummed in his hands, his lips, against your palm as you held his face. He was alive and warm and kissing you as passionately as if he had longed to do it for years. Little did you know that he actually had. His whole body was tense, from trying to hold you to him as close as possible, but at the same time he seemed to relax into your touch; strong muscles and scarred but soft skin. And when he eventually pulled away, lips pulled into the biggest smile you had ever seen on him, you knew that – no matter what happened – you would never be separated from him again.

“I love you,” he breathed over the rushing of wind, just loud enough for you to hear.

You leant in, kissed him again, gentler this time, whispered the words back against his lips, and he tightened his embrace on you, smiling at the confession.

When you finally pulled away, you felt like you were drained off all energy. You had not eaten since this morning, had crawled through sewers, ran up stairs, had thought one of your best friends had died, not once, but twice, had run down stairs, had fought your way out from behind a line of enemies, and still somehow none of this was as exhausting as the feeling of relief to find out your feelings were reciprocated by Fun.

Leaning your head against his shoulder as the truck bumped over stones and rocks, racing through the nightly desert, you found the stars in the sky above you were shining brightly, untouched by the damage BLI caused. It was a comfort, knowing that nothing could touch that beauty, and even if they were not always visible from earth, they would always be there.

Fun brushed his hand over your arm, and rested his head against yours. He whispered something, and almost the words would have been lost to the wind, but you still caught them.

“I’m never letting you go again.”

They made your cheeks heat up, and quickly you turned your head, pressing your lips to the side of his neck.

“Neither will I.”

The sun was rising by the time you had made it to Zone 6. There was no reason to return to the Diner. It had been compromised, you knew that. If BLI had not burnt it to the ground as they had claimed, they at least knew where you had been staying, and it would certainly be swarmed by DRACs in a few hours. Instead Soul had stirred you further to the south, to a small shed, one you had not seen in years. There was one last good bye to make, before you would leave the Zones. It had been decided that you would all go East. To DEMA.

Soul did not drive too close to the shed, just close enough to be able to make out the details. Party was about to jump off the truck, when Kobra pointed to the roof of the shed.

“She’s there.”

Against the brightening horizon you could make out the shape of a person sitting on the corrugated iron roof. At the sight of the stopped pick-up, they stood up. Brown curls stood up into all directions, and they lifted a hand to their eyes, to help them see against the rising sun.

Jet and Kobra got up too, and Fun offered you a hand, as you all stepped to the edge of the truck.

It had been four years since you had last seen the Girl. You had never dared coming back. All she knew was that the men who had protected her had died. She did not know they were back.

Until now.

Even from the distance you could see how surprised she was, and then the relief.

“Wanna get closer,” Soul asked from behind the wheel, but Party shook his head.

Lifting his hands to his mouth he shouted: “Killjoys never die!”

It took a moment, but then the Girl repeated the gesture.

“Keep running!”

Her voice was quiet, clear like a small bell in the cool morning air. It tucked at you heart, and you wanted to run over to her, and hug her for hours, to explain all that had happened. But that would have to wait.

There was a new mission that needed to be taken care of in order to stop BLI from producing new weapons, new nightmarish technology. You needed to leave to protect her. She knew that. She had always known that. She had always been so much cleverer, so much stronger than a child of her age should have to be. And now she also knew that you were not alone anymore.

The truck began moving again, and quickly you all sat down, waving at the Girl until she disappeared in the distance.

There was purpose again, a new goal: Bring down DEMA. There were crews who had requested your help. There were people you wanted to protect, who you cared about. People who loved you as much as you loved them. There was a new fight, a new battle in an ongoing war. You had won the last one with the help of your friends and a mysterious group you had thought were nothing but a legend. You had lost many times, but now that you had won once, and you would win again. For the Girl. For the American Idiots. For the Youngbloods. For Party. And Kobra. And Jet. For Fun. Fun, who had his arm wrapped around you, his head sunk to your shoulder as he dozed off.

