#it also happens to be wednesday so ill tag it

[star-stages]

A gift for @000marie198 ✨🫐From this post. Such a sweet lil story 💙💛

[autisticlee]

when places have "sensory hours" or whatever they call their sensory friendly times, but it's always at the most inconvenient times possible. they always do them at the times people are least likely to be at/want to go. it's either way too early in the mornings or in the middle of work time, and it seems to always in the middle of the week and never weekends. they never care if they inconvenience disabled people. but how dare they ever inconvenience the ableds and take away their time! 🙄

[bbcphile]

In Memory of Kiah

cw/tw: death, medical assistance in dying

If you’re wondering why I kind of disappeared from the Mysterious Lotus Casebook tag and stopped posted WIP Wednesday things, here’s the explanation: One of my closest friends, who has been dying progressively and increasingly painfully over the last two years, told me about 3 weeks ago that they were going to pursue medical assistance in dying because it is legal where they live. It was originally scheduled for the end of July, then moved up to the end of June, and then on Monday, they moved it to Wednesday (yesterday), because their life was agony and they couldn’t wait any longer.

I’m lucky that I had enough advanced notice that I was able to say goodbye–both by sending them a message telling them in detail how much they’ve meant to me and thanking them for everything, and then in one last phone call the night before–so I’m glad they knew how much I loved them and that I could be there for them emotionally, even though I couldn’t physically be there for the end itself, because they live too far away. We met on Tumblr through the chronic illness community because we share the same genetic connective tissue disorder and many of its comorbidities, and I will always be so, so grateful to Tumblr for bringing us together.

I wanted to post about them here because it just felt wrong to keep going like nothing had happened, and because I wanted to do something to pay tribute to how good a person they were and how much I miss them. So, some words about Kiah: 

Kiah was one of the kindest, funniest, intellectually curious, loving, and fiercely protective people I have ever met. I loved that we could talk about anything, including the terror of living in a failing body or how to come to terms with being disabled when you were always an overcommitted overachiever who defined yourself on external metrics of success, analyze media together during watch parties, and laugh together about literally anything (including during our last conversation, where we were both bawling our eyes out, but also somehow laughing about how absurd it is that you can’t really cry hard and talk at the same time and how that seems like a real design flaw). We didn’t share any fandoms, but we still had fun sharing details about our blorbos and fandom activities: I loved hearing about their cosplay adventures, and they always wanted to keep up to date on the metas I was writing. Even once they went blind and couldn’t read my metas on tumblr anymore because it wouldn’t work with their screenreader, they had me send them Google doc versions so their computer could read my posts to them because they didn’t want to miss any of my analyses. And when they were too sick to listen to the full posts, they asked for summaries because they still wanted to keep up as much as they could. 

They were always so caring and compassionate: when they first called to tell me in January that they were going to do medical assistance in dying, and after I had told them I understood and supported them and we’d talked about how they felt about it, they asked me how I was. I had told them that while I was heartbroken, I would handle it, because I didn’t want to make them feel responsible for comforting me when they had their hands full with processing everything and feeling their own grief. They said that while they appreciated my not wanting to make it harder on them, they didn’t want me to feel like I had to be ok in front of them, because they wanted to comfort me and support me even in this if they could, since they didn’t have that much time left to be there for me and they wanted to make it count. (yeah, I’m sobbing right now.)

None of those descriptions could even begin to do justice to how much they meant to me, but I hope this anecdote will:

I couldn’t be with them at the end because I’m a country and an opposite coast away, but I hated the idea of not being able to say goodbye in person or hold their hand if they were scared during the injection. So I played piano and imagined they could hear it.

Most of you probably won’t know what that means or why it would be a big deal. Here’s why:

I used to be a musician. Music was my life and my most important means of self-expression, and was absolutely going to be my career. But in high school and college, an extensive series of very traumatic things happened that made me essentially have to give up performing. For the better part of the last 18 years, literally up until I sat down to play for Kiah, even just the idea of performing for someone or a neighbor overhearing me play was triggering enough that I would have a full-blown panic attack and dissociate so badly I would literally go from concert pianist level ability to mostly forgetting how to read music and having to count ledger lines. But my desire to do something so that maybe, just maybe, I could make Kiah’s final moments better apparently trumped my trauma, because I was able to do it. I had wanted to play some Rachmaninoff, Brahms, or Chopin, but apparently those are still too closely tied to Events and I started to have skill loss issues again (fucking dissociative amnesia), so I switched to a piece I had played long ago enough that it was reliably in my mind and fingers (and that I could sight-read if I forgot it partway through). 

And I played it.

I hope, somehow, they were able to hear it.

I also recorded it.

And I’m going to share it here.

It kind of feels like serving my heart up on a platter, but that feels kind of appropriate for this tribute to them. 

I think they’d be happy, knowing that I’m “doing it scared,” as Tumblr recommends, and that my attempt to give them the biggest gift of love and support I could think of, somehow, even if just temporarily, gave music back to me.

Also, I think they’d get a kick out of the fact that you can hear me giggle a little at one point in the recording when the sheet music falls on my hands, both because it’s a great middle finger to perfectionism, but also because laughing through the tears (and yeah, I was crying while playing this) is very much a chronic illness and disability thing, and feels like a good metaphor for much of the last few months.

So. All that to say:

Kiah, I love you. I miss you so much already.

Here’s Robert D. Vandall’s “Lakeside Retreat.”

[dwaekkicidal]

apologies for all the spam that has happened/will happen today!! im super hyper and i have a lot of energy so im:

[1] working on easing txt into my blog,

[2] catching up on kinktober, AND

catching up on super old asks lol (they will be in drafts until like tomorrow or the day after)

i also just noticed [3] how many notes chris' kinktober got???? so i wanted to comment about that LMAO

this will just be a mash of random crap i wanted to say but i rather not spam so i wont make separate posts for it

1. the most "important" (not really important) thing is the txt stuff!!

im going to start posting txt stuff now!

i will be writing for them soon enough! (maybe by the end of next week i should have 1-2 drabbles posted per member? ...maybe) im still creating/editing the new masterlist and all that before i post what i have written for them :3

that being said, i have some reposted txt fics that im going to post! ill post like 6/7 today to get the tags preset, so apologies if u have my notifs on! and the other ones are queued to be posted throughout the week :3

^they will still be tagged under "#sian's reposts <3" but theres gonna be 6 new repost tags that im gonna use for them!

2. i should be caught up on kinktober by/before wednesday! im aiming for tomorrow if im being honest but i will not promise it if i'm not 100% sure i can do it lol

that being said! i also changed the very end of kinktober a little bit. there were supposed to be 2 mxm posts on the same day but i realized that i was stupid and i physically cant link 2 things at the same time, and changing the post would drive my ocd nuts, so!! im making the ChangSeung post a whole separate thing!

also somebody had asked a few months ago to add Changbin x Seungmin to my masterlist & i never got to it, and i just so happened to plan a post for them for kinktober so i will just post that stuff separately instead!

3. why the fuck did chris' kinktober post get 3k notes? LOL

when i tell you guys i HATED that post.. to the point where i was debating a few hours before i was supposed to post it, if i should scrap it or not and call off kinktober...

its so funny to me that you guys loved it, and its my first ever post to hit 3k notes LMFAO so thank you <3

also felix's got past 1k i believe? u guys r demons i love u

if you made it this far, thank you for coming to my yap sesh

but thats all!! love you guys, make sure youre drinking water <3

[theelderhazelnut]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @aceghosts @nightbloodbix @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn <3

I’m one hour late lol. Okay so this is what I have written so far for the first chapter of “Rise of Villains: The Shadow”. Atoosa (Ombra) has lost everything, and she meets Raiden for the first time. (Güney is a minor character)

Also, this is not proofread!

I had never truly felt it until that night when I was sitting beside the road. I had never wished to be anyone else, even that middle-aged man making tea for his customers, but this lost little girl. What did people do when their parents are suddenly killed in an airpalne shot by two rockets, and when they were suddenly left with nothing but an old luggage?

I stared at my fingers, trying so hard not to bury my face in them because then my life would magically go deeper into this abyss. What was I supposed to do really? A psychiatry student in a foreign country who had lost her financial support last week and her rented apartment this morning.

I went into my pocket to check the time, but remembered that my phone had just died. I took a deep breath to protect my sanity for just a few more seconds until I arrive at the restaurant, the temporary workplace I opt because I wanted to be this independent woman. The money it provided me for working there part-time would never heal any scars, but it was better that nothing. But now it was everything I had left.

I pushed glass door open after walking for fifteen minutes, and dragged my luggage behind me. There were only two couples left out of all the customers. Güney, the cashier, looked at me up and down.

“Where are you going?” He continued chewing his gum while his dark eyes were begging to be shut.

