#but idk if i can babygirlify these two

[heartbrake-hotel]

Lordy honey yall makin me wanna write my own damn prompt. I got some more little tidbits for ya:

Elvis was turned during his first appearance at the International. But who turned him? I'm thinking there's some sort of deal going on between one the old vampires who invested in the building, maybe even the International's owner and Colonel Parker. They want Elvis to play there for as long as possible, and he isn't getting any younger--so they make it so he can't get any older, either.

At first Elvis is in a state of confusion, because fledglings (at least in my thoughts) are in a sort of fog when first turned. It helps them to adapt to feeding; cue Colonel Parker shoving cigarette girls into Elvis's suite, which he drains dry, much to his own horror when the initial feeding frenzy lifts.

And Colonel Parker isn't exactly picky with what he feeds Elvis: whoever is easy to get up into the suite, and high young girls are the easiest. Elvis tries, when he can afford it, to not feed--he doesn't know that if he drinks regularly then the frenzy won't come, but nobody has told him much of anything. His Sire isn't there, there wasn't any sort of ritual to his Turning as there normally is. No, this was just business.

aLRIGHT WOOHOO SMITTY MY LOVE LOOK AT US !!! im finally getting to this lmaoooo oOOPS 🙈 AND i have some mf THOUGHTS,,

(the orig hc post is here btw) ((idk if yall could tell but it Wrecked my Shit))

also it's been Sooooo long since we discussed this that u now have some Other relevant supernatural!au lore to pull from . so,, i hope u don't mind if i conflate the two universes a lil but ur worldbuilding in you ain't nothin' but a overtook my conscious mind weeks ago and has yet to relent 💝 oh nooooo.. whatever shall i dooooo.. 😏

far too many words under the cut. i, uh.. i may have lost control a lil 🤭🦇 ft. a frankly excessive use of pet names and an e who has been babygirlified maybe more than is appropriate within the confines of the plot (shocking, i'm sure).

right ok so !! vegas as a hub for at least some of the supernatural bc of its transient nature, high tourist volume, and seedy reputation. obvious check

for the most part, unaffiliated vamps stay out of vegas. like you said- it's too hard to monitor their blood concentrations when everyone and their dog is doing truckloads of party drugs well into the night.! but there are, of course, some Old Ones, who saw (or perhaps even built??) the city as their own personal playground btw this blends so seamlessly into the irl high-level mob ties its crazy lmao. marina's bringing up elvis is literally never not on my mind 🙏

if you're rich enough, or powerful enough (or have friends who are enough so), you don't have to fend for yourself the same way, so it's less of an issue. sucking out some rando party girl off the street is faaar beneath the pay grade of the handful of guys at the top, who have their meals carefully cultivated and hand-procured thru what is almost certainly a human trafficking ring

kirk kerkorian [or meyer kohn - u can pick ur universe, here] and the entire board of the international is of course among this group, exerting their power and influence (and perhaps Compulsion) to keep the flow of money running smoothly from the casinos below directly into their cash-lined pockets.

colonel tom parker [a demon again? or perhaps nobody in particular - either way he ends up hellspawn lmao whether literally or figuratively] is acutely aware of this when he first signs elvis on for the hotel's opening season - how could he not be? and of course everything goes perfectly smoothly for those first six weeks in 1969. **ik im twisting ur original idea just a tad but bear w me

but the longer the engagement goes, the more trouble colonel has reining elvis in. he had agreed heartily to those first fifty-eight appearances - purely to fund his upcoming world tour, you understand ("the snowman strikes again!"). but no matter how much colonel wheedles, he's not budging; elvis simply will not sign on for the next year.! he's finally holding his ground... and that's his undoing

coming off the back of his comeback special and last movie, e finally feels like he's got his mojo workin' - the king is back on top! after a looong decade stuffed fit to bursting with his botched movie career, he never thought he'd wrest any semblance of creative control away from the powers that be. but the last year or so has really made him see the value of his own opinion, AND the dangers of continued complacency. so with the backing of his family and extended entourage, he's heading halfway across the world just as soon as he gets off that stage for the last time.

colonel can't have that, not with the remainder of his hefty personal debt hanging in the balance. and with all the dough the hotel is raking in during the first dregs of their opening season, nobody up top wants their prize little cash cow flying away to london or japan or the rock of eternity or wherever he's fixin' to go - not if they have anything to say about it !

and so a plan is devised, swiftly, mercilessly, and without any pesky sense of remorse. after all, what do they have to feel bad about? they're just taking care of business

just after elvis' last performance, he's heading to his packed-up suite to shower and change for what he thinks will be the last time.. the boys are downstairs getting the last of the stuff in the cars and then they'll all head to the airport. he's got just a couple minutes to spare, and he assures them he'll be fine alone. just gonna run on up and change real quick, y'all don't needta worry about me none. [*evil colonel voice* wanna bet?]

he steps into his unusually empty suite, but before he can even shuck the towel from around his neck, his throat is being wrenched to the side in a vice grip as an unseen assailant steps from their hiding spot behind the door. he yelps, tries to throw them off, goes for the gun in his boot, but their grip is like steel, solid and unyielding, and before he can move much of anywhere there's a sharp prick in his neck and a sudden heaviness in his muscles he can't quite shake.

he assumes it's a syringe - he's not wholly unfamiliar with a needle, after all, and why would he suspect anything else? he guesses he's been drugged on account of... well, on account of bein' elvis presley. goddamn sonsabitches don't need any more reason than that. 'course, the sensation is a little different than he's used to - the gauge is unfamiliar, and he could swear he feels two distinct track marks - but by then his head is spinning too much to be certain of anything.

the last thing he feels is a rushing sense of complacency as his legs give out. his vision is swimming too much too see his attacker's face, but they let him go down, hard, and he crumples to an undignified heap on the floor helplessly as they turn to... leave? huh. not what he expected, but he supposes beggars can't be choosers

his sluggishly disjointed musings are broken only by the shadowy figure melting back into the shadows... his increasingly-addled mind knows he should be glad at their sudden departure, but all he can concentrate on is the inexplicable swing out of the vague sense of euphoria that had been the "drugs" kicking in, and a sudden accompanying feeling that he didn't like one bit. he could only describe it as a crawling fear, an absence, a kind of ripping deep in his soul... a pervasive sense of distance, of wrongness so festering he feared it was about to tear him apart from the inside out. he's suddenly certain he's not meant to be alone right now.

he gasps in the worst pain he's ever felt, and at the same moment, he's aware of a rush of footsteps in the hallway outside - he barely manages a wobbly gesture to the door and a slurred request to rip his goddamn tongue out b'the roots to the panicked faces of his boys crowding around his supine form before his vision finally goes dark.

when he wakes up, he's in an all-too-familiar bed. before running for the doctor and his daddy, a frazzled jerry sitting vigil at his side hurriedly explains that without him conscious enough to fill them in, all they knew is he wasn't fit to travel, so they'd unpacked his suite again while waiting for him to return to the land of the living. he's grateful, but assures him that as soon as he's feeling better they'll be heading out again.

he asks jerry to turn down the thermostat and flip off the light on his way out. the heavily-drawn drapes had already ensured it'd been near-pitch dark and freezing, just how he liked it, but he murmured it felt like he was burnin' up from the inside out, and his eyes were too sensitive for even the ambient glow of his bedside lamp. jerry does so and also fetches him a pair of big ol' sunglasses, without a word.

the doctors (who'd been summoned to the hotel; despite protests from the mafia, colonel had suggested that moving elvis to a hospital could be even more dangerous, what with this criminal still on the loose, and vernon had reluctantly agreed) hadn't been able to tell what he'd been dosed with - it'd metabolized too quickly to detect, apparently. all they can tell him after the last four days of monitoring his comatose form is that his vitals have been almost astonishingly strong. the only symptom he's had has been a high fever, but it breaks as soon as he's awake again- and actually, his body temp has overcorrected and is a little low now, is he feeling chilly?

they joke that whatever he'd been given seems to have actually helped him, and he's inclined to agree... despite the fact that they hadn't administered anything to him except an IV drip, in case it had any adverse interactions with whatever he'd been on, his chronic pain has mysteriously vanished. and since he's been awake and in recovery, he's only seemed to get more handsome and charming, no sign at all of being out of it and on fluids for so long. you sure wouldn't have known his recent predicament by looking at him !