You ran your fingers through his hair. Fun. Fun who you always had thought disliked you, but simply did not know how to deal with his emotions. Fun, who got jealous easily, until the moment he knew your heart belonged to him, who was so protective, so fragile, so strong, so stubborn, so loyal, who loved so hard, so much, so deeply. And he loved you.

You kissed his hair, and buried your nose in it, inhaling the same scent that had brought you peace so many nights. Motor oil. Pine trees. You had almost lost him today again. You had been so close to losing everyone. But after all these traps BLI had prepared for you, you still had made it out.

Taking another deep breath against Fun’s hair, you settled in a way that allowed you to both bury your nose in it, as well as keep your lips pressed to his head.

Around you the others, except for Soul who was driving, had already fallen asleep, neither of them having mentioned anything about Fun and you, maybe because they had assumed it was no new development. At least that was what you imagined they might think considering the conversation you had had with Soul about Fun the night before you had gone to Battery City.

Relaxing, engulfed by Fun’s warmth and the safety he provided, you closed your eyes. New adventures were waiting, but this time you knew you would face them side by side with your friends, with the people you trusted with your life. No, they were more than friends, had always been more than that. They were family.

As the pick-up truck kept speeding east, into the rising sun, into a new chapter of your lives, towards a new danger, a new adventure, you could not help but smile against Fun’s hair as you realised that even after your friends had died, they had all come back to life. Maybe there was some truth in that saying, you thought, as morning sun beams, wind and Fun’s hair tickled your face: Killjoys never die.

The End

Taglist:

 @alexstyx​ @jayloverthe3rd​​​​​​​ @robinruns​​​​​​​ @lookalivefrosty​​​​​​ @butterflycore​​​​​​  @omgsuperstarg​​​​​​​ @fivelegance​​​​​​​ @deadlovers​​​​​​ @casmustdiee​​​​​​  @moisheee​​​​​​ @layla2-49​​​​​​ @thewordworrier​​​​​​ @prty-poisxn​​​​​​ @cmtryghoul​​​​​​ @ren-ni​​​​​​  @heartsfromdoll​​​​​​  @phantomluck​​​​​​  

[spraypaintstainonawhitewall]

Cherripoison headcanons because they are taking over my life

it's long as shit and i am not putting a tldr deal with it

Poison loves holding hands with Cherri

their most frequent spot is this one bar-slash-restaurant in Zone 2 where they are regulars at this point. the waiters are almost always expecting them and have a table on the ready

Their favorite spot, however, is this large rock on the border of Zones 5 and 6. It's a great spot to watch the sunset, not a lot of Dracs or people come there and it's well shielded. Cherri discovered it by accident, and not even his closest friends know it exists.

He took Party there on their first official date because he was desperate and didn't know what they'd like. Party, of course, didn't care where they went, as long as they were together (their words)

long drives to nowhere is their favorite couple activity. Party is usually always the one who drives, since Cherri can't help but stare at them the whole time. he once nearly ran over some killjoy because he was too busy staring at them in the passenger seat

Party steals his clothes. A lot. More than once, they have stumbled into the diner in the dead of night with one of Cherri's shirts. They argue that it's because it's comfortable, but the real reason is because it smells like him

if u ever see them hanging out together, do not ask them if they are together. you will never receive a proper answer.

popular answers for 'are you two together?' include: 'I accidentally sold my soul to them so now i have no choice but to hang out with them' 'he fed me once and i am now his forever' 'the Witch told me if we didnt hold hands this instant the world would explode. you're welcome.' 'me and who?' (said when Party was in Cherri's lap, his arms practically squeezing them)

the reason is bcoz they just dont wanna put a more complicated label to them other than 'a poet and a killjoy who really like each other'. 'lovers' doesnt cut it, and neither does 'drifters'.

one that they did like was christened by the girl- engaged to be engaged. they thought it was cute, so sometimes, if theyre not snappy enough, they'll say they're 'pre-fiances'

they didnt tell anyone they were a thing, just waited til people figured it out. Pony was the last to find out- Kobra was the first.

they often go on double dates with Newsie and Chimp, but Chimp and Party just end up talking the whole time, so its just Cherri and Newsie staring at each other and eating the whole time

when Party died, Cherri disappeared for a full month. No one except Cherri knows where he was, and no matter what, he absolutely never told anyone.