“Can I stay the night?” It was weird to hear my own voice after hours of silence in the pavement. Also when I was trying to hide the pleading tone shaking my voice.

“Uuum-yeah you can sleep in the kitchen, but why? Are you okay?” He raised his eyebrows in concern.

Güney was never the friendliest collaege to me, and I definitely did not need his sympathy right then.

“I-my landlord kicked me out I’ll just stay one night I promise I’ll fix everything and-“

“What do you mean he kicked you out?!”

“Because I didn’t pay the rent.” Even talking about what happened this morning made me feel ill and dizzy. I shook my head and walked up to the kitchen.

“You could stay at my place.” He offered in a low, cautious tone, standing awkwardly in the doorframe. Trusting a stranger I see almost everyday? Nope. Never.

I stared at him dead in the eyes. “I’m good. Thank you.”

He creeped out of the dark room with measured steps. And I was, once again, left alone. I sat on the counter for the next couple of minutes, staring at the distance while the fridge continuously beezed in my ears. I would lie if I claimed that I wasn’t scared to be all alone in a restaurant at midnight. Surely, the doors were locked, but my mind was a bastard who enjoyed visualizing diverse scenarios of a psychopath suddenly breaking in. Fortunately, the knives and axes were at reach, hanging gravely from the rank.

I tightened my grip around the edge of the counter. I could hear the already ruined house of my life collapsing into the deep abyss of misery. I would turn into a poor girl drowning in povert while she carries her dead dreams on her hunched shoulders. I would be useless. I would fail.

A vague, booming sound from afar rang in my ears. I found myself totally frozen when I only moved my eyeballs towards the door. I greeted my teeth as though it would magically create a shield for me. The sound was heard again; now three times in a row like knocking. I held my breath to hear every single noise resembling footsteps.

Knocking again. In utter silence, I picked one of the huge knives, and [walking silently] out of the kitchen. White knuckling the handle, my nails were penetrating my sweaty palm.

Before I knew it, a thunder striked just a few meters away. My eyes went blind and my ears went deaf for a brief moment, my heart skipping a beat. I stumbled, but maintained my balance by holding onto one of the tables. Gathering my mind, I aimed the tip of the knife to where it just exploded. But to my shock, evrything was in its place. Not even a single crack could be seen on the windows.

Instead, there stood a tall, masculine figure. Due to darkness I could only see the blackness of his robe and a triangle on his head. Two balls of blue light were shining intensely where his eyes supposed to be. Even though he seemed to be totally alright, tiny fractions of electricity lit up his fists, and occasionally connected the edge of that triangle to his neck.

My lungs begged to empty themselves, but even a small noise was deadly threatening. Was he an alien?

“Atoosa Aryan?” He called.

My heart dropped down to my belly. My thoughts stuck in a tight knot, and so did my tongue.

“I am Raiden, the god of thunder.” He lifted his gloved hand. “There is no need to be afraid. My mere intention is to save you.”

A few minutes later, I found myself sitting before him on one the tables.

“Do we know each other?” I mumbled weakly, afraid that if I blinked for a second, he would rip my throat out.

“I am certain that you have never heard of me untill this moment.” There was a soothing hint of patience in his nonchalant tone. “However, I have heard about you many times in the past two decades. I am well aware of your iron-bending power, Miss. Aryan.”

My heart skipped a beat. He knew too much about me, even the tiniest bit of control I have over iron which I had concealed even from myself. Was he really a god? No, it would be too stupid of me to believe him. He was probably a very professional thief who had taken his job a bit too seriously. What did he want to steal from me though? I had nothing.

He continued. “I am here to offer you a place among the defenders of the realm.”

If he wasn’t a well-trained thief, the he was definitely a psychopath. But that didn’t make sense considering how everything about him seemed too real.

In the next half an hour he took his time to explain about how those defenders defend our realm which he called Earthrealm. He was a god whose main responsibility was to protect this realm. And seemingly, one of his minor duties was to find miserable people like me - with supernatural powers - and train them to be fighters.

That was ridiculous. But a part of my heart begged my brain to believe it.

Writing Taglist(to be added/removed): @vivilovespink @scentedcandleibex @darialovesstuff @confidentandgood @spacestephh @takiisieju-moved @inafieldofdaisies @carlosoliveiraa @shegetsburned @bloody-arty-myths @zoetheneko @hi-thisiszira @admin-pipes @mitsuko-saito @malewifefirestar @krysta-cross @elderglocks @breakfwest @middlechildwhoescapedthebasement @ninibear3000 @sinclxirx @gavincruikshanksexhusband @voidika @orbitinytheworld @strangefable @bihanspookies @valyrra @simonxriley

[why-not-a-tickle-blog]

My Writing Masterpost

Updated as of 9/12/2024

To check if there are any newer fics since this has been updated, look for the tag #my fic

You can also read many of these on AO3

My Multi-chapter Fics:

We Could Try? 1, 2, 3, 

Patton had found out. He’d found out not only that Virgil was ticklish, and not only that he actually liked it, but also that he’d never had a real tickle session.

Sequels: I do not understand, The Price of Cookies

Grumpy, Sorry

Virgil is grumpy and gets tickled by Patton, and tickles him back a bit. Later, Patton gets him back even more.

Tickle Week: Sunday, the idea, Monday, Dee and Logan, Tuesday, Patton and Roman, Wednesday, Roman and Virgil, 

“Well, seeing as there are six of us, I propose a tickle week. We’ll leave Sunday off, but every other day we’ll put names in a hat and draw one, and whoever’s name is drawn becomes a tickle toy for the whole day.”

The Tickle House:

Virgil’s New Job,

At the End of a Bad Day

Scribbling

There’s a place called the tickle house, where you can pay to tickle or be tickled. Virgil and Janus work there, and the others often visit.

Tickletober 2020:

One: Unusual Spot

Two: Feathers

Three: Stocks

Four: Scribbling

Five: Drawn on

Six: Kiss

Seven: Unusual Tool

Eight: Interrogation

Nine: Ganged Up On

Twenty-Three: Asking For It

My One-shots:

Roman’s Idea is Best

Written with @barelyticklishlee: Roman has a fantastic idea for Thomas’s date. Virgil doesn’t agree, at least at first.

When Patton gets into a Ler mood at the same time as Virgil is in a Lee Mood. 

Pretty self-explanatory

A bit of something soft

Patton’s having a hard day, so Virgil cuddles and tickles him

Cheating at Games is Ill-Advised

Virgil cheats at a tickling game with Logan, and gets very tickled.

Pay Attention

Virgil can’t pay attention to the conversation with Roman and Patton tickling him.

Beware of Running Away from Lers

Virgil tries to run away from Roman

Arms Up

Virgil tickles Roman’s armpits

Belly

Patton feels fat, but Roman still loves him just as much, and wants him to feel so much better.

When Patton has a Hard Day

Patton is feeling down, but tickling Virgil might help him feel better~

Unnamed Fic

Logan gets soft back tickles from Roman.

The Sweetest Lee

Tickling a sweet little lee is just the best thing ever~

It feels better when you just let it happen ;)

Cuddly tickles for Roman.

Remus Catches a Lee

Virgil's been caught in a trap and gets tickled to pieces.

Virgil’s Voice

Virgil wants tickles, but can't voice his requests, so Roman helps him out, getting him all the tickles he wants.

Dwindling Creativity

Roman shrinks down as Thomas's creativity is used up. Janus helps to distract him from his work.

Sacrifice

Patton is gonna tickle someone. If not a sacrifice, then everyone~

Requests:

Roman wants to join

Lee Roman

14 and 25 with Lee Deceit and Let Patton please?

No regrets, with Roman and Remus maybe?

oh requests?? hmm maybe either 22 or 25 w lee virgil and any ler you like?

14 with LerRoman and LeeLogan???

w/ pat ro and lo testing which of virgil's spots is the worst

Tell that to the tickle monster: Ler Patton and Lee Virgil.

16 Any pairing u think fits!!!! 

I know something sweeter than cookies: same pairing, Ler Patton and Lee Virgil.

maybe 29 with ler!patton and lee!logan? 

4 with Lee Roman and Ler Deceit? 

11 with Ler Logan and Lee Roman please 

22 with Lee Logan and Let Remus please? 

19 Lee Deceit and Ler Virgil and Remus please? 

Do you think you could do 3 with a lee Deceit?

9, with Roceit? :3 

16 and 7 with Lee Deceit and Ler Patton please 

Shy Lee Janus being forced to ask for tickles from Ler Logan?

Logan noticing Virgil having a bad day and and just having him lay down and giving him a pillow to giggle and blush into while he traces Virgil's back with his fingers or fluffy brushes to help him relax❤

Moceit cheer up tickles? �� (Lee Patton and Ler Janus, if you would)

oh prompts! maybe lee Patton ler roman with some sort of challenge? (Don't move, laugh, smile, whatever)

What about a lee!Virgil? (ler!your choice. Preferably a twin.) Someone comes in to wake him up from a nap, or something, with pokes. Virgil is still half asleep at this point, so he has no filter.