he's got a host of baffling new symptoms as well, but nothing that seems dangerous or that points to any kind of diagnosis. he's growing increasingly thirsty, but the buckets of water he's drinking aren't quenching him. he seems to have lost his sense of taste (this one hits him the worst) - at first, the smell of food made him nauseous. now he can keep it down, but it feels like ash in his mouth. his light sensitivity lingers, though for the most part it's limited to natural light, and he takes to wearing the sunglasses often. he seems to have developed a sudden allergy to some of his jewelry - his silver rings and pendants now cause a burning rash. he has them remade in gold and doesn't give it a second thought.

he tells and retells his story to the cops, but they're left scratching their heads; it's widely assumed the panicked arrival of the mafia scared off the creep before they could pull off the rest of their plan. kill him, kidnap him for ransom... seemed like they'd never know for sure, but either way everyone agrees he narrowly escaped a much worse fate. colonel doesn't think it wise for him to be on the road, what with this continued threat hanging over his head, but jerry argues it doesn't seem any better to stay in vegas with this freak at large. and elvis points out that if the bastard follows him overseas, they have bigger fish to fry.

the boys seem confused that the attack doesn't appear to have played into his usual paranoia in any way; he doesn't know quite how to explain it, he tells them, but he feels stronger, somehow. more settled. like if it ever came to it again, he could handle himself. it might just be relieved cockiness, but what didn't kill him made it so he's at least not afraid again. he's been reflecting deeply on psalm 23, apparently.

and so the suite is once again packed up, despite colonel's protestations- this time with elvis under constant supervision, much to his good-natured amusement. it goes without incident, and they make it all the way to the runway before elvis is suddenly doubled over in pain in the back of the limo, sweating and shaking like a leaf.

he's groaning that it hurts, hurts s'bad, but can't say anything more than that, and within seconds the whole caravan has whipped around and is careening back to the relative safety of the hotel. by the time he's being ferried hurriedly up to his room, he's improving steadily, and by the time he's settled in bed and the doctors once more fetched, he's weak and badly shaken but seems no worse for wear.

the doctors can't explain this apparent relapse any more than the first, but tentatively give him a clean bill of health, and two days later they try it all again. this time he makes it within a couple miles of the airport, and it takes him four days to recover. the last time they try, he only makes it four blocks away from the Strip and is bedridden for a week. nobody has any sort of explanation, and the tour is put on hold indefinitely while they're seemingly stranded.

the colonel is the one who offers a possible solution. he'd been hovering around elvis' room the whole time (like a bad smell, sonny mutters when he's out of earshot), fluttering around with assurances that the hotel would gladly host them as long as they needed, maybe even sign them on for another season if elvis so wished...

when elvis finally roars that he just wants OUT of this place, goddammit in response to vernon's suggestion that he stop working himself up with leaving, colonel finally pounces.

he must put his foot down, he says. his boy is clearly in no condition to travel- no, no, not physically, he hastily amends, when elvis opens his mouth to remind him what the doctors said, but clearly mentally. something about the attack has left him emotionally unstable, it appears, and the idea of leaving, even though he's so sure he wants to, is clearly triggering some kind of psychosomatic attack. why doesn't he make up his mind to stay- not forever, just until his head is screwed on right. he can keep playing the international, and they can find him some head-shrinkers to fix him right up, eh? elvis doesn't see any choice but to glumly agree.

of course, unbeknownst to elvis, the real issue is that his Maker won't allow him to leave vegas city limits. he's been kept totally in the dark as to his situation and is thus totally suggestible, so when the vampire who Turned him (continually employed by the Ancients for just this kind of dirty work) uses their mental connection to Compel him to stay within a certain radius, elvis doesn't even know he's feeling it, much less that it's possible to fight it. his Bat simply obeys without question, to the confusion of his body and conscious mind.

if his Turning had been accompanied by proper ritual, if his Maker had explained any of his new life to him, if he'd received any guidance at all, he'd know he could override this instinct, break the Bond they shared (especially as ill-cultivated as it is), and be on his way. as it is, he's like a dog with a newly-installed invisible fence. a dog who's also growing steadily weaker since his Turning because of his lack of sustenance, mind you.

the colonel knows all this. he also knows that any doctors or psychiatrists that see elvis from this point on will be in the know, be provided by the hotel, and be payed handsomely to tell elvis exactly what the colonel wants him to hear. he send word to the Council that they've got him at last. they rejoice at the prospect of chaining elvis to their stage for an eternity, elvis begrudgingly signs the contract for another engagement, and this is where the real trouble starts...

it's been three weeks since he was inadvertently Turned, and elvis is feeling the affects of not having Fed, though he doesn't realize it. he's weak, he's thirsty, he's snappish, and can somebody turn off those godDAMNED lights !!! the mafia assume it's due to his mental slump and are at a loss except to wait it out, but the colonel thinks he has something to cheer him up. he winks and tells red that elvis will have a few, ehem.. lady visitors tonight, and surely they shouldn't be disturbed. the boys get the hint.

colonel sends up the ditziest cigarette girl he can find downstairs, a perky little blonde, so doped-up out of her mind she's wobbling in her heels. she gasped and flushed darkly when he told her that mr. presley was in need of her services; he hadn't even needed to slip her any cash to incentivize her troubles. he chomped on his cigar and grinned darkly as he watched her giggle her way to the elevator.

elvis, for his part, almost makes it. he'd answered the rhythmic little knock in his robe, loosely tied, and didn't miss the way the sweet young thing at his door gaped at the sight of all that chest on display. before he can even say anything, she's slipped under his arm and further into the room, and he raises an eyebrow and grins as he eases the door shut. he peruses her wares (the CIGARETTES !! im talking about the cigarettes..) more for show than anything else, and hands her a $20 in exchange for a pack he doesn't plan on smoking, telling her to keep the change.

she bends over far more than necessary while stacking boxes back in her tray, and flutters her lashes when she asks him if there's... anything else she can get him. flattered as he is, he tells her, he isn't sure he needs anything just now, but thank you kindly anyways, honey. truthfully, he's not sure he's feeling up for it, but she pouts so prettily as she swings her hips sadly over to the door, and turns back to ask if he's really really sure... the colonel had sent her up with express instructions to give him anything he wanted, she explains, sultry little whine in her voice, and he finds his resolve crumbling.

surely a little kissing wouldn't hurt, he reasons, might even make him feel a lil better, and her eyes light up in glee when he beckons her back over. but the minute she's in his arms, easing her way up to his lips as her eyes flutter shut, he isn't sure what comes over him. they're so close her heartbeat rushes in his ears, and without a thought he's effortlessly snapped her neck (with strength he didn't know he had) and is lapping frantically from her torn throat (pierced with the aid of sharp fangs he's never felt before). she never even saw it coming.

he moans as he sags to the ground, clutching her limp form and still slurping desperately as, for the first time since his attack, his thirst is quenched. he dimly realizes he's done something unforgivable, but his head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, everything around him distant and foggy. the sense of panic he knows he should be feeling is a far-off twinge, all but muted by the combined cocktail of ecstasy running through him: fresh blood, dope, and a brain fog he can't quite attribute to either.

when she's dry he's sated, the sense of woozy relief hits him so strong that he barely manages to stagger to his feet and stumble over to the couch, chin and hands still covered in blood, before he's passing out for ten hours of the emptiest sleep he's ever had. when he wakes up, all traces of what happened are gone, and with a mind that finally feels clearer than it has for weeks, he almost manages to convince himself it was an incredibly fucked-up dream, so potent that the sweet metallic tang is still blooming on his tongue...