Cherri's the only person other than Kobra Party will allow to lace them up.

It's a good thing too, because Cherri loves playing with Party's hair

Even after they start dating, Party calls him Pepsi, mainly because they know it annoys him. Cherri tried to clap back with a stupid nickname of his own, but it backfired horribly and Party ended up loving it

the only time Cherri ever cried in his entire life was when Pony told him that Party's mask was missing and couldn't be put in the mailbox.

They often break into his house at midnight with no explanation. Cherri's gotten used to it at this point

if you listen closely, you can hear them giggling in the background when Cherri does his poetry section. If it's ever too loud, the Fab Four or the WKIL crew will record it

these recordings are the most precious thing in Cherri's life after losing them- it's pretty much all he has left to keep him from forgetting Poison's voice. Pony once accidentally broke one, and ever since then, ae's been banned from his house

Jet, without fail, gives them an anniversary present every year, and so does Dr. D. It's how they find out it's their anniversary, since they don't bother keeping track of that stuff

it doesn't help that they both give it on different days, so they just start making up days until every alternate day is some reason to celebrate

The first time they said I love you, Cherri said it first while drunk, and Party said it back thinking he didn't mean it

they both pretended not to remember it the next day, even though they did

the second time they said I love you was when Party had to go into the city, and Cherri doesn't know if they heard him say it back under his breathe.

Cherri stole a wanted poster of Party from the hearts of Bat City that Newsie doodled hearts all over and wrote 'C+P 4ever' in one of the hearts. it hangs there well past anyone who knows what any of it means has died

they often exchange art pieces- Cherri with poems he wrote, and Poison with drawings they made

[ozziescribbler]

Can you tell me your opinion on the "dead mom" trope in Hotel Transylvania with Martha Dracula, and explain why "love at first sight" is a harmful trope?

I don't mind "dead mom" in writing all that much... Execution is what makes or breaks that trope. Hotel Transylvania, very much like Finding Nemo, at least has enough dignity to show how the widower dad's grief and trauma influences his approach to single parenting. Which is more than can be said about Disney princesses having dead mothers. Disney dead mom became a pattern to such a degree that Moana's mom allegedly got resurrected during late writing stages (it's quite obvious when you notice how small her role is compared to dad and grandma). Seems like unless widowed dad is a (co-)protagonist, there will be a lot less thought put into making his kid a half-orphan. So yeah, Martha Dracula/Lady Lubov being dead was never the problem.

The problem is Hotel Transylvania's entire philosophy around love, and how in the climax of the first movie Martha is used to legitimize the entire fucking "zing" idea. In one single scene, the script's ENTIRE PHILOSOPHY turns out to be "For a Zing only happens once in your life." The Dead Mom has spoketh and she can not possibly be wrong because moms who are dead are always good and right about everything and only their widowed husbands errr! See: Deceased Parents Are the Best, The Lost Lenore and Too Good for This Sinful Earth on TV Tropes.

It should really go without saying, but let's say it anyway. It's wrong. It's fucked up. It's amatonormative. This movie says that love at first sight is real and that you should blindly follow it because you won't get another chance at it. Imprinting is real and good and fuck you if you think otherwise, I guess. Because it's not like tons of people, in real life AND fiction, happily fall in love more than once or end up in toxic relationships just because there was initial attraction (dare I say, a zing), right? /s

And, as @wormwoodworms commented under my last post about HT, it's just a bad, lazy trope to play straight:

What's the point of love story if it says that true, undying love starts at eye contact? If the movie's central subplot is Jonathan/Mavis romance then WHY can't they just naturally grow attracted to each other? WHY their first impression ("Zing") is given so much significance over the scenes them getting to know one another?