Lee Roman denying his in a Lee mood but Janus is behind him smirking because he knows when someone lies?

So, peharps a bit of Lee!Janus and Ler!Roman, please? Maybe Janus is monopolizing Roman's bed because it's soft and warm and g e t o f f XDD.

Lee!virgil ler!roman? That’s my everything lol

What about Lee Virgil being pranked with tickles by Remus but once Remus stops he shyly asks for more? Please and thank you!

If you're still taking requests maybe lee Janus being overly grumpy and getting cheer up tickles from Logan?

How about Remus acting as annoying little brothers do, and Roman getting back at him with some extra teasey tickles

may I request lee Logan and ler Patton where Pat's just gushing over how cute Lo is while tickling him?

Can please do some Lee janus and ler patton? Like Janus is being suspicious, and Patton is trying to figuring out what he is doing.

For the prompts thing how about Patton ticking Logan to make him take a break from working? 

Ler Logan and Lee Remus, if you are up for it. Remus starts to bother Logan while he is working and Logan gets payback with tickles, knowing secretly that Remus wanted this to happen. ???

Pre-Accepting Anxiety Virgil walks in to the common room to see the Light Sides having a tickle fight, cue big Lee MoodTM. So now he's awkwardly trying to keep up his bad guy persona while desperately trying to figure out how to tell them that he NEEDS to be WRECKED!

Prompts! How about Patton tickling Logan to make him take a break from working I can never get enough of that! 😂

Lee!Patton and Ler!Logan (or whoever you wish!) Patton has always been the mind palace tickle monster and after a week of his evil ler moods and tickle attacks Logan turns the tables and gets revenge tickles?

Ok so... after Accepting Anxiety, Virgil is a little shaken from his name reveal. He sorta hides away in his room because he’s embarrassed, until Roman comes in to check on him and cheer him up and make him feel welcome with tickles 🥺

Logan maybe gets hurt, (trips or bumps against something) and Patton decides to tend to him, making sure he's not injured badly, but it turns out Logan is ticklish where Patton is examining

Ler Patton Lee Deceit - Patton accidentally brushes by Deceits scales and it sets Deceit into a fit of giggles. So Patton gets curious and starts to poke and stroke the patches of scales that are all over Deceits body. And Deceit secretly not so secretly enjoys this

Maybe some cheer up tickles with Logicality where both were watching a show and a tickle scene appeared and person B is like "Oh, this is a signal. That is how I should cheer up my friend."?

How about lee!janus and ler!virgil where Virgil remembers Janus being super ticklish back when he lived with the dark sides still and decides to see if he's still that ticklish.

Could you do a college AU where the core 4 are in their university’s theatre department? Like... they all are walking back to the dorms and they find out Roman is extremely ticklish and tickle and tease him the whole way back??

How about lee Logan hiding his lee mood from Virgil?

lee!Virgil and ler Patton, Logan, and Roman. Virgil has a huge lee mood and is way to shy to ask to be tickled so he drop little hints to try and get tickles( more like Virgil being an a** and a bratty little sh*t). The sides act like they don’t know what he want, but do. So they force him to ask

anything lee logan? I would DIE for lee logan

Okay I’m bored and I need lee!Virgil and lers Janus and Remus

Anything lee Logan would be delightful! Thank you!

I was wondering if you could do something where Virgil gets stuck somewhere and the twins find him and team up to take advantage of the situation? Thank you in advance, your work is amazing!

I would like to make a trade. I will give you a boop for lee!Logan ler!Remus. :D

Janus with hypersensitive scales is the bestttt so how about a rude snake getting tickled to tears by an unforgiving Ler Logan? Maybe using a new tool that makes Janus scream?

[crabdrabbles]

Here's Chapter 5 for @pricegazweek week! Chapters: 5/7 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty) Additional Tags: Presumed Dead, Blood and Injury

I know I'm a few days behind, but I should hopefully finish the remaining two chapters by Wednesday <3

“I expected... more from not just one– but two SAS soldiers.”

“Undo these ropes and I’ll show you exactly what we’re capable of.” Price spat, very much a spitting image of a large, and furious, animal. Gaz, who was kneeling beside him, remained quiet– but his eyes burned with a rage that matched that of his captain’s. 

Poor intel was part of the job, gaps missing in the portfolio, sending soldiers in blind– shit like that happened. It was Price’s entire job to adapt to any situation thrown at him– to change plans at the drop of a hat. To keep his men safe. There was only so much he could do when intel was not only flawed, but falsified completely. And Price had led himself and Gaz right into danger with little to no backup. 

‘Just routine.’ he had said to Ghost after his Lieutenant had asked if he needed him and Soap on standby. ‘We should manage just fine.’

‘Something doesn’t feel right about this, Price.’ Ghost had said as he poured over the copious amount of files and reports– months worth of investigations and surveillance. 

‘Intel’s from one of Laswell’s agents. I trust her judgement.’ SImon had looked like he wanted to say something more but Price had brushed it off. If it was important, then the mancunian would have spoken his mind without a second thought. He should have pushed him– pressed him to speak his mind because then maybe he and Gaz wouldn’t be stuck in this situation– at the mercy of some greed driven arms dealer. Even as they were climbing into Nik’s heli, Simon had that look on his face– the one that said something wasn’t quite right. Why didn’t Price ask? He had never had a problem listening to his men before, appreciating any input anybody had– he wouldn’t have shut Simon down. He would have brought all four of them on the mission if the Lieutenant was that worried. 

Although, that may have meant all of the team would have been captured instead of just half. Hindsight was a petty bitch and, if Price got out of this alive, he would have to have a stern word with her. And maybe Laswell, too, to watch her agents a little more closely. He flexed his hands, tensing to feel the knot wrapping around his wrists. If given enough time, some leeway, and a little bit of luck, he might be able to shimmy his way out of them. He just needed to keep Sergey talking. It must have been the bastard’s first capture, because the idiot had left most of their gear on in his haste to get them tied up and kneeling. Amateur.

“What do you want from us?” Gaz asked and Price’s eyes flicked over to his lover, worry flashing for only a moment before he schooled his expression back into a mask of fury. 

“Information.” The arms dealer, Sergey, said. Sergey was a sickly looking man– wiry yet fat in all the wrong places that made his body bulge in strange parts. He wore an ill fitting suit that was clearly too small for his size but also somehow managed to look too big at the same time. In all honesty, he looked exactly what one would expect when thinking of what an arm’s dealer would look like– right down to the untrustworthy moustache. Not to mention he looked like he was almost constantly constipated and, from the way he was holding the pistol in his shaking hand, he had never wielded a weapon before. Ironic– a man who had never sampled his open products that he was illegally shipping off to the highest bidder. Not one to get his hands dirty– but more than happy to dip them in blood. 

“What sort of information?” Price spoke up before Gaz could open his mouth back up. Attention on me, Price’s face screamed. Don’t look at him. Look at me. The more attention on him, the less likely that Gaz was going to be put in harm's way. Price could deal well enough with being tortured and interrogated– could handle it better than the sergeant. 

“Just a little bit of information, that’s all I want, and I’ll be happy to let you both go. And, depending on what you give, you may walk away with heavier pockets.”

Of course a man like Sergey would offer a bribe in exchange for information and freedom. Price expected that from someone who had never been told ‘no’ his entire life. If Price had taken every bribe thrown his way in the past 20 odd years, he would have been able to afford a private island with a complimentary private jet. Maybe one of those fancy yachts, too, so he could go out fishing in the ocean. With the amount of money he could have got, he’d be buying private islands for each individual fish he caught. 

“Cold of you to assume we’ll give you anything.” He continued slowly, clenching his hands into fists and straining subtly to fight the rope. His wrists would be red raw by the end of the night but if it got them out alive he’d take a bullet too for good measure. Just a little more…

“I imagine that you will. I can be quite… persuasive.” Gaz snorted to Price’s left and he sent a scathing look his sergeant's way. Antagonising the man holding the gun was the last thing that they wanted right now.

“And if we don’t?”

“I kill you both.” An emphasis on his words with a point of his pistol to Price. He was shaking, the metal rattling from his trembling. Jesus wept– had he ever even held a gun before? 

There– he could feel the ropes loosen ever so slightly, just enough for him to start sliding his thumb through. It would be uncomfortable and quite painful, but it was enough. 

“Then you get nothing.” Panted through clenched teeth, masking his pain for anger.  “Go on, then, shoot me.”