...until of course, the next time it happens. it goes much the same way: the colonel has no trouble locating a girl who'll never be missed- this is vegas, after all- and sends her, high as a kite of her own volition, up to the penthouse to keep company with a disgruntled and starving elvis. he drains her dry before he can even blink, but stays awake this time to spend the next few hours totally blissed out in an uncomfortably drugged haze. the more he comes down, the more he hates not only what he's done but also the way it makes him feel.

thus starts a vicious cycle: elvis, terrified of feeding, swears off blood, until he's half-starved but fighting himself at every turn. the colonel intervenes, sending throngs of low-risk girls up to the suite, where e simply can't help himself anymore, and enters a violent blood-crazed frenzy. he spends the hours after staggering around half-lucid, waiting for the effects to fade so he can convince himself he'll never do it again.

the stronger he maintains his tenuous mental fortitude- the longer he goes between feeds- the more girls he needs in a night to fill him up, and the higher he gets afterwards. he doesn't ask where colonel finds them or what he does with the bodies. he thinks dully that he doesn't much want to know.. it's hard enough on his conscience already.

of course, yet another thing nobody's bothered to explain to poor frightened fledgling elvis is that every time he refuses to feed when he should, every time he feels the welling signs of that dark hunger within himself and shoves them down in distress, every time his instincts are forced to take over and quite literally make him feed, that it exacerbates the mental fog he's feeling.

vampiric lore (which of course he doesn't know) attributes it to a sort of easing-in countermeasure; it's only newly-turned vampires, not fully in touch with their desires, that attempt to starve themselves so, clearly suffering from a mental block regarding the morality of preying upon their former species. to smooth their transition into acceptance of their new form, every time they're forced to feed rather than do it willingly, a potent release of hormones and neurotransmitters floods their system, both to combat any lingering guilt and to make them crave the mental release of feeding just as much as the physical.

if he were to feed normally, if he were to provide his body with the nourishment it needed on a regular basis, his instincts wouldn't have to override his mind this way. he wouldn't be forced to feed so violently or so much, he'd be able to control himself such that he could select his own victims preferentially and even bring himself to stop before killing them, and he wouldn't feel so overwhelmed afterwards.

elvis thinks of his... condition as an affliction, a temptation he lacks the strength to overcome, but really, it's his body's desperate attempt to stay alive when his mind insists on thwarting his ongoing survival at every turn. the bloodlust isn't a punishment but a protective measure, and one he could prevent if he'd take consistent care of his new needs.

and on top of all that, the particular way his intake is chemically tainted only adds to this anguish, because now he's unknowingly also developing a dependency on the drugs- the painful withdrawal symptoms of which serve to strongarm him into feeding even more frequently.

things are only exacerbated by his performance engagement starting back up; of course, it's even easier to find girls- hordes of them batter the doors to the showroom after every show, desperate for just another glimpse of him- but it also means he's got a responsibility to be right there on that stage twice a night, able-minded or no, and he takes that very seriously.

he's got people to support, after all, so he gets very used to functioning while highly intoxicated, whether that means performing, schmoozing the high rollers in the casino at the behest of his hotel benefactors, or smiling through a never-ending stream of reporters and photographers during every interview and press conference.

this is where the reader steps in !!!

you're one of less than a handful of vamps, just two or three, really, who manage to stick around vegas (and consume healthy blood) without the influence of the Old Ones, a feat you manage by staying off the Strip almost entirely. you stick to the suburbs, both as a way to ensure you're not tripping out after every meal, and to (hopefully) stay out of sight and out of mind of the powerful Ancients who don't want anyone infringing on their territory. this is very fright night remake vibes btw if anyone remembers that

but there's very little to do in the dusty, sprawling desert neighborhoods that isn't centered around maintaining the tourism industry downtown, especially for an immortal with nothing but time (and the occasional meal) to kill. you're nowhere near as experienced as those you seek to avoid, but you've been around the block quite a few times yourself, and sometimes the neon glow of the city lights overrides the quiet boredom of your safely-maintained little perimeter.

tonight is one such night: elvis presley had been headlining the international hotel for what felt like ages, or maybe just a blink - it was hard to judge that pesky human time, when their lifespans were so much shorter than yours. either way, he'd been this era's answer to jesus for a few decades now, and you had to admit you were curious to see him in person at last.

you decide on the midnight show- maybe if you're lucky, you can scrounge up a snack on the way home. you don't bother with a ticket- though you have more than enough human money stored up over the years, you're sure it's no use for what promises to be a sold-out show. the bouncers aren't any deterrent, either- you simply Compel them into checking the list for your name another time, and they let you in without a murmur. the showroom is packed so full, you notice as you survey the area, that nobody could ever notice one more.

you slip into a vacant seat at the end of one of the long tables that line the stage, with a group of screaming fans who don't seem to notice that they don't know you. you can't tell if their distraction is borne more from excitement or alcohol, but either way, you're grateful for the cover. you order a bloody mary as your own personal joke and bide your time until the show starts, perusing the booths that line the floor behind you. you recognize a few familiar Old Ones, by face if not name- no surprise, considering who runs the casino just outside.

eventually, the lights fade and the orchestra bursts into an opening riff. you clap with the rest when elvis struts out on stage, looking resplendent in a white jumpsuit, grinning wide and boyishly and practically glowing under the stage lights. his rings flash as he waves to the audience, courteous and attentive even as he starts singing. when the song's over he introduces himself and some of the VIPs, including the owner of the hotel (now there's a vamp who's been getting himself a lot of press lately), and the heavyset man next to him, apparently elvis' own manager. the man gives a simpering smile and wave to the crowd as the spotlights illuminate the booth, and you wrinkle your nose as you turn back to the main stage. you haven't placed it yet, but something seems off about that one.

elvis puts on a good show, you'll give him that, but the longer you watch, the more puzzled you become. he's slurring just a bit when he jokes with the band in between numbers, and more clumsy than you'd expect for someone so flexible; you'd say it was just another hollywood star using and abusing drugs if he didn't look so... panicked every time. he's twitchy, too, keeps getting down toward the edge of the stage like he's about to move out into the crowd and start planting kisses on his clamoring fans, like you've heard he does, but he keeps jerking himself back at the last second. they seem to think he's teasing, screaming louder every time, and he plays it off with a slow grin, but it's almost like... like he's afraid he won't be able to control himself, like...

ah. there it is

you zero in on just the barest flash of fang in his smile, and immediately suss out what's going on. elvis presley, a fledgling vamp in what is indisputably the worst city in the world for fledgling vamps... strange things are happening every day, aren't they?

that leaves you with more questions than answers, however... questions like where's his Master? why isn't he feeding properly? who's keeping him half-starved and strung-out? and most importantly, does he even know what's going on?

you narrow your eyes contemplatively as you watch him fool with the microphone before prompting the band to start the next song. all it takes is seeing his hands tremble around the cord to make you nod decisively and shoot back the rest of your drink. you suppose you can stick around a little longer than originally planned... after all, it seemed like elvis might need a little help fixing this, whether he knew it or not.

you lingered just a little after the show ended, waiting until the throngs of frantic women had pushed their way back to the lobby before heading after them yourself. you glanced around surreptitiously, locating the nearest elevator bay... and near it, a familiar older man with a cane whispering furtively to a clearly-tipsy young woman, one you recognized from your table during the show. she had caught a silk scarf fluttering down in front of her from the man himself and hadn't stopped screaming until the lights came back on. bingo

you ran one hand through your hair haphazardly, tousling it slightly as you stumbled your way over to them. "oh, there you are! i was looking for you," you chirped. she gasps and waves excitedly in the earnest way only drunk girls do, but your mouth is open again before she can speak and do something incriminating, like ask your name. "who's y'r friend? s'he coming upstairs with us?" you giggle, leering at... what had his name been again? ah yes, colonel parker. you silently gave a sigh of thanks for your heightened senses- you might not have recognized him just from your brief glimpse during the show otherwise.

the colonel glanced you over dismissively, clearly writing you off as another inebriated fan - his mistake, but exactly what you wanted him to think all the same. he gave you a leering grin and tapped his cane as he said "ah, i was just asking your friend here to do a simple personal favor for me..." you hummed disinterestedly until he continued "...on behalf of mister presley, of course." you gasped exaggeratedly and willed your cheeks to flush- lucky you had fed recently.

he seems to buy it, from the way his eyebrow ticks upwards when he sees your reaction "perhaps you would like to... accompany her to his suite, no?" he teases. you nod raptly, artificial stars in your eyes, and he snorts as he pushes the call elevator button for you with the top of his cane. "top floor. you two enjoy yourselves," he chuckles. the two of you giggle as he saunters away, towards the casino entrance.

as soon as the doors slide shut behind you, you straighten up and tidy your hair in the chromatic reflection until you're once again presentable. you brush off your outfit, fiddling until you're satisfied, then take a deep breath. snapping once to get your lightly confused companion's attention, your turn her shoulders towards you so she's making woozy and bewildered eye contact with you.