Ironically, as I said before, it's a good thing this flashback to Dracula couple meet cute was left on cutting room floor:

It's sentimental for its own sake and adds nothing. This romance is sufficiently established in other scenes of the final movie. If they left that in, Mavis' dead mom would basically have better established romantic plotline than Mavis herself.

Also, as much as I appreciate third movie letting Dracula move the fuck on and retconning the "once in a lifetime" part for him, BY THE FIRST MOVIE'S LOGIC his second love is illegitimate and he should not marry Ericka. Fuck you, Drac, be lonely and miserable for the rest of your unlife because your one and only zing is dead!

[0nelittlebirdtoldme]

Writer asks

Got tagged by @bluecatwriter. With another year of writing slowly coming to an end, why not look over some of my stuff? Thanks for the tag!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

143 works, however 2 or 3 of them are just some of my crossposted fanart.

2. What's your total ao3 word count? 428,434. Wanted to get to 500k this year, but i suppose i am not quite there yet.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Still just Dracula/Dracula 2020. Some IWTV, some Fight Club. 2 for Empire of the Vampire which i have neither finished reading, nor is there a proper fandom for.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Death's Sunrise (of course, the only fic to gain over 1k kudos). 1,071 as of now

3 Sandman fics i don't care for anymore so i am not gonna name them (if you are curious, just look them up yourself, you know where to find them)

The Gathered Night 

Touch as Soft as Ice (Harkula Tumblr Prompts) (the tumblr prompt collection which i kind of have disbanded by now - i just post the prompt fics by themselves these days)

Ladybugs Don't Fly at Night 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, but sometimes i just lack the energy. I do get a lot of comments, in all fairness, but even if i don't reply right away, i just want you to know that i do read and appreciate them all! <3

6. What's the fic you wrote that has the angstiest ending?

The majority is really angsty. If I had to guess, either DS or Completed - a quadruple drabble in which Dracula, in his delusion, is holding onto Jonathan's very dead corpse, somehow still waiting for him to come back to (un)life.

7. What's the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?

Either something from Castles in the Air, my softer drabble collection, or something like Keeping Family - a very self indulgent murder husbands + accidental baby acquisition fic.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

By god, the things i find in my inbox some days are really something. (Side bar: just because a writer writes specific themes and topic it doesn't make it alright to send them death and grape threats christ on a cracker)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yes. My smut always flirts with the idea of consent and power dynamics. I think it's in general on the more intense side, although i do have some softer, slower works. A personal favorite of mine are the really sweet and sloppy ones - consensual somno and the like.

10. Do you write crossovers?

TGN, my beloved. My Dracula x IWTV crossover. Not really related to either Dracula or Interview with the Vampire, but i just wanted to put my 4 vamps (Jonathan, Drac, Louis and Lestat) like mentos into a carbonated soda bottle and shake them around real good, just to see what happens.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Er. Yes. Was a whole deal. Sorted it out. Kinda. Hope it doesn't happen any longer.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not officially (see no. 11)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I would be down for it! I do some beta reading for KINGBeerZ on ao3, both for his Dracula fics as well as currently an original work, which is fun and interesting, but i could totally see myself actually co-writing a fic with someone else if we had the same vision for the story.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Forgive me, but yes, it is Harkula. Sorry not sorry. I like them messy, i like them problematic, and i am aware of it. Also i just like to see Jonathan properly dishevelled and out of breath.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but don't think you ever will?

There has been one fic i pulled and have not looked at since. It was giving me trouble the second i posted it, made me have a mental break down and freak out. Didn't get much feedback on it the weeks after so i decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Probably wouldn't do it that way these days, but eh.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I feel like i am quite good with dialogue, quick snappy banter and teasing and the like. Maybe also the way i describe pain, body horror, etc.?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Grammar. I swear. As a non native speaker, it is always grammar for me.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I either translate it right away, put it in italics, or leave it as it. Totally depends on what effect i want to achieve.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

With great shame i have to say that i started out on Wattpad. 15 year old me has discovered BBC's Sherlock and was unstoppable (well, at least until i switched to ao3 and nuked the wattpad account). On ao3 my first fic was DS, and the fandom Dracula (2020)

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Hard to say. I still love DS despite the typos and messy plot, and am currently obsessed with TGN. But there are so many others i am quite proud of.

Leaving a tag for @argyleheir as well as @chthonic-cassandra and anyone else who feels like it, but absolutely no pressure!

[pinkdinkydoon]

🧡🎃 Selfship-Tober- Day 1: Sweater Weather

October 1, Day 1, Sweater Weather

Fall Break was a break not everyone could afford to have or do.

Griffin, was someone who was in between. He did most of his work at home and so technically is was ALWAYS on break, but this time around was different.

He was an at home chemist/scientist, and when the friend groups group chat had a question asking about fall break and if he'd be coming, he gave a definite yes.

Despite having work.

So he packed up his suitcase, packed up another suitcase for all the chemicals he needed to write data sheets on, and got on a plane to Translyvania.

Not everyone could afford to come. Johnny and Mavis being one of them. They were both in Belgium at the time and traveling back to Transylvania would be a hassle in itself as they were already TRAVELING.

Everyone else was good though. Murray had NO STRINGS attached. Frank had nothing going on. Dracula owned the hotel and was the one who invited them. Wayne convinced Wanda he needed some Guy Time.

And Griffin was bringing work with him.

Lizzie jumped on the idea first. Holed up in Canada in her apartment she sent her reply to Drac saying how she'll, and I qoute, "BE THERE IMMEDIATELY >:DDD."

Which was pretty funny considering she was then the last one to arrive.

As the gang met up in the center of the hotel mingingly they chatted, laughed, and waited for the final member of the group to arrive.

Frank, who was hugging Wayne and Drac dropped them both. "Hey where's Lizz-erino. Wasn't she the most excited??"

Murray pulled his phone up. "Her flight got delayed. Check the CHAT. She'll probably take a couple of hours."

Time to prove HIM wrong.

Griffin then pulled up his messages on his phone. "She actually got a different flight. She's in a taxi, five minutes away."

Frank leaned over to the messages and read the phone name as "Lizz 🧡🌻" which made him smirk.

"Look at you two. Talking to each other."

"We talk EVERYDAY," Griffin squinted, and gave a very deadpan tone to him.

They couldn't see his face so the look was not even processed or acknowledged.

....

Wayne scratched behind his ear and glanced at the invisble man. "You tell her about the Zing yet?"

He shook his head. "Nah... I've got a good thing going. We talk everyday, we call everyday, when she goes to bed she puts the phone on her pillow while we video call. It's a whole thing."

Drac chuckled. "That's Griffin guys. A girl shows intrest in him and all his PHDs suddenly loose their worth!"

The group laughed and teased him while he stood, unamused with his little group circle.

The laughing stopped with the sudden spinning of the hotel glass door was heard. Then followed by the hitting of the wooden floor.

Low and behold, Lici stood in the middle.

Fall outfit in all, new haircut, new accessories. She had a bright orange suitcase in one hand and was leaning on her cane on the others.

The loud screeching of a Taxi leaving was heard, as she smirked at the group. "Sorry I'm late!"

She was quickly swept up in a sandstorm, Murray running over and taking her to the group in a mess of grains of sand and a hug. "MY GIRL'S HEREEE!!!"

She returned the hug with a big smile. He luggage was taken quickly and she turned the the group.

"Francis, Dracula, Murray, Wayne, Griffin," she proclaimed, giving a dramatic bow.

Only then she quickly swooped I'm to give Griffin a big hug. He returned it with a laugh. Once the embrace was done she took a step back.

"I love the sweater... nice and soft!" She gushed.

Griffin flushed. "Yeah! Well- ya know it's Fall. And it's cold. I put it on an hour before I arrived- it should be fading into my body soon...."

"A shame. You look so handsome in it," she sighed, shaking her head.

God a small Zing went through his heart, which is what a Zing does to you... he should've expected it.

Compliments did that.

She then gave everyone else their hugs respectively, gushing about her plane trip and her home life. They chatted about her haircut and their lives and it continued normally.

Griffin stood, admiring her bouncy-ness and enthusiasm and thinking about her compliment.

He looked HANDSOME in the sweater. She couldn't even see him and she thought he looked handsome.

He smiled, rubbing the side of his invisible face with a gloved hand. As his clothes slowly started to fade with his own chemically invisible body.

And while she blabbered about whatever, he slowly came up to her side and put a gloved hand on her shoulder, joining the conversation.

⚰️🧡 ~○End○~ 🧡⚰️

Tags: @sennamybeloved (creator of prompts)

[rosetyler42]

I feel Ericka kind of has mixed feelings about her past simetimes.

On one, Ericka's proud and grateful to have realized the error of her family's misconceptions and to have the opportunity to do better, to make her own future and break the cycle of her family's legacy. She's not nessecarily perfect, but she's trying to get better. She's determined not to judge or assume things about others, OR to let history repeat itself with another genocide. And she'd like to try and give others a chance - especially those who are reformed villains like she was herself.

If they're open to reason, that is.

On the other, Ericka still deals with the guilt and shame of having been not only a 5 time attempted murderer, but a willing accomplice to genocide for decades. Even though she did ultimately change her mind and learn from her mistakes and no one actually died, they very much COULD have by actions she blames herself for to a certain extent. Even if it's not exactly true, Sometimes she thinks If she had realized sooner, been braver, sided with Drac instead of lying and delivering the instrument of destruction...maybe things might have been different. And of course the talk that "Well she still tried to kill monsters, so she's bad" and...well, being seen as nothing more than a homicidal maniac doesn't help. Can she really make her own future when it seems like all anyone else will see her as is a murderer? How can she act like she's any better than the haters when she used to BE just like them?

And what if she tries to tell her new monster friends about the ruthless vengeful monsterhunter she used to be, and they HATE her for it? Turn against her? Lump her in with all the people who've oppressed them? She knows covering things up isn't the way to go. Drac's done that at least 4 times, and it's NEVER worked. But she also doesn't want to lose the first friends she's ever had in her life.

So I imagine she's in the interesting position of...she KNOWS the hateful genocide-justifying rhetoric people like Wilson spout for the threat it is. But EXPLAINING why she knows it and why it bothers her? Where the repressed hostility came from, how she's so good at fighting? Opening up about the ruthless killer she used to be, especially to someone like Jack who's got strong morals and has been harmed by this kind of thinking before?

It's...hard.

Thankfully, Jack gets it. He's the chaotic adventurous and free-spirited cartoon Nephalem son of an enemies to lovers ship where the mom tried to kill dad once but redeemed. His parents are thought to be enemies in his game. Much of his family have tried to kill eachother at least once. Buddy And besides, Just because you're born to darkness doesn't mean you belong to it. If Joey and Audrey Drew of all people could choose to be better and break the Cycle, why not a Van Helsing? As a toon (and half angel), he's also an optimist despite growing up in literal hell. So when Ericka's feeling down on herself, he can provide another perspective.

So I thought it'd be sweet having him give her some encouraging words in his own way.

@lovelylivelyv @black-ak9 @hotelt-resurrection @serial-serializednovelreader @deathfangirl9 @wingingfromthezing @heartsong1994 @ebevkisk @kittyball23 @inkiedraws @inkhyaena @inkspottie @inkwelldevil @thedopedemon @thedemonsurfer @thedobermutt @roydoodler-blog @doodledrawsthings @howling-nightmare @artistcaptainbendy