“No. I still need you, Captain. Your friend, however…”

Before anyone could do so much as blink, the gun moved to point at Gaz in all its shaking glory. Two clear shots rang out– followed by a body hitting the ground. Price’s heart kicked into gear– blood rushing in his ears, heart hammering against his ribs as if trying to jump out of his very chest in order to get to– 

Gaz.

Price stared at the motionless sergeant, eyes wide and every instinct in his body screaming at him to move– to check on him. A small puddle of blood was already forming underneath Gaz’s body. No. No, no, no, no–

“Gaz!”

Read the rest on AO3!

[aspd-culture]

aspd culture is : goes into the aspd tag. seems someone claiming house md, (guy whos dxd aspd in the show im pretty sure lol) is actually hyperempathic instead of lacking it and avoids patients due to too much empathy. like ok just avoid the whole boundary pushing / whatever else ok. alright thats enough of that *turns off internet* ive had enough of prosocials damn why do they think the only aspd symptom ever is lack of empathy. god

The amount of people who take *any* ASPD rep - including but not limited to House, this was also EXTREMELY common with Wednesday Addams, who is also diagnosed with ASPD in the show Wednesday - and call it "hyperempathetic autism" is... disgusting honestly. I'm autistic too and I get the desire to have representation from non-infantalized characters, I do, but the erasure of ASPD from the very few sources who intentionally make ASPD representation is not how we handle that.

And, as you mentioned, many people intentionally overlook, ignore, or try to explain away any "bad" behavior (see also: ASPD symptoms) because it pushes against their point.

People are just... so desperate to not admit that anyone they like had ASPD that they will directly ignore and speak over the media's direct acknowledgement of ASPD just so they can see us as monsters and still have permission to like that character.

PSA to prosocials, especially those with no other experience with cluster b treatment:

When the therapist/psychologist/psychiatrist says the character "has antisocial traits" or "is antisocial", that's not a descriptor, nor does it mean they don't like people/avoid interaction with people. That's a medical professional using a different model of discussing a diagnosis with the patient by rephrasing it without the disorder attached. This is super common with ASPD because many pwASPD who are forced into treatment - like House and Wednesday - are resistant to admitting something is "wrong with them", so the professional will use the inital descriptor instead of the entire disorder name. In this case it's "antisocial" with the words personality disorder removed. It's also common to see in media happening for people with BPD, with the character being referred to as "having borderline traits" or "being borderline".

If the professional was referring to them or their traits as "asocial", then it would mean what you guys think it does - they avoid interaction, have a general dislike of socializing/social situations, and generally self-isolate. Antisocial and asocial are not the same, and while you can argue that anyone else in a show calling someone antisocial won't know the difference, their mental health professionals do. Evidently, House and the rest of the cast are also very aware in-canon of mental health, going by the DID episode which was done amazingly well imo. If House knows about Dissociative Identity Disorder, I assure you ASPD is not off of his radar. ASPD is significantly more prevalent than DID, with up to 4% of the US population having ASPD compared to 1% of the population having DID. While there is issues with under-diagnosis, those issues are the case with both disorders, so it's likely that the difference made by that would at most only slightly close the gap between the two. House also researches things purely based on the existence of stigma and/or lack of public knowledge on the subject, and frequently attempts to find out why he thinks and acts the way he does behind the scenes. If you google his symptoms, ASPD would be at least one of the things that comes up. So again, he is not misusing antisocial.

In fact, no one on House, MD would say antisocial where they meant asocial, as they are versed in psychology as a part of dealing with complex cases that have failed repeatedly to be diagnosed. That is shown constantly throughout the show. If you chose 3 episodes at random, I'm willing to bet at least one would show their experience in psychology as one of the team pushes the "it's just mental illness" angle.

All of this is to say that fuck prosocials endless refusal to actually acknowledge ASPD, both in likeable and notably unlikable characters!! Many of them HATE House, yet still can't admit he has ASPD. It's giving ableist, because it is ableist.

Plain text below the cut:

The amount of people who take *any* ASPD rep - including but not limited to House, this was also EXTREMELY common with Wednesday Addams, who is also diagnosed with ASPD in the show Wednesday - and call it "hyperempathetic autism" is... disgusting honestly. I'm autistic too and I get the desire to have representation from non-infantalized characters, I do, but the erasure of ASPD from the very few sources who intentionally make ASPD representation is not how we handle that.

And, as you mentioned, many people intentionally overlook, ignore, or try to explain away any "bad" behavior (see also: ASPD symptoms) because it pushes against their point.

People are just... so desperate to not admit that anyone they like had ASPD that they will directly ignore and speak over the media's direct acknowledgement of ASPD just so they can see us as monsters and still have permission to like that character.

PSA to prosocials, especially those with no other experience with cluster b treatment:

When the therapist/psychologist/psychiatrist says the character "has antisocial traits" or "is antisocial", that's not a descriptor, nor does it mean they don't like people/avoid interaction with people. That's a medical professional using a different model of discussing a diagnosis with the patient by rephrasing it without the disorder attached. This is super common with ASPD because many pwASPD who are forced into treatment - like House and Wednesday - are resistant to admitting something is "wrong with them", so the professional will use the inital descriptor instead of the entire disorder name. In this case it's "antisocial" with the words personality disorder removed. It's also common to see in media happening for people with BPD, with the character being referred to as "having borderline traits" or "being borderline".

If the professional was referring to them or their traits as "asocial", then it would mean what you guys think it does - they avoid interaction, have a general dislike of socializing/social situations, and generally self-isolate. Antisocial and asocial are not the same, and while you can argue that anyone else in a show calling someone antisocial won't know the difference, their mental health professionals do. Evidently, House and the rest of the cast are also very aware in-canon of mental health, going by the DID episode which was done amazingly well imo. If House knows about Dissociative Identity Disorder, I assure you ASPD is not off of his radar. ASPD is significantly more prevalent than DID, with up to 4% of the US population having ASPD compared to 1% of the population having DID. While there is issues with under-diagnosis, those issues are the case with both disorders, so it's likely that the difference made by that would at most only slightly close the gap between the two. House also researches things purely based on the existence of stigma and/or lack of public knowledge on the subject, and frequently attempts to find out why he thinks and acts the way he does behind the scenes. If you google his symptoms, ASPD would be at least one of the things that comes up. So again, he is not misusing antisocial.

In fact, no one on House, MD would say antisocial where they meant asocial, as they are versed in psychology as a part of dealing with complex cases that have failed repeatedly to be diagnosed. That is shown constantly throughout the show. If you chose 3 episodes at random, I'm willing to bet at least one would show their experience in psychology as one of the team pushes the "it's just mental illness" angle.

All of this is to say that fuck prosocials endless refusal to actually acknowledge ASPD, both in likeable and notably unlikable characters!! Many of them HATE House, yet still can't admit he has ASPD. It's giving ableist, because it is ableist.

[kiennilove]

Weekly Tag Wednesday

Tag this with Gallavich Tag so everyone can read your response

thanks @badassfetish for tagging me!!

✦ Name: miah (or opal)!!

✦ Zodiac sign: smol aquarius

✦ Favorite Ian quote: i, ian, take you, mickey…

✦ Favorite Mickey quote: i, mikhailo, take you, ian…

✦ Shameless quote that currently defines your life: this is it. this is you breaking up with me (there was another quote by mickey originally, but the break-up happened as i was writing this)

✦ Write in one phrase a gallavich scene you wanted to see on TV: their first walk to the bleachers in s2. how did they decided to meet? what were the talking about when walking?? did they meet at some specific place or one went to pick up another???

oh, and also gotta be sleepover. ofc there was probably a lot of sex, but imagine mickey being a bit shy because he wanted to kiss ian so bad but was still unsure of how exactly it’s done… i need to see it!!!