"hi honey. having a good night? good. this is how the rest of it is gonna go, ok? now you listen to me-"

when the doors opened again at the thirtieth floor, the girl (tracy. she had told you absently her name was tracy) waved distractedly over her shoulder as she walked straight out of the elevator bay and into the nearby stairwell, head filled with what she believed to be an immutable truth about the elevator being out of service. she'd walk back to her room (on the off chance there was anyone downstairs monitoring the floor indicator dial), wake up perfectly safe in the morning, and think nothing of it.

meanwhile, you let yourself into elvis' suite with the key tracy had handed over, a parting gift from the colonel. you left the lights off, made yourself comfortable on the couch facing the door, and waited.

you didn't have to wait long- just minutes later, there was noise outside, multiple male voices speaking over each other as they all piled out of the elevator and headed for the door, elvis' the loudest. "yeah, yeah, i said i'd meet you down there, didn't i? doin' my damn head in... i'll tell ya what, y'all g'head and i'll call down there when i'm done. yes i swear, now git!" laughter and good-natured ribbing faded as the elevator doors presumably closed behind the crowd once again, punctuated with a sigh and the click of the door lock disengaging another time.

elvis didn't seem to notice you as he walked in, leaving the light off as well as he patted his face dry with the damp towel looped around his neck. he leaned against the wall with one hand to brace himself as he toed off his boots, then whipped his dark shades off onto a side table and gripped the bridge of his nose with another deep sigh.

"are you in any pain, mr. presley?" he yelped in undignified surprise and whipped around with a touch of vampiric speed, dropping the towel in his fright to discover the source of your voice. despite the pitch blackness of the room, his eyes locked onto yours immediately through the dark, without needing to scan the empty space around you- another sign of his transition. no mortal could see as perfectly well in this scenario as the two of you could.

"wh- who-" he stuttered some, regaining his bearings, as you cocked your head in evaluation. "i'm sorry to startle you, mr. presley," you say evenly, but pleasantly. "you can drop that shit straightaway, honey, that's my daddy. can jus' call me elvis." he murmurs absentmindedly, as if it hadn't been what he really intended to say but came out by habit. "and now that you know me, may i ask who you are? and better yet what the hell you're doing in my room?" he doesn't sound angry, per se, more resigned than anything, and you smile wryly in response as you introduce yourself. "real pretty, honey, but i'd like an answer to my other question, too." he raises his eyebrow, and you wonder if he's even aware of how much charismatic mental energy he's leaking right now. it was even more apparent to you now why humans throw themselves at him left and right.

"sorry, m- i mean, elvis. the colonel sent me up. i saw your show- you were fantastic, but i had a couple questions." "he did, did he? just wonderful," he almost growls, squeezing his eyes shut. "and some questions, you said? you a reporter?" his voice sounds hard-edged for the first time tonight, but he seems to relax again when you answer with a simple no. "just concerned, i guess." he hums tiredly at your response, vague though it is. "concerned about what, 'bout the show? i'll do my best to answer your questions, honey, but i really don't think there's all too much to be concerned about-"

"elvis, when was the last time you fed?" you can hear his breath catch from clear across the room. "i-i had lunch after rehearsals, but i ain't had dinner yet, if that's what you're askin'... pretty forward way to ask me on a date, but i-" you put a hand up to cut him off. "i think you know perfectly well that's not what i'm asking, elvis. when was the last time you fed properly? on blood?" "...ha! been watching a little too many dark shadows reruns, honey?" his words trip over themselves getting out, and eventually he gives up to just blink at you, speechless, owl-eyed, and afraid despite his frankly pathetic attempt at a cover. he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar only this time the metaphorical cookie jar is a number of very literal human corpses lol

you bite back a sigh- perhaps you pushed too hard there. poor thing is wringing his hands like he thinks you're gonna put him in cuffs any minute. "maybe we should start over- i'm here to help, ok? i wanna make sure you're alright, cuz i think you might have a lot of questions nobody's explained to you yet. c'mere and sit next to me, baby, and we'll just talk" you pat the seat next to you, flipping his casual pet naming back on him effortlessly. to be fair, he is a baby to you- only, what, a couple months old? that's nothing compared to your few hundred years.

he eyes the spot next to you but shakes his head, still looking like a lost puppy. "n-no, i- m'fine over here," he manages. you furrow your brow; he's gonna need to start trusting you if he wants your help, and this is a bad way to begin. "i promise, i'm not gonna hurt you, elvis-" that sure does it. "i'm not worried about that!" he exclaims. "m'worried about me hurting you!"

you breathe out a surprised little oh, suddenly understanding. "is that what you're so worried about, sweetie? i'm not afraid of you." you try to placate him. "y-you should be afraid of me, honey. i am."

and that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? it breaks your heart a little to know that this is what he's been grappling with alone. it's not meant to be like this- with time and acceptance, he was meant to gain eternal companionship (your semi-loner status nonwithstanding). and whoever heard of a scared vampire?

but you put that aside to focus on elvis- and quickly realize there's one more... little thing you might've left out.

"you don't need to be anymore, ok? i'm gonna help you learn to control it." you beckon him over again, and this time he makes it halfway across the floor before you realize you're not sure if you're Compelling him or not. he'll need to learn what it feels like eventually, in order to both use it and combat it, but now's probably not the time. you break eye contact, just in case, and he falters slightly, but keeps coming, putting you at ease.

as he gets close enough to hear your heartbeat, though, his eyes suddenly turn frantic, and he backpedals, once again in the grip of that familiar terror. "you- you have to get out of here, i can't-" you shush him, not unkindly. "oh, sweetheart. that one's my bad, ok? i guess i haven't been very good at this so far," you grin apologetically. "but you couldn't hurt me, even if you tried"

you use your superspeed to whoosh over to his side and back, the only sign you'd moved at all the slight sway of your hair in the breeze it creates- and the golden ankh pendant now swinging from your upturned palm. elvis gapes, hands reaching up to feel the now-empty space around his neck where the necklace rested just moments ago. "how...?" listen i really can't be assed abt the fact he wasn't wearing necklaces this early ok. it was a cool move

"forgot to tell you - i'm souped up, too." you wink at him, flashing your pupils the deep red they turn when you're Feeding. "and also i think a little stronger than you, given what i saw on stage tonight." this is soo cliche im sorry but Spooky Eyes HAWT. i don't feel bad about it actually

the immediate sense of overwhelming relief on his face almost aches to see, and he's crossed the remaining stretch of floor to practically collapse in your arms sobbing before you can blink. it's... very surprising, you'll admit, but not unwelcome, either, and you're sure the uncertainty lingers in your voice as you gentle him softly, petting his hair and rubbing his back and trying not to overthink the fact that you've known elvis presley for all of ten minutes and now... this is happening. whatever this is.

"woah- woah, hey, what's happening? what's the matter, baby?" he's shaking like a leaf as you hold him, trying to work out in what universe this makes sense. "i-i-i ain't-" he manages through tears. "i haven't been able to touch any-anyone this whole time without b-being so goddamned afraid i'd hurt 'em... and i just- i..."

your worst fears for him, first materialized as you watched him onstage and puzzled about the identity of his Master, are confirmed. "baby... have you been alone this whole time?" you whisper. he just nods from his resting place, face buried in your shoulder. IS this a weird level of intimacy for 2 virtual strangers? totally yup. DO i still think its arguably valid considering how desperately lonely i have decided to make this bitch? uh huh :3

you suck in a breath through your teeth, suddenly filled with the fiery emotion you've been tamping down all night- rage. rage at whoever organized this hit, at whoever must be profiting off it while elvis suffers and innocent girls die, at the colonel who's been shepherding bodies in here endlessly and apparently without deigning to give elvis any proper help or training- yeah, don't think you forgot about him.

but before you can do anything about that, you have to do something with the king of rock 'n roll, who's finally quieting down in your lap. you shove the anger back down, the same way you do your bloodlust- the same way you'll teach elvis.

he sits back up, furiously wiping his tear-stained face. "sorry, honey- i don't know what came over me." he barks a laugh but his eyes tell you it's for show. you tut at him, standing up to fetch him a tissue and maybe a bottle of water, if you can find it- you're sure there must have been one waiting for him after the show. his eyes widen again, but before he has time for concern you cup his cheek to brush the last of his tears away with the pad of your thumb, accompanied by a gently chiding look that says i'm not going anywhere

he has enough time to look sheepish before you putter back over to him with your spoils, talking a mile a minute to distract him. "tch, enough of that! that's part of the change- everything you felt before is doubly strong now. it can be hard to separate your emotions sometimes, especially when you're not used to it. you'll feel everything differently now, and twice as hard."

he takes a moment to mull that over as he mops his face and chugs the water bottle, then nods as he meets your eyes again. "i didn't know that, but it sounds- it feels right. what else can ya tell me?" you chuckle darkly, stretching out on the couch. "oh, just bunches, baby. get comfortable, cuz i know you've got questions- and i've got your answers."

over the course of the night, you explain everything to elvis- how he was Turned, the changes his body's going through, all the symptoms and abilities he'll experience now, why he's feeling the way he is, his options for feeding, how his habits need to change if he intends to keep going like this... it's a laborious process, given how little he knows and how much he thinks he does- he's already got a lot of misconceptions to retrain.

