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I'm enamored by his level of freak

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With Jax’s development in the latest episode, looks like a good time to finally post my art of him

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Something rouses you in the middle of the night, blinking blearily at a dark ceiling as the dredges of sleep cling to your lashes. The answer comes a moment later when you swallow and your dry throat burns in retaliation, as waterless as the dunes of the Sahara Desert.

The usual cup by your bed is MIA when you blindly pat for it, and you grumble as you brave yourself up onto your elbows, grasping for your phone instead. The flashlight is blinding, vision blanking as you flinch and squeeze your eyes shut, sheepishly shuffling off the bed as you try to not trip over your clothes on the floor.

Your bedroom door swings open with only the slightest creak in protest as you pause to peek your head into the hallway. Simon- your roommate- is a light sleeper, you’re well aware, necessary for his line of work. Hopefully you won’t be waking him, the man needs whatever sleep he could get.

You quietly slink into the hallway, padding around every squeaky floorboard you know like a criminal in your own home. Pausing every few seconds to prick your ears for any noise that he’s awake. When you’re halfway down, you raise your flashlight slightly, glancing at the open doorway of the nearby kitchen.

Your beam catches on a towering shadow and you pause to sweep it back over, eyes gleaming in the darkness back at you as your light finally hits the figure standing by the front door fully. The scream wretched from your throat is loud enough to wake the dead, the light spinning wildly as your phone flings from your grip, clattering to the floor. Silent, loud and oppressing, presses on your chest in the stillness that follows, only your pounding heartbeat and heavy breathing roaring in your ears.

A nervous half cough as he clears his throat, the floor groaning in protest when he shifts from one foot to the other like a teenager caught past curfew.

“Um- hi [Name].”

“SIMON!!”

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There’s someone following you. The slight scuff of a boot against the pavement- you whirl around, heart in your throat- nothing. An empty street. Deserted. Despondent.

You swallow thickly, curl your hand together over the strap of your handbag. The other pawing anxiously at the pepper spray inside, finger curling and uncurling over the trigger.

They want you to know they’re there. A scuff of their shoes, a sudden misstep, allowing you to hear two pairs, not just your own heels clacking against the sidewalk. Enough to keep you on your toes. Enough to make you raise your speed, attempt to cast discreet glances behind you.

But nothing. Each time you’d peer at a passing store window, glancing at the other street, behind you as far as you can see. Every time you’d be so bold as to whirl around, catch the creep off guard. Nothing. No one.

Only your heavy breathing echoing in your eyes and the dim streetlights flickering in warning.

It’s late. You need to get home.

Your hands slip from the pepper spray to your phone, curling around its cool plastic frame. No police, no emergency services. What would you even say? I think someone’s following me but I can’t see anything? Describe the suspect? No, no I don’t know.

No phone calls. They’d hear. And you need to be able to hear them. Catch when they lurk too close. React fast enough. You glance inside, hand clammy and sweaty, the phone attempting to lurch from your grip.

A cab. An Uber. A Lyft. Whatever comes first. You’re too exposed on the street. You’d rather take your chances up with one creep in a car. One you can see. And actually hit. You swipe away- just for a moment, a split second- your location first, to a friend. Just in case.

That’s all the opening he needs.

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Pretty much how my week has been going in the lead up to release

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Anon I hope you know I think of you

Came from the fanart, stayed for the fanfics that inspired them because oh my god? Oh my good god. Your slasher/yandere writing is genuinely some of the best I've read in a long time. Please tell me you'll continue the GhostMeg story because I have so many butterflies <3

Thank you so much!! I’m so happy you enjoyed it! <3

I actually do have a couple more parts planned for GhostMeg, so keep an eye out for that! Funny enough, I also wrote another one shot that’s a bit disconnected from the first parts and takes place a short time frame after, but I was hesitating on posting it since I didn’t think anyone would be interested in it.

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Thinking of a reformed yandere girl.

Probably was obsessed with a guy in high school who didn’t return her affections (obviously). Did the whole nine yards, online stalking and constant messaging, physical stalking, leaving photos in his locker. Weekly love notes and threats to any female classmates who had to group up with him for a project. The guy was just annoyed, and pissed. He only gets high school once and she’s ruining it?

I assume it’d be taken lightly if she doesn’t have any weapons. Maybe she’s just not the type for that, or maybe she knows that she could get into actual trouble then. But everyone brushes it off. She’s just romantic, can’t you tough it out? You know, I’d consider myself lucky to have a girl interested in me like that, I can’t even get one girl’s number.

And then- maybe he leaves for college as far as he could. Maybe she’s a year younger so she can’t exactly just *follow him*. And yandere girl just… kinda eventually snaps out of it. Realizes she put so much of her identity on him. Made herself to be what he’d like, made herself better. She kinda realizes that she doesn’t really… know anything about herself outside of her obsession over him. Does she… like any of these hobbies? Or did she pick them up just because she thought it’d impress him? That it was his type? That he’d suddenly see her and be swooning over her?