✦ Your top 3 celebrity crushes: noel fisher, emma kenney and ummm uhhh emma kenney again <333

✦ What's your biggest dream? not be fucked for life :(

✦ What would you do to the last person that hurt you if it was free of any consequence? nothing. what they did was hurtful but revenge won’t help

✦ Tell something daring you did once: blocked me ex i guess… very daring for me

✦ Fiction character that defines you: ian in s6 before the emt happened and debbie (but without a kid lol)

✦ Your biggest red flag: love bombers… this is how all the hurt starts

✦ Your biggest green flag: accepting that even if you are a close person, you still need to pay for what i do for living

✦ What fanfic would you turn into a movie or tv show? i don’t really know, i don’t read that many, but i write stuff myself, so they might have been some good extra episodes for gallavich :3

✦ Most dripping hot gallavich fic you've ever read: then again, some of my own fics xD wish i could’ve share them :(

✦ What's your job / what do you study? logistics for music events, but have an unfinished art major :(

✦ What part of your body is your pleasure spot: don’t have it, body feels numb all the time :(

✦ What's the one thing you're less proud about yourself? giving up on things very easily

✦ What's the one thing you're most proud about yourself? i make pretty good jokes or puns in my native language lol

✦ Do you have or had any mental illness? depression/anxiety. thought got it under control but for the past few weeks it got worse

✦ Do you still plan on achieving a goal this year? If so, what is it? don’t have any goals as for now :( just to make it to next year

✦ Favorite movie/tv show scene of all time: sorry i’m late

tags below the line :3

@atthedugouts @spookygingerr @transsexual-dandelions @iheartmoons

and @ everybody else who wants to join :)

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, cussing. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Wednesday, y'all! I'm going to try to put out a chapter a week on Wednesdays (we shall see if I can keep up lol). Thank you for your lovely responses to Chapter 1 and for giving this little fic a chance. ❤️

This chapter dives into some heavy stuff in that I've sped up the timeline and brought some of the serious health issues that Elvis experienced more prominently later in his life to the forefront in 1960. I've always wondered what might have happened if they had recognized his many complex conditions for what they were early in his life. Truth be told, I am endlessly fascinated by the medical conundrum that was Elvis and that he lived most of his life with some pretty severe shit that at the time no one understood or had names for. Of course, I simplify the shit out of it here and try to put them in laymen's terms. I've taken some major artistic liberties with history in that there is likely no way in 1960 they would have be able to diagnose, especially so quickly, his complex conditions. Also, I am not a medical professional, so I've done my best to describe things whist moving the plot along. I HIGHLY recommend reading Sally Hoedel's book Elvis: Destined to Die Young if you are interested in the specifics regarding E's health journey and how he ended up where he did in terms of that. It's a superbly researched and somewhat heartbreaking book that I think every Elvis fan should read. It certainly inspired part of this story.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Shit.

Elvis winces as he cracks open his eyes just enough to see the sun blazing in on him. The infernal light pierces straight into his head, worsening the headache that already throbs against the inside of his skull. He quickly shuts his eyes again, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to keep the curtains open on a sunny late winter’s day.

Gotta have Lamar cover those damn windows with something more than those flimsy-ass cutains, he thinks, already pissed off.

It takes him a moment to register where he is and why he’s there. That, in fact, the sun’s rays are rather weak and dim, making him wonder just what time it is. Holding the bridge of his nose against the pain in his head, he manages to squint his eyes open to find himself in a rather small hospital room.

Bits and pieces start to come back to him, though the days and nights run together into one big jumble. How he’d finally escaped the confines of his service in Germany, so damn excited to be coming home that he hadn’t properly slept in days. He’d just kept popping those great little pills he’d obtained from a more than generous pharmacist in Bad Nauheim and, fueled by those and pure restlessness to get back to the states, he’d managed to easily keep the smile on his face for the cameras in Germany and the UK.

But the flight over the Atlantic had him chewing his nails to the quick, his legs going a mile a minute. He feared flying ever since the emergency landing that he, Scotty, and Bill had to make in that small, dinky little plane back in the old days, when things had just started to kick up for them in the business. It was made worse by his mama being convinced that he was gonna die in a horrible, fiery crash, so he’d taken to trains and boats and cars as his main forms of transport. The U.S. Army wanted to get him home sooner rather than later, however, and if there was one thing he’d learned in the last two years, it’s that you don’t try to fight Uncle Sam.

Whether it was the flight or the pills or the lack of rest, he’d started to get queasy and dizzy on that pass over the ocean. Then, the scratchiness of his throat, the burn of his forehead, and the chilled sweat that began to stain his perfectly pressed and tailored uniform were the telltale signs of a bout of tonsilitis striking him at precisely the wrong time.

That’s where things get a little fuzzy. Between the pain behind his eyes and at the base of his skull and the heavy fatigue consuming him, it’s not coming to him as quickly as he’d like. His eyes begin to adjust to the sunlight, and he puts together enough to know whatever happened between that flight and landing in New York was enough to land him flat on his ass in the hospital.

New York. That explains all the racket, he thinks as the sounds below on the streets echo off the buildings, creating a cacophony unique to the big city.

The door to the little room swings open then, making him jump out of his skin. It’s as though his state of consciousness was magically communicated to the staff because in walks an older gentleman in a long, white coat, along with his daddy and the Colonel. Their faces are all different degrees of solemn, which sets a churning dread down into the pit of his stomach.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Presley. You’ve been asleep quite a while,” the doctor says, the man’s education only belying a hint of a New York accent. “You’ve had us a bit worried.”

“Mister Presley is my father, Doctor. Please call me Elvis,” he manages to croak out. The fire in his throat flames from the use, causing him to cough and sputter. There’s an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest that tightens with each breath, and that knot in his stomach coils ever tighter.

“Take it easy, son,” his daddy says softly, pouring a glass of water from the table against the wall and handing it to him. The action triggers a memory: a pretty, little dark-haired nurse all in white doing the same in the middle of the night.

Elvis is pulled from the memory as the doctor begins speaking in a serious tone: “Elvis, I’m Dr. Paulson. You had quite the fall in the airplane yesterday morning and hit your head. Do you remember?”

“No, sir.”

“Hmm, that isn’t unusual with a head injury of this type. You might find that your memory has some gaps, bit that is to be expected and will likely resolve with time. But your injury is not what has me concerned, young man, it’s the cause of your unconsciousness that is the real culprit, I’m afraid.”

“What do y’mean, sir? Just feels like a flare of the ol’ tonsils to me.” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, Elvis knows it’s not the whole truth. He’s never felt quite this terrible in his life, with the way he’s struggling for breath and his body aches from head to toe.

“Elvis, along with your fall, you also went into respiratory distress last night.” Suddenly, Elvis remembers the laughing fit, how he couldn’t catch his breath, how the air just couldn’t seem to fill his lungs as that pretty nurse held his hand. But he thinks maybe it happened before that, too, him gasping for breath as the roar of airplane engines rang in his ears. Icy fear runs down his spine at the remembrance of not being able to draw breath. His attention snaps back to the doctor as he continues.

“We’ve run some tests, and that, coupled with your family history…” the austere man hesitates, “Well, I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

The Colonel glances away and out the window at that, his mouth set in a frown Elvis has never seen before, but it’s the look of sadness on his daddy’s face that finally sets a wave of panic rolling through him.

“Lay it on me, Dr. Paulson,” Elvis says, steeling himself.

“You seem to have a condition that is affecting your lungs, heart, and liver, all of which are vital to our survival. Looking at your mother’s medical records, we think she may have been afflicted with the same condition, and possibly more family members on her side. In fact, it’s likely what caused her early demise,” Dr. Paulson explains.

At the mention of his mama, Elvis’ heart constricts, his barely buried grief stinging his eyes. He blinks away the tears as fast as he can, trying to follow what the doctor is saying.

“Along with that, your immune system also appears compromised, which would explain your frequent and severe bouts of fever and tonsilitis. Altogether, it’s a perfect storm that is likely to only get worse with time. Of course, medical science is improving every day, and there may be better treatments down the road…” Dr. Paulson trails off.

Dread falls over him like a heavy blanket. “What’re ya sayin’, sir?” Elvis asks quietly but is afraid to hear the answer he thinks he’s gonna get.

Dr. Paulson takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m sorry to say, but it’s likely these conditions are going to shorten your lifespan considerably.”

The words hang in the air like a suffocating dark cloud. His daddy’s face crumples and he turns away, while the Colonel winces—actually winces—at the words.

“So, y-y-you’re saying this gonna k-k-kill me? That I-I-I’m gonna die?” His vocal incredulousness covers how the sheer panic overcoming him sets his heart galloping. “I’m only 25, Doc…y-y-you gotta be w-wrong ‘bout this. I just spent two damn years in the Army, and they sure as hell didn’t say nothin’ about no ‘condition’!”

“This condition is very rare, Elvis, and we are learning more about it every day. I’m not saying it’ll be today, but considering the episode you’ve just had, this disease will factor critically into your overall health and survival going forward. It has already started a cascade of chronic health issues of varying severity that will worsen as you age, and in the end, this combination of factors will almost certainly be the thing that kills you.”

Hearing those words out of the doctor’s mouth sets him numb with disbelief. This can’t be fucking happening. Not when everything is gettin’ set to be back on track. Not when I got so much left to do.

“No disrespect, Doctor, but I-I-I don’t accept that. I w-want a second opinion,” Elvis shakes his head, the words popping out of his stubborn mouth before he has much chance to think on them, to actually consider the possible truth of them.

But a deep part of him knows.

He knows his mama died too young and that her illness didn’t make sense. He knows he’s got family who died before their time. But most of all, he knows how he feels, and something ain’t right.

“Colonel Parker and your father have said as much, so I will contact some specialists to meet you in Memphis upon your return. But in some ways, young man, this is a good thing,” Dr. Paulson intones softly.