"hey, maybe you're the one who's been watching too many dark shadows reruns lately!" you mean it as a joke, but he flushes. "well, s'not like there's a, a handbook or anythin'! i've been tryin' to study up!" you burst out laughing, and he laughs with you.

at one point he orders up dinner for the two of you, which provides the perfect opportunity for you to offer him a creature comfort- "food? yeah, you can eat food. it won't sustain you, but you're free to eat for pleasure." at his pained look, you give him a knowing smirk. "i bet it tastes nasty right now, doesn't it?" he nods glumly, eyeing your super-rare hamburger, and you chuckle, eyeing him as you take an exaggerated bite. he groans in annoyance, and you laugh as you lick your fingers clean. "don't worry- that'll pass. it's your instincts' way of telling you that you're malnourished- kind of a deterrent from stuff that won't actually keep you alive. you'll be back to your peanut butter and banana in no time, promise." he cheers, and orders up a bottle of champagne, just for that.

"that's another thing- we metabolize differently. your system can tell the difference between the liquid calories it needs and the solid calories you're feeding it just for fun. you won't derive any energy from human food, so you can't gain weight. no reason to store fat," you shrug. "but it also means-" you clink your champagne glass with his in a mock toast, "-you can't get drunk." he sputters, "well, why'd you even let me order the bubbly then?? this shit's expensive, so they tell me!" "i like the way it sparkles! it tickles my nose!"

the hours come and go, but the two of you barely notice, so wrapped up in your conversation. that's another thing you explain- how he'll need much less rest now, if he keeps himself healthy, but that until he's being nourished properly he'll be fatigued and need to sleep pretty much like before. he admits that he was practically nocturnal beforehand, anyway- he hadn't even noticed this one change among so many more pressing.

his drapes were heavy-duty, but you could see just the barest sliver of skyline out the window as the sun began to rise. "it's almost dawn," you whisper, conscious of the fact that the vampire before you is very young, and has had a very long night. a very long month, to be perfectly honest. he hums from where his head is resting on your thigh- you'd encouraged him to lie down an hour ago when he kept breaking off his sentences to yawn hugely. actually, you'd encouraged him to get some rest and you'd talk more later, but he'd refused to go to bed, assuring you he wasn't tired 't all, just sore from the show- he got muscle aches, you know, and he needed to stretch out. you hadn't been convinced then, and you were even less so now, keeping a fond eye on him (fond?? when had that happened) as he drowsed in your lap.

his end of the conversation had started lagging about the same time you started running your hand through his hair, until he was practically purring in contentment. you huffed in amusement. "more like a kitty cat than a bat, i think." he cocked an eyebrow and grinned salaciously, though he didn't open his eyes. "oh honey, i'll show you a cat... a pussycat, to be precis-" "HEY!" you swatted him teasingly and he snickered, settling down again. "keep it clean, presley." "yes, Master." you paused in your ministrations at that, just long enough for his brow to furrow. "you don't have to call me that." "yeah... but can i? i mean, would'ya mind if i-?" his voice was quiet, but sincere. "...ok. but only if you want to." he can hear the smile in your voice without looking, and it makes him smile, too.

"you do have a real one out there, y'know." "i know. but they ain't ever helped me none- all they've done for me is turn my life upside down and leave again. but you... hell, honey, i've only known you one night, and already things are starting to feel right side up again." you sit with that for just long enough to feel pleased before you reach down to tweak his nose. he giggles, and your bid to give the both of you a break from being so fucking earnest goes off without a hitch. the tension stays broken, but the tranquil mood remains.

"guess you're stuck with me again- i can't make it all the way home in that," you venture eventually, nodding at the lone streak of sun making its way past the blackout curtains to pool on the floor behind the piano. luckily far out of the way, or he might've had a particularly unpleasant awakening of his own, had he stumbled through the patch accidentally. he shifts minutely, well on his way to sleep by now. "mm, sounds jus' awful," he drawls, answer delayed only slightly by the fact that he's snoozing, his voice is so quiet that without your enhanced senses you'd have to strain to hear it. "can't imagine quite how i'll make it through if you've gotta stick around s'more." "even dead to the world, you maintain your sense of humor, huh, baby? and those lady-killer tendencies, i see" "yeah, well, i have killed quite a few lad-" "elvis!" you laugh, scandalized, as he huffs a laugh as well as he leverages himself up to sitting.

he rubs his eyes as he tries to get his bearings. "s'pose that's my way of asking real tactful... what happens next?" "well, first we've gotta detox you." "what, from the blood? i thought you said-" "nope, not from the blood. from the drugs in the blood." "from the w-" he gapes, looking shocked and hurt, and also a little appalled at himself. "i really am sorry to break it to you, sweetheart- there's a lot going on with you right now, and only some of it is due to... this," you reach up a hand to thumb at one of his fangs, which had slipped out as soon as you started talking about blood. "the rest of it is a combination of the vegas lights and whoever up top orchestrated the whole thing." he nods slowly, expression inscrutable. "we'll take it slow, i promise. ok?" "yeah," he nods more steadily now. "yeah, i trust you."

"well, then, mr. presley- are you ready?" he nods his head as if on instinct, then has the decency to look confused. "ready for what?" you smile, fangs out. "to start getting you fixed up... so we can take down those bastards responsible for this." he just stares at you a moment before a slow grin starts to take over his face, eyes darkening to match the quite literally bloodthirsty expression in yours.

"let's get to it."

[boywonderasnf]

he. he did the art???

yes, yes i did.

and while the drawing itself is not kink-related, the rest of this post (rant) is. 18+ please, be kind, dont reblog to non-kink blogs, yada yada the whole shpeel.

(also the "explanation" is basically just a speedrun hurt/comfort fluffy sickfic. might write later idk)

-------

ANYWAYS! i had so badly wanted to make this drawing somehow kink related, but couldn't due to it being drawn in my Class Doodles Notebook (the one i let people see/use)

but imean when i say i REALLY wanted to make his blush look fever-like or even just make his nose a bit darker (maybe even have it running😶)

also ignore his suit (and him in general lmao he a lil wonky💀), i had no references, only my imagination plus whatever pictures of him were stored in the Brain Bank, and just prayed it would end up okay🤷

yes he is crying. why?

well now that i have the freedom to say this, I made it cause he was out patrolling while sick w/ a fever, but then he felt Really Bad and Flash (Wally😻) found his dumbass on a rooftop, naturally.

yada yada Wally is Upset cause he explicitly told Dick to 1: tell him or somebody when he wasn't feeling well (and not like small cold. try more like getting a little too close to passing out than he should), and 2: Take It Easy While He Was Still Recovering From A Previous Cold (he did not, can you tell?)

but Wally being Upset and Grr about Dick's stubbornness around "weakness" and the (slowly becoming less) constant battles the two have over simply allowing themselves to be comforted and cared for by the other, lead to some misunderstandings from Dick's end.

he, in his deliriously fevered state of mind, thought Wally was upset with him for getting sick and being "weak", so he immediately started crying, which made Wally rush to his side and takes off Dick's mask to Wipe His Tears, Kiss His Face, and Gauge Temp of the Ill Bird.

so all that explains why Dick's mask isn't on. lord that was a long explanation for just one small thing mb yall💀

anyways this is my little burst of bullshit for today i definitely babygirlified him (IT WAS ON ACCIDENT THO I DIDNT REALIZE SLIGHTLY SHADING HIS LIPS WOULD MAKE HIM SO-✨😽💅✨!!!!)

sure hope nobody comes hatin, and that anybody that sees this doesn't hate it on sight🙏

mozel tov, i wish all a good day/night😸😸😸

[jacksallys]

Re: your Regulus as Draco rip-off post.. agree one thousand percent. Regulus is given so many traits that are outright stolen from other Slytherins in the story. And the thing is, I wouldn't even care so much if 1) the situations and traits they are ripping off weren't cheapened, flattened, and done poorly for the sake of babygirlifying Regulus and 2) they didn't look down on fans of the characters they are ripping off.