So she throws that all away. Works on herself. Dresses differently, does her hair differently. Starts attending a variety of clubs, community events, tries out concerts, a whole variety as she tries to understand what she actually likes.

And then, at her favorite coffee shop, a guy suddenly bashfully sits at her table as she looks up in surprise. Maybe he’ll use the excuse that all the other tables are full, while she glances around at obviously empty ones. Maybe he’s more honest and, with a raging blush on his cheeks, admits he’s seen her at the cafe a few times and finally mustered up the courage to talk to her.

She’s older, more mature, into her early twenties by now. Hasn’t gone for another guy since her obsession because she’s half terrified of sinking back into bad habits. But this guy is persist, in a cute, nice way. Seems to pick up on her likes and dislikes incredibly fast, such a gentleman, that drapes his coat over her if it’s chillier than expected or starts to rain. His sweet smile is disarming and she finds herself smiling bashfully back, her cheeks heating up. They click so well together.

Well of course they would, he’s her high school sweetheart. Had come back to his hometown from college with a groan at the expectations of his stalker flinging herself at him again, glued to his side and matching every step. Though he can’t quite deny.. that it had certainly given him an ego boost that he’d never admit to. Him? Regular him of all people? And she’d gotten obsessed? Try as he might- none of the flings in his college were as interesting.

But look, oh look. She doesn’t come. One day, two, a week. He waits, taps his foot. Eventually he sees her in passing. Almost doesn’t recognize her at first sight. She’s changed, is so much more calmer, so much prettier, so much more sure of herself. Starts eyeing her, hovering nearby in the grocery store as she doesn’t notice, or in some retail store. Just to watch her next move, he tells himself. And she never does. Moved on. Forgot about him.

The tables flip now where he is the one constantly stalking her now. Starts seeing aspects of her that he brushed off before or considered annoying. Had her laugh always sounded so cute? Did she scrunch her nose like that in high school too or had he been too focused on rolling his eyes to see? And, well, finally approaches her in the coffee shop. Maybe he’d taken on a completely new look, a disguise, to mark their new life together. Maybe she blocked her memories of him and burned every photo so she doesn’t recognize him older now.

She’d pick up on the cues too. Feeling like she’s being watched, is he being possessive when he leans as another guy passes by? Did she hear a camera shutter just now? But she brushes it all off. Is certain it’s in her head. And doesn’t want to fall into bad habits.

This is her first relationship, with a proper, nice guy. She doesn’t want to ruin it with ghosts from her past and her shameful history.

So you’d have an incredibly funny picture of him doing the most blatant stalker, yandere stuff, damn near appearing in her second story bedroom window, as she brushes it all off and blushes to herself over her new boyfriend.

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The men

may i offer you guys some Ghoul sketches from the hit video game series Codfish: modern wars

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The Hare and the Pig

⇢ Pairing: Amanda + Meg Thomas (background GhostMeg & platonic GhostPig)

⇢ Length: Oneshot

⇢ Synopsis: Amanda's perspective of Danny and Meg's relationship, trapped in a trial with both.

⇢ A/N: Amanda isn't in the 2v8 (yet) but I think I'd be terrified more than enough if she was. A reminder that a “+” signifies a non-romantic pairing (typically platonic but I’m not certain these two are even at that level yet)

Amanda sees her before she does. It’s a given, considering she’s the predator, trapped in an arena with her prey. 

She stills where she’s crouched in the foliage, waiting to lunge at one of the survivors, too distracted to notice her as they run past. Her flare of bright, red hair is the first giveaway. Danny’s gushed about it more times than she cares to count, and she’s practically sick of the sentence “luscious red locks” even without having ever seen them. (More than once she’s considered shaving them off if it would only get Danny to SHUT UP-)

Two braids fly behind her head, lightly smacking her on her shoulders as she whips her head around in every direction, eyes narrowed, ears straining as she cautiously pads. Not quite a walk but not a run either. Gathering her strength, saving it for a boost when she’s startled and needs to bolt.

Amanda tilts her head, squints her eyes. Now she can see the never-ending comparisons to a red hare that Danny loves to make. The constant glances in every direction, the footsteps, angled and poised, ready to bolt at the slightest rustle. She can practically make out a pair of lopsided bunny ears on top of her head, twitching in every direction with the way she keeps a keen eye out. 

The other giveaway is the mismatched hair ties holding both of her braids; one a dark brown color that nearly blends in with her hair, the other a shock of bright, teal blue. A glaring constant to the rest of her clothes, and a wonderful pop against the red strands of her hair. She doesn’t need to ask to know which ones is her usual style, not with the way Danny had practically skipped into the Ormond Resort after he’d returned from a trial weeks ago, fresh blood splatters darkening his clothes from a round well done; spinning a hair tie on his finger with too much delight and giddy excitement for the man’s usual energy. 

She’d sighed and finally placed down the knife she’d been sharpening when his almost giggling had started to give her a headache, rubbing the wrong way on every nerve she had left as she monotonously asked where he’d got it. 

