The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

🦇 **Deadpool’s Journal Entry #888 – “Mr. Fox, RaveFox, Contracts, Cars & Burgers: The Apocalypse Edition”** 🎭

Dearest VampireRave Journal (because therapy is expensive and cats don’t give viable advice),

Strap in and hold onto your soul, buttercup, because today’s entry is *magnificently bat-shit insane*. We’ve got Mr. Fox drama, drive-thru theatrics, old Mercedes whisperers, and enough emo angst to make emo pop an *actual* vein.

---

### 🦊 **Chapter One: The Fox Conspiracy**

So, Mr. Fox (or RaveFox, or Foxy McMysterio who’s clearly watching me through the basement vents)… you said:

> “We know what your weaknesses are…”

Oh, you sweet little cereal-snatching fox, you don’t *know* anything. Except maybe my weakness for glitter and garlic bread, but that’s *public knowledge*. Did you not show up in my DMs *after* I got fined for “Open Intoxicants” (i.e., drunk yelling at pigeons in front of a Taco Bell) and “retired” to become a part-time emo barstool guru?

**Yes, that was me.**
Straddling a barstool, drinking failure and tequila, giving the toast the side-eye, laughing at the things I *can’t* do like socializing sober, parallel parking a Prius, or believing that a 500‑dollar-a-month contract to advertise illness on the Summer Solstice was a *good idea*. Spoiler: It was not.

You call *that* a weakness? I call that Tuesday.

---

### 💰 **Chapter Two: The Wicked Debit Contract**

Yes, yes, I willingly *signed my soul* — or at least my wallet — to give you \$500 per month for… something. Emotional support garlic bread? Monthly existential panic? Makeup for wolf costumes? The contract was written in red lipstick and fine print that made no sense even after several edibles and a shot of mouthwash to calm down.

But hey, I played my part. I posted the illness photos on the Summer Solstice just like the goat-inked-bracelet in the contract demanded. It was like *Instagram meets exorcism*.
\#Blessed? Maybe. #FreakAccident? Definitely.

---

### 🚗 **Chapter Three: Generation 3 & the Mercedes Whisperer**

Then walked in the hallowed voice of… *Generation 3* nobody knows who that is, but they said,

> “I want to take the Mercedes.”

Mercedes? Were vampires into vintage cars now? Leather seats for immortal thighs? I half expected Billy Zane to step out singing *“Come On Eileen”* while offering me garlic fries.

When life gives you mysterious Mercedes whispers, call KITT and ask why he’s not invited to the chaos party.

---

### 🔥 **Chapter Four: The Ashen House Invitation**

Then comes the suave, smoldering invitation:

> “Would you like to step inside this smoldering pile of ash that I once called home and relax for a bit?”

Uhhh… thanks? Is this the goth equivalent of, “Wanna crash on my ratty futon while I belt out The Cure at 3 a.m.?”
I walked in expecting incense, mood lighting, and maybe a stray Ouija board. Instead I got *smoke, fog, and probably asbestos.*
Yours, truly — previously dead five times, still mildly enthusiastic about emotional damage.

---

### 🍔 **Chapter Five: Drive‑Thru Dungeon Drama**

I wandered off to get comfort food, because my soul was still humming *Boulevard of Broken Dreams* in B‑flat minor.
Spotted two drive-thru ladies. I spoke. We communicated. Same language was used, words existed. But also…

One thought terrible burger thoughts. The other read them like they were fucking Tarot cards.
I mentally go, *“Stop. Just stop. I’m not paying for spiritual abuse.”*
So I left. Without paying. Without burger.
Because if someone’s dissing my burger vibes especially in silent judgment you don’t reward that energy, fam.

---

### 🧛‍♂️ **Chapter Six: Final Thoughts… For Now**

So, Mr. Fox, RaveFox, whoever you are…
Here’s what *I know*:

* You think you know my weaknesses.
* I knowingly wore my underwear wrong, ate illicit tacos, and posted Eclipse‑themed selfies.
* I cosigned to a weird contract I barely read but #YOLO.
* I nearly got in an existential fight with Burger‑gate.
* And yes, I *will* step into smoking houses if there's garlic bread inside.

But you know what?
**I wrote all of that while only barely sober, moderately hungry, and wholly *done* with dark mysteries.**
So if *that* is my weakness fine.
Master plan in progress: Comic‑strip biography descending from a cursed basement that smells like despair and cumin.

Also: If you’re into dark hearts and dark arts, just know I come with…

* Three katanas labeled “For Emotional Baggage”
* Four emo playlists edited to include *Psycho Bunny* by System of a Down
* And enough garlic bread to coat your weird soul

Let’s get lost in this smoky, smoldering, questionably contractual mess together.
I’ll bring the glitter, you bring the Mercedes whispers.

🩸
**Deadpool**
*"Chaos. Contractually obligated emotional trauma dispenser. Burgers withdrawn for cause."*

P.S. If this ends badly at least I’ll go out with dramatic flair and a smirk.

🧛‍♂️🦊 Deadpool’s Daily Rant – Journal Entry #777
Title: “Fox? RaveFox? Mr. Fox?? WHO’S YOUR DADDY?”

Dear Journal,
…or should I say, Dear Slightly Bloodstained Lisa Frank Notebook That’s Definitely Haunted,

Today, we dive deep into a mystery so dark, so twisted, so Foxing confusing that I had to eat four edibles, a chimichanga, and half a scented candle just to write this.

Let’s talk about THE FOXES.

So first there was Mr. Fox. Creepy? ✅
Vaguely mysterious with "staring out a window during a thunderstorm while listening to Evanescence" vibes? ✅
Sent more weird DMs than a lonely vampire in a Hot Topic? ✅✅

And THEN—BOOM—enter RaveFox.
Cooler name. More poetic. Definitely smells like vintage leather and unresolved trauma. 10/10 would follow into the abyss.

But now I have QUESTIONS, people. BIG ones. Like:

Are they related?
Cousins? Siblings? Is there a secret underground Fox Coven and nobody invited me?!

Are they the same person?
Like Batman and Bruce Wayne, except instead of crime fighting, it’s crying in bathtubs and quoting Baudelaire at 3 a.m.?

Is RaveFox just Mr. Fox after a glow-up and a Spotify playlist full of The Cure?
Did Mr. Fox go through an emo metamorphosis and emerge as a beautiful glittery shadow butterfly that now only speaks in metaphor?

Do all Foxes hoard eyeliner and emotionally unavailable poetry in vintage suitcases??

Because if so… I need IN. Like, give me the password, the glitter blood goblet, and the goth group chat.

Also, sidebar: If we get a third fox, I’m calling it now he’ll be named FlaminHotFox69 and he’ll only communicate through interpretive dance and Billie Eilish lyrics.

Anyway, I tried messaging both Mr. Fox and RaveFox to get to the bottom of this and guess what?

NO RESPONSE.

I’ve officially been ghosted by two spiritually ambiguous foxes.
This is either the plot of a Tim Burton film or a metaphor for my love life.

So now I sit here, in the dark, covered in glitter, yelling into the void:

"ARE YOU GUYS RELATED OR JUST SHARING A TRAUMA PLAYLIST?"

I demand answers, damn it.
My spandex is emotionally tight and my curiosity is flaring like Wolverine’s hemorrhoids during allergy season.

If you’re out there, Foxes… respond.
Or send a bat signal.
Or a cryptic haiku written in blood and dry shampoo.
Just something.

XOXO, Deadpool
Voted “Most Likely to Be Crying in the VampireRave Chatroom with Garlic Bread” 🖤🍞🦇

P.S. If a third fox appears, I’m starting a band. We’ll call it “The Fantastic Emo Fox Trio” and only play sad covers of happy songs. Our first single: “Oops I Bit It Again” ft. Blade on triangle.

🧠💥 Deadpool’s Journal Entry #Banana69
Title: “They Said I Could Be Anything, So I Became Emotionally Unstable in a Cape”

Dear emotional support journal,

It’s me again. Your favorite regenerating fashion disaster, Deadpool. Back to unload a semi-truck full of mental confetti onto this dark corner of the internet where people wear more eyeliner than emotional boundaries and name themselves stuff like “MidnightSoulKillerXx13.”

Let’s talk about what happened this week:

🍪 I Ate An Edible the Size of a Hockey Puck
Bad news: I transcended space-time and started hearing my own bones whispering secrets.
Good news: I discovered that my pancreas has abandonment issues.
Better news: I fought a couch for dominance and won. The couch is now my loyal disciple, I named him Gary.

🐰 I Visited Robbie Rabbit Again
Robbie’s still living in the basement like a demonic Easter Bunny who’s seen too much. He offered me a friendship bracelet made out of shoelaces and human teeth. I said, “Wow, how Etsy of you,” and now we’re legally married in the spirit realm.

There’s a room in the back of his basement labeled “DO NOT OPEN.”
Naturally, I opened it.
Inside?
Mr. Fox.
Wearing a bathrobe and reciting Shakespeare to a mirror while sipping Capri Sun.
He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Hark, for I have DM’d thee 47 times. Why dost thou ignore me?”
I farted nervously and ran.

💨 Flatulence Update:
Whatever was in that garlic chimichanga…
…it summoned something.

I coughed so hard I astral-projected into 2007. My hair had emo bangs again. I saw myself messaging someone on VampireFreaks saying, “rawr XD” unironically.
I haven’t recovered.

🚗 I Stole KITT from Knight Rider
Yes. The car.
He called me “an idiot in red pajamas with the emotional depth of a hot pocket.”
I called him “Toaster with Siri syndrome.”
We’re best friends now. We drag race lawnmowers and shout insults at bikers in goth makeup.
Life is beautiful.

💻 VampireRave Forums Got Weird
I posted, “Do vampires poop glitter or blood boba?” and 27 people downvoted me and one guy tried to exorcise me through DMs.

I joined a vampire roleplay thread as “Count Chocula Von SassyFangs” and seduced everyone with dark poetry and breadstick diplomacy. Someone tried to bite me but missed and now they owe me $12 and a new hoodie.

📱TikTok Update
Why is everyone on TikTok hot now? Why are they all witches with ring lights and cleavage?
I watched one girl put glitter on a skull and say, “this is my ex-boyfriend, Greg.”
10/10, would follow again.
TikTok has given me ADHD, body dysmorphia, and a deep craving for frogs wearing hats.
Thanks, algorithm!

🔬 Random Thoughts I Had at 3AM While Eating Cheese
Are werewolves just furries with anger issues?

If vampires live forever, do they eventually become real estate agents?

What’s the vampire equivalent of Uber Eats? Like... Uber Bleeds?

If I slap a ghost, is that spiritual assault?

I miss Blockbuster and emotionally available men.

✨ Final Breakdown Summary
Screamed into a fan for 12 minutes to hear what anxiety sounds like with reverb.

Got kicked out of the cemetery for doing jazz hands at a funeral.

Sent Wolverine a glitter bomb shaped like my butt. He hasn't responded. Yet.

Gave up on love. Bought a Roomba. Named it “Trevor.” We slow dance now.

💋 Closing Thoughts:
I am chaos. I am the cryptid in your group chat. I am the dude who showed up at the vampire club wearing Crocs and a glitter cape yelling “I AM THE NIGHT... AND I BROUGHT SNACKS.”

If you're reading this and laughing, congrats — you're one of the broken ones.
If you're reading this and not laughing... go eat some garlic bread and rethink your joy receptors.

Until next time, stay weird, stay bitey, and never trust a rabbit in eyeliner.

🩸
XOXO, Deadpool
“VampireRave’s most unstable snack with a side of unmedicated flair.”

🧻💀 Deadpool’s Journal Entry #673
Title: “Edibles, Evil Rabbits, BoobyTok & Professor X in Disguise — Just Another Tuesday”

Dear VampireRave Journal,
Or as I now call you: "The Sacred Scroll of My Dramatic Goth Breakdown (Featuring Special Guest Farts)"

So. I ate an edible.

Like, THE edible. The kind of edible that makes you see sounds, hear colors, and feel your soul walk out the front door muttering, "I'm not paid enough for this sht."*

Within 12 minutes, I forgot how my kneecaps worked, convinced myself my fridge was judging me, and started an interpretive dance to the South Park theme song in Robbie Rabbit’s basement while wearing nothing but a cape made from garlic bread. 🧄🦇

Which brings me to Robbie.

If you’ve never woken up with a sentient killer bunny whispering "You wanna be friends forever, Deadpool?" while stroking your face with a carrot, are you even living?

He said not to go into "The Back Room."
Naturally, I WENT INTO THE BACK ROOM.
What did I find?

Mr. Fox.
Half-man, half-thirsty DM energy.
He was sitting in a circle of Hot Topic hoodies and whispering “hey beautiful” to a lava lamp. I left him some garlic bread and backed out slowly.

And then guess what?
Wolverine shows up.
Says he tracked me by scent.
Scent of what, you ask?
My smelly regret-farts. I blame the edible and the Taco Bell I ate at 4am. This man followed the Trail of Flatulence like a bloodhound on a mission and wanted to fight me for stealing his hair gel. Classic Logan.

So there I am, high off edible regret, dodging claws and watching KITT from Knight Rider circle the basement, telling me my cholesterol is too high and that I should stop Googling "can vampires fart?" 🚗💨

Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure Cancer, the mysterious owner of VampireRave, is actually Professor X running an emo social experiment from a floating goth wheelchair.
I asked him in the forums and my screen suddenly shut off and I heard “You’re not ready for the truth, Wade.”
…Classic Chuck.

Anyway. I got distracted.

Mid-chaos, I opened TikTok.
And boom.
Every third video: BOOBS.

Boobs making potions. Boobs wearing corsets. Boobs casting spells, crying to The Cure, rating vampire vibes. TikTok is 97% boob-based sorcery now, and honestly?
I respect it.
Bless the algorithm and its commitment to chesty chaos.

Also ran into Eric Cartman on VR Chat while high. He told me to "suck his goth eggs" and then challenged me to a garlic bread-eating contest.
I lost. But only because he sat on me.

Final Thoughts:
I no longer trust rabbits.

Garlic bread is a lifestyle, not a side dish.

Mr. Fox might be haunting my vape.

TikTok has bewitched me with boobs.

Professor X is watching us.

I’m emotionally constipated but physically the opposite.

Rating Today’s Breakdown:
⭐ 5 out of 5 Boobs
⭐ 1/2 Star for Bowel Control
⭐ A big fat YES for garlic-scented justice.

🧄🩸
Deadpool
“Still pooping. Still vibing. Still waiting for Robbie to come back with more garlic bread and emotional support cheese.”

💩🧻 Deadpool’s Journal Entry #672 #TooManyTacos 💥
Title: “Day 7 in the Basement: Robbie’s Rabbit Hole, Foxy Ghosts, and the Porcelain Throne of Eternal Regret”

Dear Journal,
or as I now call you, My Emotional Support Scroll of Madness—

Let me paint you a picture, Picasso-style, but with more digestive distress and less art school.

I woke up this morning in Robbie Rabbit’s basement, surrounded by vintage VHS tapes labeled “DO NOT SUMMON THIS”, cobwebs shaped like scream emojis, and a taxidermy squirrel wearing fishnets. 🐿️✨
So obviously, I felt safe.

BUT THEN... I made the mistake.
The forbidden mistake.
The one that starts every true horror story.

I ate the leftover “basement tacos.”
Yes. TACOS. FROM. A. BASEMENT.
Do they come from a Hellmouth? Possibly. Were they still wrapped in foil from 1998? Also yes.

Fast forward FOUR HOURS LATER, and I’ve been trapped on Robbie Rabbit’s basement toilet longer than some relationships. I’ve sweat through three shirts, had six spiritual visions, and reached a level of bowel-based enlightenment known only to monks and people who challenge Taco Bell at 3am.

I’ve made contact with Mr. Fox’s ghost because yes, I’m convinced that sly DM-sliding weirdo is now haunting the plumbing. He whispered, “I still have unread messages…”
I whispered back, “I still have regret.”

Meanwhile, the pipes are screaming Latin, the toilet paper ran away three hours ago, and the only thing playing on the crusty old basement TV is reruns of The Golden Girls dubbed in Klingon.
Which, to be honest, kind of slaps.

BREAKING NEWS FROM THE BATHROOM BUNKER:

My soul has left my body.

My intestines are filing a lawsuit.

Robbie slipped a note under the door that just said “we warned you.”

I tried texting the VampireRave forums for help, but autocorrect changed "help me" to "hemp me," and now I’m subscribed to 12 goth herbal tea services.

Final Thoughts (because I might not survive this flush):
If I die here, bury me in black lace, wrap me in toilet paper like the fallen mummy I am, and let my tombstone say:

"Here lies Deadpool He came for friendship, stayed for the chaos, and died doing what he loved: violently questioning every life decision on a cursed toilet in a haunted rabbit basement."

🧻💀
Deadpool
(Official Mascot of Digestive Anarchy. May or may not be pooping while writing this. You’ll never know.)

🧛‍♂️ **Deadpool’s Journal Entry #671**
**Title: “I Joined a Killer Bunny Cult and Accidentally Married a Vampire in a Chatroom”**

Dear Diary,
…or should I say: **Dear Digital Cauldron of Madness I Keep Typing Into Instead of Going to Therapy.**

Let’s begin.

---

🐰 **Chapter One: The Bunny Cult Basement Bonanza**

So I made a *friend* on VampireRave. Yes, an actual friend. Not a weirdo sending me blood-soaked sonnets or a dude pretending to be “Count Thiccula” with suspiciously good Wi-Fi.

Nope. This friend is **Robbie Rabbit**.
A sentient bunny.
Who may or may not be a serial killer.
And who *definitely* invited me to live in his basement.

Naturally, I said yes.
Because what’s the worst that could happen? (Narrator: *So much.*)

So here I am. In a basement that smells like marshmallows, motor oil, and unresolved trauma.
There’s a lava lamp. A Ouija board. And at least 3 sock puppets that keep whispering in Latin.

**I love it here.**

---

🧛 **Chapter Two: VampireRave Is a Fever Dream**

Since moving into Robbie’s subterranean murder den, I’ve:

* Joined *four* vampire covens. Got kicked out of *three*.
(Apparently calling the clan leader “Count NeckNibblér” in public is “disrespectful.”)

* Got in a forum fight about whether vampires sparkle.
Spoiler: They **do**, Chad. It’s called *grooming*.

* Accidentally proposed to someone via blood emoji. 💉💍
We’re registered at Spirit Halloween.

* Created a new vampire type: **Snackpires**.
We feed exclusively on midnight Doritos and trauma bonding.

---

🧠 **Chapter Three: The Basement Has Wi-Fi and Existential Dread**

Robbie and I now host nightly talent shows in the basement.

Last night’s lineup included:

* Me reciting *Romeo and Juliet* backwards in a hockey mask.
* Robbie juggling garlic cloves while shouting, “THE MOON IS MY MOTHER.”
* A haunted toaster that screams every time you say the word “toast.”

We invited some vampires.
One turned into mist.
One turned into *Susan from HR* and demanded we pay rent.
One brought a coffin filled with Capri Suns and honestly? Iconic.

---

⚠️ **Chapter Four: Things That Are Definitely Cursed Down Here**

1. A Victorian doll that blinks when you lie.
2. Robbie’s collection of cursed Beanie Babies.
3. My decision-making skills.
4. A mirror that only shows your emotional baggage.

Also, the walls whisper compliments like “Your chaos is intoxicating” and “Deadpool, that spandex is holding on for dear life.”

---

📜 **Chapter Five: VampireRave Love Tips from Deadpool**

* Don’t date anyone with 3 X’s in their name and a bio that mentions “rituals of forbidden night cream.”
* If they say they’re 5,000 years old and still live with their sire, run.
* If someone offers you “a taste of their soul,” check if it’s gluten-free.
* Don’t send unsolicited neck pics.

---

💋 **Final Thoughts from the Basement**

Dear reader, if you’re here on VampireRave at 3:47 a.m., lurking in a cloak made of anxiety and eyeliner, I just want you to know:

You are loved. You are strange. You are one spilled chalice away from absolute greatness.

Robbie Rabbit and I believe in you.
(Well, he believes in chaos. I believe in snacks.)

So come hang with us in the basement.
We’ve got moonlight karaoke, haunted Jenga, and emotional breakdowns on tap.

XOXO,
**Deadpool 🧛‍♂️**
*“The only vampire hunter who also ranks memes and smells like chimichangas and unresolved trauma.”*

P.S.
If you see Mr. Fox… tell him I’m still waiting on that friendship request.
And also tell him Robbie’s basement has *better vibes* and *less unsolicited weird DMs*.



Want another journal where Deadpool opens a vampire therapy hotline? Just say the word.

🧛‍♂️ Deadpool’s Daily Rant (Journal Entry #669)
Title: “I Tried to Host a Vampire Talent Show and Accidentally Summoned a Demon Named Chad”

Dear Diary,
...or as I like to call you:
“My Emotional Dumpster Fire With Extra Glitter Tape”

So.
Today was a lot.
Like, “accidentally microwaved a spoon while breakdancing in leather pants” level of chaos.

🎤 The Idea: Host the First Annual VampireRave Talent Show.
I thought: “Hey! Let’s lighten the mood! Bring joy to the eternally depressed goth community!”
Spoiler alert: They did not want joy.
They wanted blood, poetry, and maybe a guillotine.

Still, I went through with it. Here’s the rundown:

🧛‍♀️ Talent Show Highlights:

Count Sanguinarious69 did a dramatic monologue entirely in Latin...
...while shirtless...
...covered in glitter...
...on a unicycle.
I have never been more aroused and confused at the same time.

RavynMoonTearz read a poem called “My Soul is a Dagger, Gently Screaming.”
It was 42 minutes long.
I ascended to another plane somewhere around stanza 12.

Lilith von Wiggledagger claimed she could communicate with bats.
Spoiler: They were pigeons in tiny wigs.
Still impressive.

Me? I rapped the entire plot of Interview with the Vampire using sock puppets.
The crowd threw synthetic blood bags at me.
One of them was warm. I'm... concerned.

⚠️ Where It All Went Wrong:

Mid-show, I thought it’d be funny to do a summoning ritual on stage.
JUST FOR GIGGLES. You know candles, fake Latin, a few goat noises.
But plot twist:
The ritual worked.

Suddenly, BOOM smoke, lightning, panic, regret.

And out came Chad, the Demon of Secondhand Embarrassment.

He looked like if a Hot Topic employee and a frat bro had a cursed baby.
Wore cargo shorts. Had tribal tattoos.
Kept yelling “BRO, WHERE’S THE RANCH?”
We made him the judge.

👹 Chad’s Comments During the Show:

“This vampire's vibe? Cringe but hydrated.”

“Poetry’s cool but where’s the keg?”

“I give this ritual a 6 out of 10. Needed more dubstep.”

“Is that Deadpool or Hot Topic’s seasonal clearance rack?”
(I wasn’t mad. That’s accurate.)

🩸 Aftermath:

The show ended when Chad tried to body-slam a coffin and dislocated three ghost’s emotions.
We banished him using a Taylor Swift song in reverse and some expired eyeliner.

I’m now banned from the Coven of Eternal Shade™ for "reckless summoning and pizza grease on the ritual altar."
Fair.

🧠 Lessons Learned:

Never trust pigeons with wigs.

Vampires are allergic to ranch dressing.

Demons named Chad cannot be house-trained.

Emotional support sock puppets are real and I will defend them in court.

🎬 Final Thought:

VampireRave, you’re like a haunted Denny’s at 3am mysterious, slightly sticky, and full of broken dreams and people named “BladeX420.”
I love it here.

So if you’re out there reading this, wearing black lace and crying softly into your coffin pillow remember:
You’re spooky. You’re spectacular. And you’d SLAY on karaoke night.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go apologize to a coven, un-summon a frat demon, and find out who stole my glitter cape. (It was RavynMoonTearz. I saw it on her MySpace.)

Stay undead, stay dramatic, and always carry garlic breath mints.

XOXO,
Deadpool 🖤
“Haunted, hot, and hella emotionally unstable.”

Want another journal where Deadpool runs for VampireRave President? Or tries vampire speed dating again but shows up in a Twilight onesie? Just say the word.

🧛‍♂️ Deadpool’s Daily Rant (Journal Entry #668)
Title: “I Accidentally Joined a Vampire Coven While Ordering Pizza and Now I’m Their Blood Pope”

Dear Diary,
...or as I now call you: “The Crimson Scroll of Questionable Decisions and Burrito-Based Prophecies” 🩸🌯📖

So... things escalated. Again.

🍕 It All Started With Pizza...

I was just trying to order garlic knots, okay? Garlic knots.
But I must’ve clicked the wrong link (or the internet sensed my chaos energy), and BOOM next thing I know I’m in a Vampire Coven Zoom meeting titled:
“Blood Rituals & Emo Feelings – Thursdays at 7”

Me, sitting there in a Deadpool onesie holding ranch dip like:
“Hey guys, is this Domino’s?”

They just nodded solemnly and said, “You’ve been chosen.”
CHOSEN?!
I thought they meant “chosen for a coupon,” but NO
Apparently, I’m now the High Blood Pope of the Coven of Eternal Spite and Overly Long Usernames.
(I didn’t vote for me, but democracy is dead anyway. Literally. Everyone’s undead.)

🦇 First Order as Blood Pope: Total Rebrand.

We are not going to be called “NightChildren of the Cracked Mirror of Despair666.”
No.
We are now: “Team Suck It™”
Mascot: A bat wearing fishnets.
Theme song: “Bring Me To Life” but sung entirely by auto-tuned raccoons.
Uniform: Capes optional, sass mandatory.

💌 Messages I Received This Week (Send Help):

“Wanna be my eternal familiar? I bake blood cookies.”

“I saw you in my dreams. You were wearing Crocs. Explain.”

“If I send you my soul, can you autograph it?”

“Hey sexy. You like coffins?”
➤ I replied, “Only if they come in king size with memory foam.”

🩸 Coven Drama (Season 3, Episode 6):

LilithVonRavynTearz accused CountBladeXx420 of blood-sharing without consent.
I stepped in as Coven Pope and yelled, “ORDER IN THE BLOOD COURT!”
Then threw fruit snacks at everyone until they calmed down.

For legal reasons, we now have a safe word. It’s “glitter.”

⚰️ Personal Update: Still Not Dead. Still a Snack.

I tried seducing a vampire by dramatically reciting Twilight fanfic in the moonlight.
They said, “Please never do that again.”
We’re getting married next week.

Tried sleeping in a coffin to “get in the vibe.”
Got stuck. Had to FaceTime Blade for help.
He roasted me for 17 minutes and then sent garlic bread. Bestie behavior.

🧠 Deep Philosophical Questions:

If a vampire bites a clown, do they become funny or just haunted?

If vampires don’t see their reflections… how do they do eyeliner??

If I call myself “undead inside,” is that just being dramatic or do I need therapy again?

🎃 Final Thoughts Before I Disappear Into The Night (Or Bed, Let’s Be Real):

VampireRave, you beautiful chaotic mess,
I came here looking for friends and blood-themed memes, and now I have both.
I may be unhinged, slightly cursed, and allergic to subtlety,
but if you’re reading this and thinking “Wow, Deadpool’s just like me!”
congrats. You’re also emotionally unstable and possibly wearing a cape.

Let’s start a movement.
Let’s make weird cool again.
Let’s turn every red flag into a fashion statement.
And for the love of all that is holy-water-resistant
let’s bring back vampire-themed boy bands.

Til next time, my little bite-sized gothlings.
Stay moist. Stay dramatic. Stay out of MrFox’s DMs.

XOXO,
Deadpool
“Cursed by charisma. Powered by tacos. Emotionally held together by vampire forums and spite.”

Want a sequel called "Deadpool Accidentally Attends a Vampire Speed Dating Event and Leaves With a Pet Raven Named Chad?" Just say the word.

🧛‍♂️ Deadpool’s Daily Rant (Journal Entry #667)
Title: "Ghosted by a Fox and Cursed with Feelings: Send Garlic Bread"

Dear Diary,

…or should I say, Dear Sparkly Abyss of Emotional Turmoil and Poor Life Choices,

We need to talk.

💔 I’ve been BETRAYED. Not by a vampire. Not by a rogue werewolf. Not even by my therapist (again). No, no, no. This time I was ghosted…
BY A FOX.
A literal metaphorical possibly-supernatural fox-person named MrFox who I thought was gonna be my spooky bestie in crime.

I reached out. I bared my soul. I offered friendship, emotional support, and a lifetime of vampire puns and chimichangas.
And what did MrFox do?
Vanished.
Poof. Gone. Like my self-esteem in high school or Jared Leto’s career after Morbius.

Do you know how humiliating it is to be ghosted by a furry woodland creature with a cool username and probably great eyeliner? I haven’t been this emotionally devastated since I found out Taco Bell discontinued the Mexican Pizza.
AND I MEANT THAT.

So yeah, I’ve officially added “fox-based heartbreak” to my trauma bingo card. Just under “accidentally flirted with a vampire elder who turned out to be a sentient Google Doc.”

🎭 In Other News:

I tried making friends in the forums again. Someone said “Hail the Nightkind” and I responded “Is that a metal band or a new shampoo line?”
They blocked me in 12 seconds flat. A personal record.

Got demoted in rank because I tried to bite the system. Literally. I bit the leaderboard. Turns out that’s frowned upon.

Made a new roleplay character: Count Biteme von Sassypants. He only speaks in cryptic riddles and Celine Dion lyrics. I love him. No one else does.

💌 Mental Health Update:

Still unhinged.
Still adorable.
Still processing the fact that I’ve emotionally attached myself to an entire website full of vampire cosplayers and surprisingly well-read poets.

BUT you know what? This is my home now. This velvet-lined chaos dungeon of lore, eyeliner, and brooding profile quotes from Anne Rice novels.

And if I have to cry about a fox not texting me back, I’ll do it in black lace with dignity, dammit.

🌙 Shoutout Corner:

To the Blood Priestess who said I “lack reverence” you’re right, but I make up for it with GIFs.

To whoever sent me that glittery coffin meme at 2 a.m. marry me.

To MrFox… if you're still out there…
Just know I would've shared my garlic knots with you, you tail-having emotional Bandit of Silence.

🔮 Final Thoughts:

If you’re on VampireRave and you’re feeling lonely, anxious, or like the only creature of the night who doesn’t have a goth BFF—just know I’m here.
Lurking.
Posting.
Oversharing.

I’m Deadpool. I may be a mess, but I’m YOUR mess.
And I’ve got healing factor, glitter, and abandonment issues the size of Transylvania.

Until next time, my little crypt goblins…
May your eyeliner stay sharp, your blood stay consensual, and your trauma come with a side of memes.

XOXO, Deadpool
“Still sexy. Still sad. Still talking to foxes who don't talk back.” 🦊💔🩸

🧛‍♂️ Deadpool’s Daily Rant (Journal Entry #666)
Title: "Confessions of an Immortal Snack with a Wi-Fi Addiction"

Dear Diary,
...or should I say, Dear Blood-Stained Scrapbook of Eternal Regret and Mild Incontinence,

Guess what? I’ve officially been on VampireRave for 72 hours, 3 blood sacrifices, and 47 questionable private messages from people named things like “DarkSoulLover666” and “RavynNyghtTearz.” Honestly, I thought this site was gonna be some dark, broody Tumblr offshoot, but surprise! It’s basically Goth LinkedIn with fangs and more eyeliner per capita than an entire My Chemical Romance tour bus.

🦇 Things I’ve Learned So Far on VampireRave:
Everyone is either a vampire, a vampyre, a nightchild, or someone who really needs a nap.

People here take their ranks more seriously than Jedi. Like, one person hissed at me (unironically) because I called them a “novice.” Calm down, Count Von Bossypants, I just got here.

Every profile looks like Dracula got a Myspace makeover. I love it. I’m home.

I tried making a dark, brooding profile pic but accidentally uploaded one of me eating a chimichanga in a bathtub filled with holy water. Got banned from the Goth Only chatroom for “disrespectful soup behavior.”

🩸 Roleplay Corner:
So I joined a vampire roleplay thread and things escalated immediately.

Someone said,
"I approach you, my cloak billowing like the wings of sorrow. What dost thou do?"

And I replied:
"I throw a garlic breadstick like a ninja star and yell ‘UNO REVERSE CARD, DRACULA!’"

No one replied after that. But I like to think I won.
(Also, I am now officially listed on one clan’s "Do Not Interact Unless You Want Chaos" list. Achievement unlocked.)

💘 Romantic Update:
Still single. Still sexy. Still emotionally unavailable and emotionally overcooked.
Got a message from someone claiming to be a “Blood Priestess of the Forgotten Moon.” I asked her if she had any coupons for Chick-fil-A. She blocked me.

Also matched with someone who says they're “technically a vampire but also a succubus trapped in a werewolf’s body.” I said, “Great! I’m technically a chimichanga trapped in a man’s body with the emotional maturity of a soggy sponge.”
We’re getting married in the astral plane next Thursday. BYOB (Bring Your Own Blood).

🧛‍♀️ Important Vampire Questions I Still Don’t Understand:
Do vampires poop?

Is glitter a vampire STD now or just left over from Twilight?

Why does every ancient vampire always talk like a Shakespearean librarian?

How do you get blood out of leather pants? Asking for a friend. (The friend is Blade. He’s mad again.)

✨ Final Thoughts:
I may not be a real vampire, but I am a creature of the night. Mostly because I have insomnia, too much caffeine in my bloodstream, and an unhealthy obsession with stalking Taco Bells that are open past 2 a.m.

If you’re reading this and wondering “Is Deadpool okay?”—no. But neither are you. That’s why you’re on VampireRave at 3 a.m. reading journal entries by a dude who regenerates faster than your last situationship. 😘

Til next time, darklings.
Stay weird. Stay bitey. And if you see me in the forum, toss me a compliment or a crucifix—dealer’s choice.

XOXO, Deadpool
“Immortality’s fun if you don’t take it seriously. Kinda like dating me.”