Fanon Regulus being "forced into being a Death Eater" Pfft OKAY. Fanon Regulus being a sarcastic mildly antagonistic Slytherin interested in a Gryffindor Potter. Do they not see that they're describing Drarry? Or fanon Regulus being an antisocial potions prodigy who spies on Voldemort to protect someone he loves and dies fighting for the light. Yeah no that's not Regulus's story.

Fanon Regulus is endowed with all of these compelling traits and arcs from other canon characters, with none of the nuance present in their originators, because idk they can't seem to handle it or something. And yet they dare to look down on fans of Draco, Drarry, or Snape? It's so brazenly hypocritical.

no bc i get what ur saying and ur right!! like. in canon we know absolutely fucking nothing about regulus black ok. like. we know his name. we know he started hogwarts in 72. he was a slytherin, he became a death eater at sixteen, he had a collage of death eater propaganda on his bedroom wall, sirius described him as quite naive and said he was reminded by his parents that regulus was a better son, and then he had his plot w/ voldemort and died at 17/18 and thats it!! obv our two sources on regulus's personality come from regulus and kreacher but they are both two VERY biased sources. we don't really know much about his personality other than that he was raised believing his parents bigotry unlike sirius, that he was pretty smart and what we can infer from him being sorted into slytherin. other than that literally allllll of it is pulled straight from draco malfoy, mainly draco in drarry fics. i haven't read many other fics ft. different draco ships, i don't love dramione but i'm assuming he is similarly characterised - maybe just more "oh feel sorry for me i am so tortured and mysterious - in them. and don't get me wrong, draco and regulus ARE similar. one of my favourite parts abt the golden trio vs. marauders eras is that characters seem to intentionally mirror each other? and also, they correct the 'mistakes' of the past gen's lives. like. sirius and harry are so fucking similar, but harry actually. survived? and hermione and lily are clear mirrors. even snape and luna, i admit i really don't like snape, but luna is so similar except the fact that... despite her getting teased and bullied she never became cruel? and neville, just like peter he lived in the shadow of ron, hermione and harry but he never resented them for it. however it's one thing to draw parallels between the characters and another to kinda just. blatantly rip off someone's entire personality but also??? try and make them a good person. like regulus black fans will do ANYTHING to insist he is not a bad person bc he's babygirl and he can do no wrong. which. babe. its fine if you're joking but like some of them are serious about it!!!

and like. the real infuriating part is that the average jegulus fan will shit on draco malfoy and drarry as a concept like. babe. you are sat there reading a DRARRY fic, basically. if you downloaded a jegulus fic or a drarry fic and reversed the names, ignored the chronological fuck ups and such, they would read exactly the same!!!!!

(i put it under the cut because i know i have a lot more to say!)

don't get me wrong, even if we strip away alllll of both of draco and regulus's fanon elements, they still have parallels. jkr probably created reg for the plot elements but also to mirror draco. she compared them in an interview one time, she said that they both got into the death eaters too deeply, they were attracted to it at first but that the reality of what it meant to be a death eater was way too much to handle. yeah. however even if regulus was freaked out by the concept of ritual sacrifices and brutal massacres and voldemort killing his house elf, he still hated muggleborns and believed in blood purity - which. is a thing that regulus fans commonly just cut out of fics? i've never read a drarry fic where draco didn't believe his parents were correct. but also their situations are a little different because whilst draco genuinely didn't have anyone in his life who didn't believe in blood purity, regulus did. sirius 100% tried to explain to him that their parents were liars and there wasn't anything wrong or different about muggleborns however he didn't listen. which jegulus fans seem to always coincidentally forget? and yeah okay, it's a fic. embellesh a little. break canon if you'd like. but the second you obsess over and love a character who is literally the wizard equivalent of a nazi and a canon blood purist despite having multiple opportunities for an out, you completely lose the ability to shit on any other character for doing the same thing. you can't shit on bellatrix for murder or evan and barty for being death eaters or anything. and it's insane to me because they dont!!!!!!! they dont shit on bellatrix OR evan and barty and its not even in the sense of like.... enjoying a morally grey nuanced character? the average regulus/jegulus stan strips away every single morally grey and. awful thing about reg and the slytherin skittles just to??? idk. validate it in their own mind. that it is ok to like and enjoy a bad person.

(on the topic of snape - i don't get how regulus fans can dump on him either? like. okay. i hate snape. however my reasons for hating snape are more so to do with the fact that his incel behaviour and obsession with lily genuinely freaks me out so fucking much, and there is absolutely no way you can defend a man who vindictively bullied an eleven year old just because that boy could have been the chosen one, and if he had been then maybe lily wouldn't have died, to the extent where when neville was thirteen snape was his BIGGEST fear. this boy was dropped out of a window by his own uncle, spent years terrified that he would be a squib, WHOSE OWN PARENTS WERE TORTURED TO THE POINT OF INSANITY BY BELLATRIX LESTRANGE and his TEACHER was his biggest fear. that's my issue with him. however. the average regulus fan doesn't give a shit about lily evans, the majority of them villainise her because james loves her - and god forbid that man loves a woman and ur no longer interested in fetishising his relationship!!!!!!!!! either that or they make her a lesbian and pair her off with usually either mary or pandora because they have to physically make her unattracted to men so she won't threaten jegulus. like. i like marylily. i like jegulus. i like jily. i lOVE pandora/lily. one of my favourite lily ships is her and marlene, i'm a sucker for the jock x nerd dynamic! but. you don't have to make her not romantic and sexually interested in MEN just so she isn't a threat to jegulus. that's misogynistic. it is actually possible to not want to fuck a certain man even if you like their general species! lily went six years not wanting to date that man, she can continue to do so in your fic whilst still being attracted to men. it's. odd? why not just make her bisexual?? ah, yeah, because you don't want james to be an option at ALL. anyway sorry i got distracted however my point stands.)

idk man i say all of this whilst Enjoying jegulus and regulus. i hate fics that write him as some sort of completely innocent in no way bad person, but the fics where he genuinely is... self serving and morally grey and only really cares about himself and the people he loves and values? yeah. theyre enjoyable. however that entire personality is just stolen from fucking draco. you can tell bc it came about in 2019/2020 when jegulus got super popular and im 99% sure it was just because all the draco malfoy/drarry stans got pissed off with dracotok and HIS morally grey personality and general... dickish cruel horrible behaviour being ripped away? and even jegulus's dynamic - it's JUST drarry. there is no other way around it. and it's so fucking frustrating when reg stans actively dump on drarry and draco as a character WHEN THEIR FAVE IS HIS CHARACTER.

tdlr: i don't hate regulus, i think he's interesting. i enjoy him in a lot of fics. however it's so fucking frustrating when people that love him a. strip away every single negative part of his character in an attempt to justify themselves liking him when... he isn't that guy. regulus black is a child who believed in his parents bigotry and got in too deep and then died making a last ditch attempt to kill voldemort Not because he genuinely didn't believe in his cause but because voldemort pissed him off by trying to kill kreacher! and b. that jegulus fans regularly shit on draco malfoy when... he's the original? and they hate drarry meanwhile almost every single version of jegulus's dynamic is just blatantly them, whether the authors are aware of it or not.

[o0sketchy-girl0o]

Hi hi 👋

❤️ 5'10 or 5'11 last I checked?

🧡 Lesbian!

💛 i can talk about string theory for hours on end if you don't stop me like literally watch-

💚 New England

~ My dog who may or may not be high on sharpie fumes

💙 My little closet demon brother I love him

💜 clueless, smart, funnyish, weird... ✨autistic✨

~ QUANTUM PHYSICIST 🫦😩

🖤 q-q-q-q-QUANTUM PHYSI- ok I'll stop

🎂 July 24!

🌙 um um um um uhhhhhh can i just say leo because i looked at a guide and it was confusing as sheep

💉 Ear piercings, the lobe ones!