The bastard had grinned back at her, mask long since taken off and leaned in close. Close enough for his breathe to waft over her face as Amanda grimaced. He tilted back out of her personal space before she could shove him- or maybe even stab him- and given her a cheeky grin. 

“Secret,” he’d winked, annoyingly, pressing the hair tie fondly to the corner of his mouth.  

Amanda had held back an irritated sigh (if only to not delight him with how much of an effect he had on her) and returned to sharpening her knife, imagining how it’d look if she jabbed it into his eye and twisted. (Not that that’d bring much relief when he’d come back alive and well, thanks to the favoritism of the Entity, no point in it if he didn’t stay dead.)

She shifted closer, careful to avoid any rustling branches as she readjusted her hold on her knife. She couldn’t kill her, despite how much more annoying Ghostface had gotten since his budding obsession over her, but she could certainly have her fun. Even knew how to kill two birds with one stone and save the rest of the survivors for herself with no clashing competition. No giddy killer to splay himself over her back afterwards to brag about the kills he’d stolen from her. 

She pulled into herself, inhaled, quiet, quiet so they never heard her- and lunged. Typically the move would catch one of the survivors off guard, lucky to only escape with a knife wound and panic thrumming under their skin, tripping over themselves fearfully. The redhead was faster, wide eyes snapping to her pig mask before she bolted, feet slamming against the dirt only a moment before Amanda’s knife cut the air where she’d been, bloodthirsty and locked onto her. 

She growled, pivoting on her feet to keep her momentum as she missed, lurching after the redhead sprinting away from her. She had to give it to her, the girl knew how to run, dodging at every last moment, ducking behind a pallet before the pig could strike. 

But she wasn’t quite good enough. Not when there were two killers in the match, not when Amanda had a plan. 

She doesn’t see him, too focused on glancing back at her, ensuring the steady distance, searching for another route to try to shake her off. But Amanda does, has since the hunt started, since she nudged her in the direction. 

Meg didn’t notice the root until her foot snagged in it, yelping as she went flying, arms pinwheeling as she desperately tried to keep her balance. It’s a losing fight against gravity with her momentum however, and she certainly would’ve been eating dirt had a pair of dark, gloved hands not lashed out to catch her, yanking her upwards to collide with a broad chest instead, stepping backwards to catch her energy. 

Amanda slows her pace, snorting as she places her hands on her hips and catches her breathe, regards the view in front of her with a glow of self satisfaction. Meg is splayed against Ghostface’s chest, feet scrambling for purchase as she gapes up at him with horror stricken features. She shoves against his chest, desperately clawing, scrambling, like a prey caught in a snare. 

Amanda tilts her head up. She doesn’t need Ghostface’s mask off to feel the smug satisfaction rolling off of him in waves, arms lashed across her back to keep her pressed to him, leaning backwards to keep her scrambling on her toes, unable to kick or find enough purchase to leap away. He coos something to the survivor that makes her blanch and renews her desperate efforts, dull nails scratching at his arm as he shakes in laughter at her response. 

Amanda shudders, a shiver running up her spine as she fights to keep the bile from traveling up her throat. She couldn’t hear what he’d said from her distance, nothing more than the tone. But she’d live a happy life never knowing, nor hearing that sappy, nauseating, lovesick tone he’d taken on ever again. 

Amanda easily spins on her heel, tossing her knife between her hands as she stalks through the grounds, keenly eyeing her surroundings. Now with Ghostface perfectly subdued, she was free to have her fun with the other playthings. A win-win scenario. 

She snorted to herself, rolling her shoulders back as she cracked her neck. Really he should be thanking her. 

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she admitted it!!!! she said he's her best friend!!!!!!!! he heard her!!!!!!!!!

(also amanda you like. killed people with rigged traps. what are you talking about.)

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They gossip about YOU🫵 specifically after each trial

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The joke is always that Ghostface essentially forces himself into Pig's personal space as her self proclaimed best friend while she's actively stabbing him in the liver. But she never, like, denies those claims either.............

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By being a bitch in my 30’s I must submit that Danny has more than crunchy knees and a need for a nap after trials. The lil freak carries tums in his pocket since he’ll get indigestion out of no where, he has to make an old man noise every time he gets up from a seat, and he has to stretch before trials otherwise he runs the risk of pulling a muscle.

NAPPING AFTER TRIALS IS DEADASS WHAT I DREW FOR THAT GHOSTPIG FRIENDSHIP AND I LOVE IT

He's the type to put on the TV and immediately fall asleep, but then wake up and tell you he was watching that when you try to change the channel. He slaps his thighs while getting up and says "welp..." to signal that he's leaving. His back always hurts no matter what. His joints will randomly crack and it's the most sickening noise ever heard.

And the best part? Mandy is also in her 30s, and she's older than him.

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i love ur art of danny and mandy being besties so much its so jfjgjfjdjkks <3

Shopping trip!!!!! They're getting murder supplies and lunch together 💖

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Mandy. Biting. Danny.

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[Hello Zepp intensifies]

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a couple of faggots best friends (: