You Can't Look At This And Tell Me That You Don't Want To Hug Him.

You can't look at this and tell me that you don't want to hug him.

well here they are uwu

you x clown💖

Silly facts about one of my archive stories 'Reverse The Dancing Knights'.

Hello loves. I hope it's alright if I post this?

Ah, Reverse The Dancing Knights. Possibly the most cruel, angsty, complicated story I've ever written, but man do I love it. Right now it is my favorite story that I'm writing just because of all the unique twists and the sheer difficulty of it. I do believe that it's the most complex story that I've ever made, and it's just... So bizarre. And, for fun, I just wanted to share some silly facts about it.

- To begin, I wanted to share how the idea was inspired, and that was by Jason Voorhees in my story 'Battle of The Imaginary Minds'. I was in the middle of updating a chapter to that story when Jason's vulnerability hit me all of the sudden and made me question, "What if the killers were the ones who needed support instead of the reader?" And so an incredibly violent idea developed inside my head and I wrote it as fast as I could. Thanks Jason!

- Now, onto the story itself. When Bubba was new to the Entity's realm/game was when the survivors kidnapped the killers and began locking them in the Fun House.

- Some of the earlier killers have been traumatized for up to three years.

- The open relationship between the killers began before and during the Fun House. Their emotional turmoil put them at a disadvantage thus making it easier for the survivors to kidnap them.

- Herman's reason for self-mutilating himself stems much deeper than just guilt and regret.

- Frank and Jeffrey have an intimate connection. Hence the reason why Danny calls him 'Clown Bitch'.

- Danny had it the easiest out of any of the killers. Many viewers seem to enjoy Danny's characterization in that story, but I'm not entirely certain that's a good thing, but I could be messing with ya. Who knows ;) In my stories, Danny is always unpredictable, isn't he?

- Jeffrey is the most traumatized killer. (All of my favorite killers are the ones who suffered the most. I'm evil).

- One of the future moments with Caleb will be one of the most emotional moments in the entire story.

- Remember the Blind Voting? Yeah, I already made my vote a long time ago. (The perks of having multiple archive accounts).

- The random 'falling leaves' in the story are a part of major foreshadowing. Keep an eye out for that and pay close attention.

- There are so many twists to this story that it's insane. I've literally written almost over thirty pages of notes for this story because it's so complex.

- Pyramid Head, Pinhead and Caleb are the only ones who know. What do they know? You'll find out eventually.

- The reader in Knights is probably my least traumatized reader, and ultimately the physically strongest. They're also very sexually skilled, and can fight. (They have to be strong. They're the supporter).

- The ending to this story will be one of the most emotional endings that I've ever written. I can't tell you how excited I am to write it. Like, I wish I could finish this story in one night.

- Every single killer that comes after Carmina/The Artist is essential- like, unbelievably important- to the storyline.

- The harem consists of seventeen killers plus the reader.... That's a lot of drama for me to write.

- I said it once and I'll say it again: Sadako, The Dredge, Wesker, Tarhos, Adriana, and whatever new killers are brought to dbd are extremely important.

And that's all I'm gonna share for right now. My apologies for the rambling. I'm just so excited and I love the story so much. If you happen to not know what the fudge I'm talking about, it's this story right here https://archiveofourown.org/works/35205661/chapters/87724681.

Thank you for indulging my babbling. I hope you all are doing well and have a nice day.

Vent post.

I promised myself that I would be more open with my viewers, and so here I am. I'm sorry if it's stupid and ridiculous. You really don't have to read this.

I take writing very seriously. Writing is my soul passion. And my bad guy series is one of my favorite series to write for... At least I thought it was. Here recently though, I've been noticing something and it's causing me to become more and more depressed and insecure by the month.

I'm not like everyone else in the slasher fandom. I'm different. And being different is causing me to be depressed.

At first I didn't know it, but I entered a dark fandom that thrives off of bdsm, sex and/or rape, submission and guilty pleasure. And I entered this fandom not liking any of that stuff. I don't like rape or bdsm or sex or submission. I don't even find the killers sexually attractive. But everyone else does. And that's what hurts.

I can't be like everyone else here. I can't make myself feel sexual attraction or enjoy bdsm and rape and all that. And that also means that I can't write any of that stuff either, and that makes me sad. It makes me sad because I can't be what this fandom wants me to be. I'm a disappointment. A dud. Sitting alone in a corner feeling so fucking a shamed and useless and lonesome.

Some times I don't even know what I'm doing here because I start feeling so upset, and I even get the urge to delete my stories. But at the same time I don't want to delete my stories. I want to keep writing and finish them, but gosh... This depression.

I keep asking myself what I'm doing here. I'm not good enough to be here. I mess things up. I don't even write the slashers in canon. What could I ever hope to accomplish in this fandom when I'm the polar opposite of what it stands for?

The only thing that's kept me going is the small group of friends and followers that I've made during my slasher journey. So if you're one of them then please know how grateful I am for you. Every single one of you gives me a reason to breathe inside this crazy fandom, even if breathing isn't what I deserve to do.

Also, this doesn't mean that I'm quitting any of my stories. I'm just venting and being pathetic. I'm so very sorry. I try not to let my feelings show, but here lately... I don't even know anymore.

Hey my friends. I would like to ask you all a personal favor please.

Ever since I got Tumblr, my friendship with my viewers has begun to drastically expand. Many of you have been so nice and I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed conversing with you.

But there's just one thing I'd like to request.

Please do not ask or talk about my stories 'My Saddest Journey' or 'My Winter Compass'. I can't tell you why (and some of you may already know why, and if you do then I'm sorry. I'm so sorry), but I'm not comfortable with talking about those stories.

That's my only request please. I'm sorry. I hope you'll understand. Thank you for being such amazing, valuable viewers and beloved friends.

Hello! It has come to my attention that you are currently looking for inspiration, so I thought I'd lend you a hand! First of all, if this does not peak your interest, please don't feel pressured to take my suggestion! Alright, so, emotional support/fluff, hm... What about killers being tenderly taken care of after a survivor managed to hurt them? I'm not sure if this is the kind of concept you are looking for, so please excuse me if it isn't! Have a lovely day! 💗

A reader helping killers' who were hurt- emotionally and/or physically.

For the very sweet, lovely @lovesick-on-the-loose

Thank you so much, lovesick, for being so kind and patient. You're a very wonderful person and I've enjoyed the conversations we've had together. I apologize that the drabble is late, but I really hope that you like it 💐❤️ Much love to you, my dear!

Also.... This is my first time writing Kazan, so I probably did an iffy job. Nonetheless I'm glad I got the chance to portray his character more.

Warnings: Non-graphic violence. Character injury. Blood and injury. Fat shaming.

...

Max (injury)

Max was in a rough chase with Ada who kept hitting him with pallet after pallet until one point it finally managed to break the skin on his head. And it was painful. So painful that he dropped his hammer and chainsaw and began limping around blindly while clutching his head.

He growled and groaned in pain. His heart was racing and it felt like his skull was broken. Blood oozed down his face and into his eyes. What did he do? How was he supposed to fight like this? Aw, he just wanted the pain to stop.

"Max."

Max jolted and spun around anxiously. Who was that? Someone else who wanted to hurt him?

"Max, it's me, (y/n), a-are you okay?" It was you.

Max relaxed a bit and stilled his movements. Personally, you were his favorite person here. You were just so pretty and kind and caring. And he kind of... 'liked'... you........

"Oh, that looks bad. Here, I have a medical kit. Would it... Is it okay if I help you real quick?" You asked, stopping nearby.

Him getting help from you? Was this a dream come true? Max hesitated, but eventually he nodded and got down to his knees. He heard you approaching, his eyes squinting with the intense desire to properly see you.

"Here," You say, your gentle hands cupping his chin and tilting his head up, "Hold still, ok?"

Max uttered small, patient growls while enjoying the feeling of you softly cleaning away the blood. You were so gentle and kind. Oh, how he wished he could speak.

"I'm gonna bandage this, but it might sting a bit, ok?" You say, patting his shoulder.

Nodding, Max tensed and groaned whenever you poured cool liquid over his head, but once it settled a bit, he was surprised to notice the painful wound go numb. "I'm sorry this happened. I know Ada can be a pain to deal with," He heard you speak while wrapping up his head.

"But you did a good job," You hum, and it caused his chest to flutter. "And you're so strong. I love how you never give up."

Stop it. You're making his heart go crazy. Max's crooked mouth curved in a smile, and he growled bashfully at your praise. It might sound silly, but he really wanted to hug you right now.

Once you were done bandaging his head, you sat back and smiled, "There. Is that better?"

Brushing a hand over his tingly, bandaged head, Max nodded and looked at you, his cheeks turning red at your beautiful, kind, amazing face. Gosh, you were so incredible. He was grateful to even walk on the same ground as you.

Wincing, Max clenched his eyes shut and forced out, "Thhh... Thank... You."

"You're welcome, Max," You grin, leaning in to place your hand over one of his, "This trial is pretty much over, but I'll stay behind so you don't get punished. Does that sound good?"

What? You would do that for him? And the way you were holding his hand- it just- ahhh! What was happening right now?

"Wh-what's wrong?" You laugh softly, obviously catching onto his adorable panic.

Max tilted his head away. What's wrong is that he really liked you, and you were really nice, and you just helped him, and you were holding his hand, and it felt like his face was about to burn off. He growled a bit, closing his eyes when he slowly turned his hand over beneath yours, your fingers lightly intersecting.

"Max?" You squeeze his fingers back.

Max turned and looked at you, and his heart rocketed into his throat at what you said next.

Herman (emotional)

He was sitting at the isolated killer campfire by himself, his knees drawn and body slumped forward as he stared with blank eyes at the infinite fire. Around a week ago he had been rejected by someone who he was really attracted to, and that pain was still heavy inside him, endlessly weighing him down.

And, to add more salt to the wound, people both killer and survivor alike had been making fun of him and all for different reasons. He felt like a fraud, an outcast, a failure and a hated imbecile. And lonely. So very, very lonely. Unliked. Unwanted.

There was the distinct sound of tasseled tree branches in the distance, but Herman didn't care to register it. Was probably just some other jerk come to rub his own humiliation in his face again.

"Herman?" He heard a voice. 'Your' voice. "E-excuse me, I don't mean to bother you, I just... I just came to see if you were okay?"

Herman turned his head and spotted your shy figure standing just on the other side of the fire. While he didn't know you personally, he knew that the brief moments you did share together in the past had been decent. But that didn't answer why you were here. He nodded.

You approached slowly, your steps light and hesitant, "Aren't you lonely out here all by yourself?"

Yes. Herman shook his head and sighed, idly watching you from the corner of his eye.

"Is it okay... Can I sit with you?"

He nodded. You sat down about five feet away from him, mindlessly grabbing a nearby stick and probing it around at the ground, "It sucks- being rejected. Makes you... Makes you wonder what you're doing wrong."

Herman's eyes widened and he looked over at you. You were looking at the ground, casually tapping at it with the stick. You had been rejected too?

"And it's crazy because-pfft! Who would wanna reject you? You're smart, kind... Handsome..." You bashfully admit, turning your head away.

Interest fully caught, Herman straightened his posture and turned towards you a bit, "(y/n)?"

"I'm just saying-" You say somewhat passionately, albeit embarrassed, "They're stupid for rejecting you..."

Herman's gaze drifted off a bit, "Or perhaps I merely hone no attraction."

"Uh," You scoffed, glaring at him, "Yes you do. Why would you say that? You're very attractive, and kind, and you have the most beautiful smile, and you're such a gentleman- I-I seriously don't know why anyone would want to turn you down. You deserve so much more than that."

"Hm," Herman smiled a bit and scooted closer to you, his tone pleasant and smooth as he mumbled, "Yes... Yes, I suppose I do deserve better, don't I?"

When you turned your head back and saw how close he had gotten, you blushed and stammered, "O-oh, I-I... I?"

"Tell me, (y/n)... Is it true? Do you really think that highly of me?" Herman asked, staring hopefully into your eyes.

You stare back, a bit flustered, but honest, "Yes."

"Well then," Herman stretched his hand out towards you, murmuring, "I guess I just need to set higher standards then, hm?"

Kazan (injury)

Kazan is not used to the foreign, futuristic buildings that he is forced to do trials in. And not frequently does he have the proper attire to venture through these realms- like right now he was trying to navigate his way through some freezing, concrete building filled with flashing lights, walls, creepy bathrooms and more walls.

There was also a lot of clutter in the institute, and along that clutter there lie stray broken glass. Glass that he stepped and 'slipped' on thus creating multiple, long cuts in the bottom of his bare feet.

Kazan roared in anger and pain, immediately dropping his katana and falling down onto his bottom. He growled, pawing at his rapidly bleeding foot. There was a piece of sharp glass lodged inside it. He touched it and roared yet again in excruciation. Curse this hell.

If the Entity was a belly, he would slice it.

Kazan attempted many times to remove the glass, and when that failed he tried resuming the trial, and then when that failed he sat back down and huffed and groaned loudly in a mixture of pain, fury, and annoyance.

"Hello?"

Kazan huffed and turned his head straight in your direction, startling whoever it was that dared tread close to him. His eyes dilated, though, whenever he saw that it was 'you'. (y/n). You were standing nearby with your hands lifted in the air- a red medical kit held in the right one.

"I-I saw that you were hurt," You say softly, gesturing to his foot, "I can help."

What? He didn't understand you. The language you spoke was foreign to him, didn't you know? Kazan huffed gruffly, clenching his hand around his katana. The only reason he didn't cut you where you stood now was because he liked you. You were the only survivor who he respected in this gruesome purgatory.

Instead of running away like he expected you to, Kazan watched suspiciously as you pointed from your med-kit down to your own foot, back to the med-kit and then to him. Hm? He knew that those red, square things were filled with equipment survivors used to heal themselves with. Were you implying that... You could heal him too?