🚗 Nerp. I'm a) not of legal age and b) a coward when it comes to being responsible of this big ahh thing on wheels on a road of other things on wheels that could decide to high five my car at any moment

✈️ huhhh I've gotta say maybe Paris? we went to London, Edinburgh and Paris for my birthday this year :D

🎤 probably, but nothing really comes to mind rn lol. exploding to go to the ashnikko concert tho 🤩

🎵 Ashnikko rn 😈✨

🎧 Veera Raja Veera by AR Rahman and a bunch of other people it SLAPS in 8d theatre audio

📺 Helluva boss? or a true crime series with my mom? I forgot lol

📝 Like a story? this book I'm working on that I reeeeeally wanna publish it's gonna be called Grey Matter and it's a psychological horror WHEEEEE

🔐 If I haven't opened my mouth yet, then that I'm autistic lmao 🤷‍♀️

🧟‍♀️ I almost got kidnapped like a bunch of times, and one time a guy who tried to kidnap me was killed by police two weeks after the incident, crazy story. It wasn't rlly scary tho. more like shocking. lmao.

🔥 Wait I could've just written the last one here 😧

🍓 uhhhrhrhrhrhmmmmm right now probably soft serve ice cream

🍅 i would cry if someone tried to feed me anything on my bad texture list

🍊 the transition from spring to summer<3333

🍋 Horror

🍐 wuhhhh uh uh uh ummm @ryemackerel's good au william afton

🫐 Norway :D

🍇 painfully oblivious

🍒 It's a very vivid memory of before I could walk (I'm thinking 4-5 months old) and I was crawling towards the prayer area and I was wearing this pink frilly shirt and holding a ladybug toy and the house smelled like sandalwood and there was this one specific prayer song playing idk my memory is weird

🍌 ✨social skills✨

💌 to post my doodles (CONTENT COMING SOON I SWEAR 😭)

✏️ definitely when my fnaf era started lmaooo

🖇️ I haven't gotten any asks yet 🥲 guys pls send me asks, strangers, friends, pornbots (wait what) please i'm lonelyyy

📚 when an idea plagues my brain and it nags me until i put it down on paper

📌 🫥 well, you see I haven't posted any stories or fics of mine-

🔍 a very babygirlified william afton (mostly crack stories)

🖊️ any character I don't think is angstworthy (very rigid standards)

💔 [war flashbacks] uh so i uh it's uh so there was this gravity falls thing and uh I deleted it thank dog but uhhh

❤️‍🔥 @skeletoninthemelonland's ballora huh what wha I didn't say anything what

🧚‍♀️ When I say william afton I would like to clarify that I am not a simp i just think he has very cool lore. anyway, william, tomura shigaraki, hunter from toh, and Ben gross from never have I ever. any questions?

🪐 toh, helluva boss, i forgor the rest 🙃

🌝 the owl house

🌚 any show that supports an immoral cause, idk, I don't watch a whole lot of those :)

🌹 I've never written that kind of stuff but I support anyone who does!

🥀 i don't plan on writing a whole bunch of that but erm consent is sexy

🌊 oh, I don't really have any of those. what i know is that there are many safe platforms online to find your people to share your creativity with, so if you guys are worried about that kinda thing, i encourage you to find your space.

❄️ I LITERALLY HAVE DEVELOPED THIS ENTIRE 3 SEASONS LONG SERIES IN MY HEAD ABOUT MY FNAF AU THAT'S ROTATING IN MY BRAIN CONSTANTLY

☂️ hmmmm there are a lot. one that I think of is this on AO3 by serpentauthor. it's funny :)

A couple of in depth questions!

🍄 well I have a few personal ones and a few less personal ones. I guess I would've liked to appreciate things more when I was younger.

⭐️ well, I published a book when I was 8. it's not that special lmao ik y'all have done better but it's the first thing i thought of for this question.

~ Depression. Guys, talking about it really helps, I promise! stay safe<3

🌺 I REALLY LIKED MY TRIP TO EUROPE FOR MY BIRTHDAY THAT WAS SO FUN

🍀 any lighthearted show I can watch with my brother cause it feels nostalgic.

bye bye! 👋

Get to Know Me!

This is just a fun little thing I’ve been wanting to do since the dawn of time but could never find a post to reblog that satisfied what I wanted. So I made this, feel free to reblog and use it yourself!

❤️ how tall are you?

🧡 what is your sexuality?

💛 what is your favorite feature on yourself?

💚 where are you from?

🩵 do you have any pets?

💙 do you have any siblings?

💜 describe yourself in five words or less!

🩷 dream job?

🖤 favorite hobbies outside of your blog

🎂 when is your birthday?

🌙 your zodiac (Sun, Moon, Rising)

💉do you have tattoos and/or piercings

🚗 can you drive?

✈️ favorite place you’ve traveled

🎤 have you been to a concert

🎵 favorite artists

🎧 last song you listened too

📺 last show you watched

📝 last thing you wrote

🔐 something no one would guess about you

🧟‍♀️ scariest thing that’s happened to you

🔥 craziest thing that’s ever happened to you

🍓 favorite food

🍅 least favorite food

🍊 favorite season?

🍋 favorite genre to read / watch / write

🍐 if you could make one character real, who would it be

🫐 some place you’d love to visit

🍇 a word your friends would use to describe you

🍒 what is your earliest memory

🍌 what is one talent you wish you had

💌 why did you start this blog?

✏️ when did you start writing fanfic

🖇️ what are your favorite asks to answer

📚 how do you come up with the fics you write

📌 what is the fic you’re know for

🔍 what character do you enjoy writing for the most

🖊️ what character do you not enjoy writing for

💔 is there a fic you wish you didn’t write

❤️‍🔥 what character do you simp for most often

🧚‍♀️ favorite characters of all time

🪐 favorite shows / series of all time

🌝 a show you would recommend to anyone

🌚 a show you’d tell people to stay away from

🌹 favorite kinks to write for

🥀 kinks you would never write for

🌊 a kink you would like to write but you think you’d be judged

❄️ full fics, imagines or head canons

☂️ your favorite fanfic from another writer

A couple of in depth questions!

🍄 what is something that’s happened in your life that you wish you could go back and change?

⭐️ what is one of your biggest accomplishments? Why is it so important to you?

🪻what is the toughest thing you had to go through, but can say you’ve successfully overcome?

🌺 what is the best gift someone has ever given you and why is it so important

🍀 what is your comfort show/series and why is it your comfort show? How has it helped you?

[goldenfox3]

Legit just trying to speedwrite as much as possible while im still on break and the muse is still with me lmao idea dumping again

Incandescent companion fic/short sequel? - Ryu pov. No idea what's happening here i want to keep the fragile yet tender mood but idk what to write about now lmao. Maybe they literally just go to bed and cuddle up for a fucking snooze bc god knows Ryu needs sleep after he collapsed in e47 and Jack literally had to push and pin him back down onto the bed.

Oneshot Jody-Jack bonding bc I've babygirlified Ryu and Bart enough already maybe it's Jack's turn to get comforted now and Jody's pov is always fun!! Oneshot bc. Idt I'm strong enough to do a years-spanning repeat of Solstice with two diff charas lmao. Ft. hugs and Jody feeling awkward about her youth and whether a cold person like her who is physically half inhuman can provide the warmth her team needs to keep it together (this would also be a theme in the 5+1 times team got mom'd fic ig?)

Not to pair the spares or whatever but i vaguely thought about Lucy-Jack and/or Lucy-Jody bonding after Ryu gets married and she's like. She is genuinely happy for him but she's also still bummed her crush is definitely out of reach now and either Jody, Jack, or both notice and awkwardly try to cheer her up. Gen or pre-relationship for either or both??

[guiltyonsundays]

the way y'all post about Eugene Sledge and Snafu Shelton on here I was expecting peak soft boi dynamics

instead I got two murderous bastards who are so fucking psychotic that literally no-one else can stand the pair of them

[persimnon]

for ask game: fitz, hiccup (books or movies, whichever), minkowski, and/or the person in your icon idk who that is <3

Ohohoho you spoil me >:)

First up is Fitz, and as I’ve stated before, I know Shannon’s characters better than she does. Most of us do. But Fitz specifically? He is Mine. He is My Character and he lives in My Brain and he is mine to babygirlify and mine to rotate in my head. Nobody gets him like I do. He is everything to me. I could fix him both in the context of the story and outside of it.

Okay so I chose movie!Hiccup because I’m more familiar with the movie franchise and he is also everything to me but I can share. Everyone who watched httyd as a kid is allowed to pass him around like a shared bowl of soup but he’s sososososoososo special to me and all the other gay httyd special interest bitches on tumblr dot com. I did almost put “they work better as part of a dynamic” because I am so partial to toothcup friendship but no. He’s equally fantastic on his own. And he is perfect.

Now we have Minkowski, and tbh I only put that I don’t have much to say about her because it’s been so long since I last listened to w359 but she is my most terrifying loml. She is the asshole whom I will defend to the ends of the Earth (and wherever that damned star is). We’ve got the same control issues and I respect her for that. Most of the fandom seems to have that down. But *I* snagged the cool url for my sideblog, so ha. It is also becoming more evident that I have two different favorite character molds: special little guy I want to put in a jar and keep + wife who will kill me.

This last character, queen of my icon, is Gwen from Ben 10!!! She is so badass and witty and everything I wanted to be when I watched Ben 10 growing up. My 10yo self was also in love with her but I think that’s a given. She was done dirty by fans because the (mostly male) fanbase is criminally horny for the only well-rounded female character in the franchise. I will kill all of them.

This was really fun, thank you Emma!!!

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

[Image ID: Tags saying "Like being sopping wet and pathetic is fine go ahead but there is a time and a place for that, and that place is not to label already marginalized groups as that. Trans women are not pathetic." End ID]

Hope u don't mind a screenshot lol but I think this is a good point! I'm actually like a pretty big proponent for women in general being allowed to be "wet and pathetic" (i.e. flawed and liked for it) in fandom - people have turned that and the "poor meow meow" thing and the "lame boyfriend" thing into like. white guy only archetypes which I think sucks! I think women should be allowed to be a little lame and a little complicated and still be liked by a fandom. HOWEVER there is most definitely a time and a place for it. I can also like. really obviously tell that a lot of people see gender-nonconformity and/or transness in a "male" (heavy quotes) character as something that makes them "more pathetic", like, see how Fucking much of the "babygirl" thing is just like. associating a "man" with "feminine" things "as a joke" or in order to demean him. I don't think most people who do this do it on purpose - I think if you asked most of these people they'd purport to be completely trans-friendly and are often trans themselves. Misogyny and transmisogyny (trans women as "failed men", for example) are two EXTREMELY deep-rooted societal prejudices and people find their own prejudices difficult to examine. So I'm not trying to make anyone feel guilty! I just want people to be like. really really aware of this Especially right now and maybe think abt Why they're so insistent on "babygirlifying a man to make him more sopping wet" or whatever the kids say idk

I loveeee love love transfem Spy hcs but like I literally cannot imagine posting any sort of art or writing about her idk how yall bear it. If I posted art of a character I was interpreting as a trans woman and all the notes were like "omggg I love this I love HIM. HE looks so WET AND PATHETIC isn't it so PATHETIC and FUNNY when MEN wear DRESSES" I'd fuckin kill somebody

[gregoryhou5e]

once again forced to cope w seeing bad takes on this website…. very long bitching about smth in nrt fandom under cut

LOL i feel like a kid posting a vague on here but it’s not a big deal i think. maybe i’ll delete it later…

but i’m just pissed off at some stupid ass post i saw from a blog which already annoyed me. like. people who dislike hsmd/sns for narrative reasons (the way the stupidass will of fire vs. curse of hatred shit played out), they’re fine, i don’t agree obviously but i respect it.

However. this person, the more they talk the more it just sounds like homophobic bullshit hidden behind that.

like… saying how these shippers oftentimes just seem like they have a “””yaoi””” (man it’s 2022) fetish and how they Don’t Understand Friendship ??? the let men be friends bullshit….. i guess the thing about how adults shipping 16 y/os can be weird, yah alright but. there’s nothing…. wrong with it, so long as they’re not sexualizing them. it’s not like they’re 10. and hell, many of these people are quite young adults and/or started shipping them when they were the same age or younger as nrt and ssk.

i think some of the stuff that pisses me off the most is the going on about how characters like mdr are too… “overflowing with testosterone to be babygirlified” ???? seriously? overflowing with testosterone? and that other post about “masculine mdr supremacy” and wanting to “support hyper masculinity” are we fucking serious with this one?

that to ship hsmd is to throw out everything mdr is as a character and replace him with “AN ABOMINATION OF FEMININITY”????? how are you going to talk about misogyny and then say this in the same post. btw.

and at the end saying how there’s “no point in reading too deep into interactions between two men just to have a yaoi ship”. So you think there’s no point in shipping two men…? or is it just when people don’t pull it out of nowhere and look upon canon interactions?

Yknow maybe people are calling this kind of shit homophobic because… it is?

Let me be clear for the record and say that I know damn well there are still people, even on tumblr specifically, who are super fetishy about gay men and make everything very stereotypical stupidass uke seme yaoi woobified waif hyperfeminized bottoms etc. I Know. And I hate that shit, if you’re friends with me you would hear me complain about these kinds of people.

but they’re still not the majority. not by a long shot. to act as if the entire fandom for a ship is only full of stereotypical fetish content which destroys characters when there’s a lot of really well-done, thoughtful content, is just gross. and hell, it doesn’t have to be wholesome anyways, there’s nothing wrong with just straight up down n dirty gay sex.

the obsession with masculinity vs femininity and acting as if 1. being part of a gay ship somehow strips away masculinity and character both, inherently and 2. there’s something… wrong? with a man being feminine? it all just reeks of very weird thoughts about gay ppl and gender essentialism to me. idk.

not liking hsmd (or sns but i was focusing less on that in this post) is fine. not wanting to see your favorite character be woobified is fine, i agree strongly even. but this is ridiculous, and honestly, i find some of the implications disgusting. as a fuckin faggot and a shipper myself lmao.

one final thing, bcs lord i needn’t be here all day this is already a super long post. but i wanna add that despite anything i said here i don’t have anything against the OP of that post as a person— i don’t like their opinions, and i do find what they said to be weird and homophobic, but i’m not calling them specifically a homophobe, as i don’t know them, and things can be deeper than that. i’m hoping this post won’t be seen far outside my circle/followers, and i did already block the OP before writing this. i’m gonna be turning off reblogs on it just in case.

[sugarhillpark]

with as much love as possible, i don’t like or even understand this take. so we’re cancelling the entire universally acknowledged eye colour of hazel now because...you don’t vibe with it personally? imagine if your friend was wearing a green and brown plaid dress and you were like ‘love your dress! so pretty!’ and they said ‘thanks! green and brown are two of my favourite colours!’ and your response was ‘haha! plaid! pretentious! there’s totally more green than brown in that pattern so why even mention brown and plaid is a stupid third concept to have! i’m gonna call it green!’ doesn’t that take sound kinda unhinged. or, imagine you’re biracial pete wentz and fandom at large has spent the past two decades engaged in a concerted effort to whitewash you and emphasise the physical features you have that are more conventionally associated with your european heritage and with anglo-european beauty standards and to minimise and call ugly the features that are more conventionally associated with your afro-jamaican heritage. and people are so fixated on you having ‘pretty’ light eyes and not ‘boring flat plain’ brown eyes that even calling them hazel isn’t acceptable they gotta be green. idk i just don’t think that’s a great hill to die on. calling brown eyes in general boring and flat and plain (and ugly) is played out and a problem imo. and yeah ‘old man yells at cloud’ or ‘it’s not that deep girlie’ or whatever you want to say about me personally but like...pretty sure it is that deep. not exactly a new take i’m pulling out of thin air here. poc and much smarter people than me have written pieces on this but there’s a reason why ‘monochromatic’-appearing brown eyes get called those exact things and monochromatic-appearing blue, green and grey eyes don’t. i just think if you think say ray toro, gabe saporta and travie mccoy have plain, flat, boring eyes it’s worth thinking about what those people have in common compared to say, patrick stump, frank iero and spencer smith.  anyway, i don’t understand where the brown isn’t in these images from the first page of images from a google search for ‘pete wentz eye colour’ and how it isn’t pretty, not because it’s a feature in special babygirlified light eyes but because brown can just be pretty and not a dirty word.  

idk whats going on with the patrick ginger discourse, but the true debate should be over whether petes eyes count more as brown, or as green. i vote green 100% btw. theres like a splash of brown in the middle, but thats it.

SORRY FOR THE LATE ANSWER I WAS GETTING RECIPTS

she’s hazel. to me <3

edit: pictures for proof