"I can help you."

Well, there wasn't anything about your tone that suggested malice, and your expression seemed empathetic enough. Perhaps he could stand to accept your aid. Kazan huffed and spoke in his own language, relaxing his body and lifting out his foot.

He thoroughly observed you as you slowly approached him and kneeled down in front of his injured limb. So far you seemed trustworthy. You shuffled through that red container and pulled out a pair of pliers.

Kazan wasn't completely ignorant. He knew what was coming. This wasn't the first time something sharp needed to be pulled out of his body. So he sat up a bit and braced himself as much as he could, stifling a great roar whenever you swiftly pulled the glass out.

Your care after that was immediate. As you quickly dowsed his foot with numbing liquid and then wrapped it with gauze, Kazan listened to your soft yet foreign mumblings. Somehow it was reassuring to him, and you were so precise and gentle.

Kazan decided that he really did like you.

Once you were done, Kazan sat up straight and began to thank you in his own language. He even did a little bow to further express his gratitude.

When you bowed back, he blushed a bit and gazed down at his bandaged foot. You not only helped him but you showed him great kindness and respect. He said that he wanted to get to know you better.

You squinted your eyes at him, looking confused, "What?"

Kazan did the only thing he knew of that could work. He grabbed his katana, ripped off one of the decorative sakura on the handle, and lifted it out towards you. Take this as a clarification of his gratitude and maybe even, one of these days, his love.

Jeffrey (emotional)

He was sitting outside of his caravan on a chair all by himself, simply enjoying the peace after-trials brought. It had been a rough day- one that was filled with hate, degradation, embarrassment and loneliness. Jeffrey knew that he wasn't the best looker out there. He had let himself go a long time ago and he was far from being healthy.

But man, did people really hate him.

A lot of the survivors were friends with the killers, but no one was friends with him. Jeffrey was positive that the reason behind that was due to his appearance- hell, the survivors and even some of the other killers reminded him of how disgusting he was every day.

That's why, when Jeffrey saw you timidly approaching him from the opposite side of the dead circus, he rose an eyebrow of curiosity and defense. Judging by your posture, you didn't look like you were here with ill intentions. In fact you seemed kind of nervous and... shy.

Jeffrey eyed you heavily up until you came to a stop just a few meters away. "Hi?" You bashfully said, your adorable fingers lifting in a small wave.

"An' what the hell do you want?" He asked, prepared for the worst.

"I um... I just wanted to come by and say that... I saw how the other survivors were treating you last trial, and I... I wanted to come see you and say that... That I..." You cleared your throat, pressed your hand against your mouth and looked away, your cheeks a vivid red, "I don't think you're ugly at all. And... I hate the way they treat you. It's not right."

Jeffrey could only sit still in silence for a moment, utterly shocked. Well, of all the things you could have said, he definitely didn't expect to hear that. "Heh," He smirked, spreading his legs a bit and leaning forward with interest, "An' what made ya come all the way down here just to tell me that, sweetheart?"

"I..." You stammered, your blush more than obvious, "I-I felt bad for how they were treating you, and I... I was worried that you- you know... Might be feeling bad too..."

"Well, ain't you sweet?" Jeffrey grinned and beckoned you closer with a finger, "Commere."

You complied hesitantly, coming to a stop just a few feet away from him. Jeffrey eyed you up and down, pleased with what he saw, "Tell me: if ya don't think I'm ugly, then what am I to ya?"

Your fingers nervously rubbed together in front of your belly. Your cheeks were dark and your gaze averted. "I- you... I think that you're... Handsome." And then you covered your face with your hands.

And oh did Jeffrey love that. Someone thought he was handsome- and not just any someone. 'You'. One of the greatest survivors in this junky place. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, can ya repeat that?" He teased, lifting a hand behind his ear.

You made a face that caused him to laugh in amusement. "Aw, come on, ya gotta know I ain't got good ears," He grinned.

You shuffled and gazed around, unable to look at him as you sputtered, "I said... I think you're handsome."

"What was that? Sorry, one more time."

"Mm..." You blushed furiously, covering your face, "Seriously?"

Jeffrey leaned back and chuckled, "Ain't you just the dammed most adorable thing I ever did see... Much better than all them other hustlers. Prettier too."

"Is... Is it okay if I sit with you for a while? Please?" You ask.

Jeffrey hummed and closed his legs together, patting his thighs as he said, "Yeah, yeah, here. Sit right here. Take a load off from all them darn nice things yuv been sayin' to me."

Whether you sat on his lap or not was entirely up to you. Either way, Jeffrey loved having you around. And for the first time in a long time... He felt like he was finally accepted.

My weird, personalized killer tier list (for fanfiction)

I pretty much love all the killers. I just created this for fun.