“Now, how the hell d’ya figure that?!” Elvis rasps out, nearly belligerent. He’s not one to be disrespectful, usually, especially to a man of such education, but he feels like shit and the blazing red heat of his temper pushes in before he can stop it.

Dr. Paulson blinks at him with his brows raised, and Elvis feels a wave of shame crash over his already rolling fear and anger. His mama didn’t raise him to talk to people that way. He takes a breath.

“I-I-I’m sorry, sir,” Elvis apologizes deferentially. “I-I’m just h-havin’ a hard time with what y-you’re saying, is all.”

“That’s understandable. What I meant by it being a ‘good thing’ is that now we know what we are dealing with and can set you up with lifestyle changes that could both improve your quality of life and perhaps extend it. We can set you up with constant care in order to avoid…things taking a downturn.”

Elvis’ head is spinning, pounding, making him feel wildly out of control. “Lifestyle changes? Constant care? I ain’t no invalid, Dr. Paulson, I’ll tell you for sure.” He nearly growls the promise as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, meaning to walk the hell out of here and show this doctor just how wrong he is.

In the back of his mind, he realizes instantly how stupid it sounds, considering that the moment he stands, his entire body betrays him and sends him careening to the floor, if not for the doctor and his daddy grabbing him under each arm and hauling his ass back into the bed. There, he is faced with the terrible reality that he’s sicker than a dog with the world spinning out from under him in more ways than one.

“None of us want this to be true, son, but maybe you should listen to the doctor,” his father says quietly in his ear, putting a hand on his shoulder.

This is the last thing Elvis wants to do. He wants to kick and scream and rally himself well. I can prove them all wrong, he thinks, if only he could stop the world from spinning and his breath from wheezing and his body from aching.

Fuck.

Elvis can’t bear to look at anyone, choosing to stare up at the high, vaulted ceiling, blinking away the blast of dark spots in his eyes as he tries to catch his damn breath.

“What’s next?” he finally wheezes out, counting the dots on the ceiling tiles to keep him from floating away.

“Well, first we need to keep you in the hospital as long as it takes to get you stabilized before you can go home to Memphis.”

“Absolutely not!” the Colonel exclaims from near the window. “We’ve already kept the press at bay long enough with talks of flight delays and other nonsense. We can’t hold them back much longer. You listen here, that boy needs to make appearances, and he needs to look the picture of health doing so, or he’s not going to have a career to go back to!”

The doctor scoffs. “Mr. Parker, look at him—Elvis’ career is the least of his worries.”

“It’s Colonel Parker, Mr. Paulson,” he hisses, “and his career is most certainly your concern. You have your expertise, and I have mine, and I’m telling you right now, I didn’t spend two years keeping him in the public eye despite his service to have you flush it down the toilet. I’m sure you don’t want to be the doctor that doomed Elvis Presley. The one who ripped him away from his legions of loyal fans.” The threat is crystal clear, and by the resulting silence, the doctor seems somewhat shaken.

“Sir, there will be no career if the young man is dead.” The doctor’s words hang heavy, and Elvis closes his eyes, willing himself to be anywhere but here. But there is no escaping this. No amount of money, talent, or fame is gonna get him out of this one.

Finally, he brings himself to speak, “I ain’t givin’ up my career, Dr. Paulson. But I also feel like something the cat dragged in last night and can’t get outta this damned bed. So, we’re gonna need to figure out a compromise.”

Dr. Paulson stares at Elvis and the Colonel like they’ve lost their minds. Vernon stays characteristically silent.

“Anything short of you staying here until you at least recover from this episode will be against my medical advice. You are in too fragile a state to consider anything else,” Dr. Paulson says, almost pleadingly. “And with this condition, if you try to jump back into the breakneck lifestyle of a superstar, your life will be short indeed.”

Elvis sets his jaw. “Sir, no offense, but you don’t know me very well. I can do just about anythin’ I set my mind to. We’ve all worked very hard to get me where I am, and I ain’t ready to give that up just yet. I got too much to do. Now tell me, what do I gotta do to get you to let me outta this hospital?”

The doctor looks at him and shakes his head, silent. Finally, he relents. “First off, you have to be able to get out of bed and stand on your own two feet without collapsing.”

“Fine. I can do it.” Even the Colonel looks at him with a tinge of disbelief on that one. “Maybe not this instant, but I’ll do it.”

“Secondly, if you are able to do that and still choose to leave against advice, I recommend having a doctor with you at all times, someone who can monitor your vitals and give you care when you take a turn for the worse,” the doctor concedes, “which you most certainly will.”

“Done,” Elvis agrees quickly. Anything that will get him out of here and back home to his life.

“Now, listen here, my boy, there is no reasonable way to spin a doctor following you everywhere without the press having a field day. You could lose everything the minute the public knows you’re…sick,” the Colonel points at him, faltering on that last word.

He means ‘dying’ not ‘sick,’ an unwelcome voice in the back of his head adds. But Elvis understands the Colonel’s point. Even as private as he is, it’ll be difficult to go to a movie set or recording studio with a stuffy doctor in tow and not have anyone find out. Shit.

Dr. Paulson looks exasperated and crosses his arms. Colonel just glares. But it’s his daddy that finally pops up in the uncomfortable silence.

“What…what about a nurse? Elvis always has girls hanging around him…” Vernon trails off.

Silence fills the air. Elvis blinks slowly and can see the wheels turning in Colonel’s head, the way they do when he’s about ready to come up with the perfect plan, the perfect snow job.

“It…could work, if we get one young and pretty enough. Don’t love it because I wanted to keep Elvis publicly available in the eyes of his fans—no attachments—but looks like we may not have a choice. Better you taken than single and…” The Colonel chooses not to finish that sentence, but they all know the ending he’s avoiding, what he’s choosing not to say.

He races to continue, “But you’ve got to keep up appearances in public, my boy, since she’ll have to be a steady fixture in your life. No more frolicking around with every pretty thing with legs. No more girlfriends in every county, state, and country from here to Timbuktu. No one, girlfriends included, can know what we’re up to or all could be lost. Even your wild friends are going to have to believe this is real for it to work.”

Elvis’ heart begins to race with the thought of being so thoroughly confined to a relationship, especially with some random woman who he might not even be attracted to, physically or otherwise, even if it is just for show. He’s always hated the Colonel being in his private romantic business, knowing that the man has managed to somehow get rid of more than a few of his steadies with some unknown manipulations to keep him “unattached.” So, for Colonel to agree to this plan, Elvis realizes just how dire the situation is.

And God knows, he already has more girlfriends than he can handle as it is. He has yet to be reunited with Anita, pines for Priscilla from afar, and dragged Elisabeth from Germany and sent her ahead to Graceland, not to mention the multitude of other flings he indulges in. But he loves women, to a fault, and he doesn’t want to be tied down to just one (no matter how he tells his girls otherwise). Worrying his lower lip in his teeth, he realizes he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’ll have to find a way to make it work.

The Colonel must sense this from him. “Oh, come on now, my boy, we all know your talent for juggling women is near as good as your talent for performing. Think of it as a challenge to hone your acting craft. There are worse things than being made to spend time with a pretty girl,” Colonel drawls, daring to wink at him.

Elvis feels sick to his stomach with the dishonesty of it and with the oppressive feeling that his life is no longer his own. To be fair, he’d been feeling like the walls were closing in, pressing him into submission, since the moment he received his draft notice, but this...this is different. The hell of this knowledge strokes awake a deep, dark sliver of him that has always believed his time here is destined to be limited, that no one should achieve his level of fame and success without paying a terrible price. But the worst is the horrible thought that perhaps it should’ve been him who was supposed to die in the womb and not Jesse, and that all this had been a mistake from the start. Some sort of cosmic joke.

No, God wouldn’t do that. God has a plan. He has to, he thinks, banishing the shameful thought back into the dark recesses of him mind from whence it came. A lump forms in his parched throat and he gulps, trying to get it down, trying to chase away the demons that threaten at the edges of his vision. Please God, please, he prays, though he’s not entirely sure what for. Perhaps the prayer begs to know that this is all one of his damn night terrors, or maybe it’s to chase away the horrors inside his mind that seek to consume him whole.

A small part of him is tempted to throw in the towel and to just fade into obscurity. Lord knows he’s already achieved more of his fair share of fame and fortune, more than most achieve in a lifetime. Maybe he should just live out the rest of his now-shortened life in peace and quiet. Start a family with one of his girls like his mama so desperately wanted. He realizes this is what she feared all along—like she’d had some sort of maternal premonition that he had been living on borrowed time from the start.

But that feels like a prison of another sort. No, he loves music too damn much, the way it tingles in his soul, clicking into place like the pieces of a complex puzzle that only he has the ability to complete, and the performing electrifies him in such an addictive and indescribable way that he can’t fathom trying to give it up. And beyond all that, he knows he’s got it in him to be a great actor if given the chance.

Quittin’ isn’t an option, he thinks, even if it kills me. Better to burn bright doin’ what I love rather than have nothin’ to live for.

Blood pounds at the inside of his skull like a ticking clock, his mind spinning with the fear and rage of it all. He is in no space to make these decisions, he realizes, but because so many want him to keep going, to keep working, to keep living, he knows what he’s gotta do.

Elvis finally nods his agreement, adding pointedly, “As long as I get a say in who she is. There’s gotta be chemistry for this to work.”

Dr. Paulson shakes his head and throws his hands in disbelief at this insane plan. “I think the most important thing is that she is competent, not her looks or ‘chemistry.’ Not to mention, she’ll have to be single and willing to give up her entire life to not only care for you 24/7 but to also pretend to be your girlfriend. I hope you have plenty of money to throw at this problem, Elvis.”

The Colonel grins wickedly. “I think you underestimate the power Elvis has over young ladies, Doctor. I have no doubt you’ll help us find someone suitable.”

“In the next few days? You must be joking,” Dr. Paulson huffs.

The stabbing pain behind Elvis’ eyes gets worse with these considerations brought to light. Yes, he does well with women, but the reality of any girl in her right mind agreeing to such conditions feels slim.

It feels serendipitous, then, that it happens to be this exact moment when you walk through the door.

“L-L-Little bird,” Elvis says, his nickname for you somehow, by the grace of God, popping into his muddled brain the instant he sees you. The name stutters from his lips almost in awe.

God has a plan.

The rest of the men turn in unison to stare at you. Elvis watches as you stop short, your intelligent sky-blue eyes going wide with surprise, annoyance, and apprehension at the intimidating scene before you.

Your mouth opens with a retort, then closes quickly at the strange silence that follows. The men take you in, from head to toe, as you stand frozen in the doorway like a deer in headlights.

After a moment, you seem to remember why you came in the first place, shaking off the uncomfortable gazes of the men and finally clear your throat to speak. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize…I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but Nurse Hunt sent me to find you, Dr. Paulson. She said it was urgent.”

Dr. Paulson, Vernon, and Colonel one by one turn their heads to look at Elvis. Colonel’s wicked little smile turns the corners of his mouth when he sees the way Elvis’ eyes take you in, a little bit of life returning to his pale cheeks.

Of course, Elvis liked you from the moment he’d laid eyes on you yesterday. With your deep brunette hair and stunningly big, bright blue eyes, you instantly piqued his interest, as you fit his usual type well. Your olive skin and striking features are different though, and remind him a bit of a young Sophia Loren, the beautiful Italian actress who he’d met on the movie studio lot a few years back.

In the looks department, you’d fit the role quite well.

The only problem he can see is that you’d made your distain for him quite clear last night.  

“I’ll be right there, Nurse,” Dr. Paulson finally says, realizing you were waiting for any sort of response beyond staring. Relieved, you scurry away as quickly as you’d arrived.

“What do we know about Nurse—” Colonel starts the moment you leave.

“Cannava,” Elvis and Dr. Paulson say in tandem. Elvis is surprised your name falls off his tongue so easily, especially with how clouded his memory is.

“She’s the youngest to ever graduate our program here at Bellevue, and for that itself she is a standout. But being so young, she is still relatively inexperienced despite her excellent training,” the doctor warns, and seeing the look on the Colonel’s face wanting more, he continues, “Beyond that, I’d have to ask around.”

“She’ll never do it,” Elvis interjects with disappointment. “She doesn’t like me much.”

“Nonsense, my boy, I’ve never seen you anything but persistent in your need and ability to win a woman over,” Colonel says encouragingly, patting Elvis’ hand. “And perhaps it will work in our favor in her ability to remain…professional around you. Use that winning charm of yours to win her over. That and a healthy sum she can’t refuse.”

Elvis doesn’t even know your first name, but he can’t help the fact that he’s been drawn to you since the moment you met. The little flutter of his heart, the revealing sign of his already budding infatuation, loves the idea of you being his.

But she won’t be mine, not really, he reminds himself.

Either way, it’s a challenge he’s not quite sure he’s up for in his weakened state, but time is running short, and he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’s going to have to figure out a way to convince you this is a good idea.

“Find out everything you can,” Colonel orders the doctor, “and then bring her to me.”

What the Colonel wants, the Colonel gets.

And Elvis has the distinct feeling he’s already in over his head and is taking you with him, willing or not.

Reblogs, likes, comments, tips + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva 

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @elvisgf 

[baejax-the-great]

Snippet Sunday

@johaerys-writes tagged me in a WIP Wednesday, so here's some Agua Caliente:

Patroclus is standing there with a grocery bag. “I thought I’d bring you soup,” he says, and Achilles grudgingly opens the door wide enough for him to come inside. Patroclus places the paper bag on Achilles’ kitchen counter. “I brought extra tissues, too, but it looks like whatever it is is not that kind of illness.”

He begins to unload his bag, which also contains electrolyte drinks and cough drops. It’s absurdly thoughtful, and completely wasted on Achilles.

“It’s not physical.”

“Oh.”

He looks at Patroclus, the person who makes him feel human, the person he loves more than anything else in the world, and he feels nothing. Nothing at all. He wants to feel something, but he doesn’t. Patroclus might as well be a picture or a stranger. “I’m… having a bad day. A… difficult day.”

Patroclus nods. “Did something happen?”

“No.” He’s just fucking broken, and it’s almost definitely his own fault.

“Do you need support or—”

“No.” It comes out too harshly. He hears it and he sees it in Patroclus’s reaction—a flinch away from him, a hurt expression on his face. Achilles takes a breath. “Sorry. I don’t want to snap at you. But I probably will because I… because frankly I’m in the mood to tear out all my hair one strand at a time but I’m not supposed to do things like that anymore.”

He feels like he might, though. And he needs Patroclus to leave so he doesn’t see it. “I think you’ll like me more tomorrow if you leave now than if you stay,” Achilles says.

“But will you be alright?”

Achilles lets out a puff of bitter laughter. He’s not alright now. Maybe he should let Patroclus stick around and see what a lost cause he is. “I’m not going to relapse, if that’s what you mean.”

He hears his own accusatory tone, and isn’t surprised at Patroclus’s irritation when he replies, “It wasn’t.”

[yatgb]

Seven Sentence Sunday babeyy

bc i have these wips im rotating on constant loop and i need to scream while im finishing them. None of them are even named yet ill cross that bridge when i get to it and yea theyre BOTH splatoon. Omg no way who would have guessed

thank u @theghostofashton for technically tagging me and also giving me inspo to do this <3 (and also, in true inspired-by-neha fashion, neither of these are 7 sentences LMFAO)

Fic 1; agent 8 angst (eighngst if you will) with a side of agent24

A gust blows into her face, spraying salt onto her tentacles and the call of night-time seagulls into her ears. A cool feeling washes over her, as she closes her eyes and tucks her knees to her chest. It's a sense of calm. The kind that loosens the vice grip around her ribcage and makes her relax into the weight of gravity. The waves make a nice sound, too. A gentle shushing in her ears, as if it's the ocean telling her don't cry, you're alright. Everything is okay now. Shh, shh… The sand is crunchy under her hands, and the dry grains sift through her fingers and leave a cool sensation between them. If the earth was a little softer, Eight could imagine sleeping here.  The sand crunches behind her. Someone else's footsteps. "Figured you'd be here." Eight bit her cheek, curling in on herself. A pang of guilt jabbed at her chest; she didn't tell anyone where she went before she left.  Three took another crunchy step closer, flip flops slapping against their feet. "Are you alright?" They asked. "Sorry," Eight blurted, crossing her arms over her knees. "Someone got worried, didn't they?" Three snuffed, something of a laugh. "Eh, Four just gets worried easily. He figured you went somewhere, but you don't really have a phone he could call." Right. She still hadn't gotten a phone. That should probably happen soon. She could only rely on her laptop for so much. "...Yeah. I, um… I will be going home soon, I just… needed some of the time alone." "Oh, you're good." She could feel the smile in their voice. "Don't rush, I can just tell 'im where you been." Their feet crunched on the sand. "Should I, um… d'you want me to leave?" Eight's hearts thumped in her chest. They're asking to stay? She kind of wanted them to. The ocean was a fine friend, but Three was also a comforting presence. "You… can stay. If you want to."

Fic 2: agent 8 and 4 being goofy roommates in honor of pride month

"Hey, Callum?" Eight called over her shoulder. "Yo!" Callum answered from the kitchen. "Quickest of questions." She turned in her seat, looking back to find him coming into the living room with a bendy straw stuck into a glass soda bottle. "Is today special somehow?" Callum's eyemask scrunched in thought. He tugged at the sleeve of his T-shirt, blowing bubbles into his straw. "Hmmm… I don't think so. What do you mean?" Eight tapped her fingers on the edge of the couch. "Well, Pearl has been going… the nuts on Splitter. More than usual." She squinted at her Splitter feed again, and refreshing the page found a new post. PEARLOTH: happy girlcock wednesday to all who celebrate ❤️❤️ and sis im ALL about the confetti

"And… she keeps using words I do not know yet."

[little-lightning-lavellan]

Happy WIP Wednesday, everyone, and thank you for the tag, @noire-pandora​! I’ve shifting between writing Solas and Mellan being incredibly awkward prior to their first kiss--I’ve been publishing this fic for two years now and writing it for longer

And also writing Star Wars smut of an evil side character x an OC. Since I shared some of said smut last week, I’ll share some of the DAI Dumbdumbs:

“Solas!” Mellan’s hands whipped to her sides as if bound by ropes, fists clenched and expression twitching. All manner of accusatory thoughts raced across her tongue in preparation to match her face:

‘We need to talk!’

‘I feel led astray!’

‘I’m confused; you need to explain!’

‘I’m ill, and you’re the cause!’

But, Solas saw how her expression held just about as much strength as a pin balancing a paperweight. When his eyebrows crested up and grew a solicitous smile, her veil shattered. 

Shuffling slightly to the side, Mellan tenuously nodded her head towards the ground beside her, and her friend took his cue with grace.

They sat in silence together for what could have been an age. In reality it was no more than thirty or so seconds before Solas’ concern was the first to break.

“Would you like to speak about what happened, Mellan?” He knew better than to ask if the woman was alright; she was clearly not. Though, he would have to be more specific on just what happenstance in particular they’d be speaking about. 

She sighed. “From a completely academic standpoint?”

I want to put them into a salad shaker, and I love them so much. 💙

Tagging lovelies I’d love to see some stuff from! @pikapeppa​ @because-im-hap-hap​ @rosella-writes​ @oxygenforthewicked​ @varric-tethras-editor​ @bluedwarfed​ @drunken-drengr​ @dreadfutures​ @fiadhaisteach​ @bogunicorn​ @ashalle-art​ @kantrips​ @palepinkycat​ @layalu​ @midorimaddie​ @melisusthewee​ @jellydishes​ @effelants​ @potatowitch​ @dismalzelenka

[e-m-p-error]

RULES

These will make things so much easier for everyone involved. Please read these, and understand that any steps outside of the boundaries made in these rules are grounds for being blocked. With no warning, no explanation, and no remorse.

If you carry such vitriol for Valentino that you have to make a big scene to me about it, just don't interact with me.

1. I am very open to shipping! Please do not come to me expecting to ship without discussing it with me, first. I will most likely say yes! I just want some heads' up that you're interested.

I will usually say if I am interested in a ship. This does not mean that I am forcing a ship, simply letting someone know that I am open to and interested in that ship.

Shipping With Me Info Meme

OCs and crossover characters are welcome to try and ship but do not just jump in expecting a ship. Desired characters to ship with will be listed on their shipping calls, but I will never, ever force a ship. That being said, I love shipping and will most likely be into it! Just let them have some time.

I do not have exclusive ships and I will ship with multiples of each character. Val has like, at least ten Voxes. Please be aware of this.

2. HEAVY warnings for: Gore, blood, canon-typical violence, demons, religious themes, trauma, PTSD, regressive coping mechanisms, monsters, mental/physical/sexual abuse, unhealthy relationships, drug use, alcohol use, witchcraft, cannibalism, supernatural horror, eating disorders, age gap ships, taxidermy of humans/animals, body horror, death, guns/weaponry, school shootings, abuse, domestic abuse, gaslighting, victim blaming, non/dubcon, nonconsensual recording, cancel culture, cruelty, sociopathy, animal cruelty, animal death, prostitution, slut shaming, coercion, homophobia, racism, fantasy racism, fantasy body horror, mentally ill muses, mental health, dimension travel.

Know that I will not limit myself or my muses in any way if not asked by a specific partner. I will not write rape on this blog, though it can/will be talked about if it happens. Everything is tagged with cw -tag-. If you need something tagged I will tag it happily, just let me know. 

I may forget catch-all tags because I have a memory disorder that makes remembering hard. Please be patient with me and let me know if I forgot to tag something!

ANY HATE that I get is going to be deleted. I am not going to tolerate it on this blog. If you dislike what I write, simply go elsewhere. I will block people that overstep my boundaries, I’d like for you to do the same.

If Valentino is going to be doing anything abusive or cruel to your muse, you need to clear it with me, first. Please do not drag my muse into episode 4/Poison without talking to me first. You do not get to play my muse, I get to play my muse, and you may not know how MY Val's abuse works.

My NS/FW tag is (NSFVoxtagram)

For anything else: Please tell me and I will tag whatever you need me to! Just a reminder that I’m not a monster, and I will happily tag whatever is needed. Also, you are always free to ask about what things I tag! I will happily get you a list!

3. If you have an OC, I need to know about them. I would prefer an image and written bio, but at least tell me about them and their relation to my character. Unless you have a good backstory and discuss it with me, no family of them that aren’t canon, please.

4. ABSOLUTELY NO EYE TRAUMA OR DEFECATION. At. All.

5. I have decided to write smut on this blog provided my partner is okay with it. I only talk/plot over DM, I do not rp there. If you cannot do Discord we will figure something else out. I do participate in Sexual Sunday and Hump Day, so Sundays and Wednesdays my memes will be of the horny variety all day.

6. If you have read these rules please say ‘We go hard no matter what the cops say!’

7. Please understand that they are heavily canon-divergent. This blog was made before Hazbin Hotel aired and Helluva season 2 was still coming out, and I intend to let canon influence them, but they will remain how I play them currently for the most part.

8. PLEASE no minors. If I follow you and you are a minor, please let me know. I do not have anything against you, but I am not comfortable rping with underage kids as I am over 30.

9. I operate under “reblog karma” rules. If I reblog a meme from you, I will also send at least one ask from said meme to you. I ask that you do the same for me. If you reblog from me constantly and never interact, it is an instant block.

10. Due to an influx in personal blogs following and not knowing rp blog etiquette: I do not mind if personals follow me. I do not mind if you like my threads. But do not reblog my rps, and do not like my starter calls. I understand that you like the gifs and that is fine, but do not interact with my starter calls. It messes up my bookkeeping system.

11. I have the right and ability to block anyone for any reason. Do not come to me about it. Do not block evade. Do not send your friends after me. I only hardblock, I never softblock.

12. Do not bring drama to my doorstep. I don't care. I don't want to be involved. I'm not going to be involved in any kind of call-outs, or any slandering of anyone. I do not condone bullying or harassment. If this applies to you and you do these things, do not interact. Only I decide who I will and won't interact with.

I have never experienced a callout post that had any factual evidence to it. If I am interacting with an actual predator of some sort and you have actual proof DM me about it. This goes double for minors lying about their age. These are the ONLY exceptions to this rule.

13. If you infantilize Nifty and Velvette we will not be a good match for each other. I write them both as adults with autonomy despite their """Childlike""" Traits. I write both of them as sexual beings when the circumstances are right/I have a partner that wants to. If this is a problem but you still want to write with me please block these tags:

He Ran Into My Knife He Ran Into My Knife Ten Times (иιfту)

Hollywood Made A Killing Machine She’s Like A Teenage Slaughter Movie Scene A Serial Killer Celebrity (νєℓνєттє)

14. I am semi-selective and mutuals only. Due to some recent-ish events, I have decided to become mutuals only. This is because people keep following me and breaking their own DNI. Semi-selective here means that I will write with almost anyone, but I don't accept one-liners unless it's a crack thread.

15. If you want to play with her toys but don't support Viv for whatever reason, DNI. Due to an influx of people following me that think it's cool to hate on a queer Latina for stupid shit they would let a cishet white man get away with, I felt the need to make this rule. I think it's pompous and judgemental of you to want to play with her characters and universe while being an outright ass about lies spread about her. Is any creator perfect? No. But you could stand to be a little less of a hypocrite.

[homiro]

Medical Emergency

The only vetting this has is my own word.

Begging is always embarrassing and I hate to be doing it again. I need around 100 euros. That's it. I won't ask for any safety net extra amount.

I'm a mentally ill, adhd, autistic (diagnosed), intersex, trans person from the Mediterranean. I have lived my whole life in poverty, enduring abuse, and a bunch of things I really didn't want to get into, but include being exposed to criminal acts and forced to commit criminal acts, too, and SA. I live with CPTSD and can't find a job and only do sporadic freelance gigs that pay very little. And I had one that I submitted in June and have not been paid for yet.

I need money to go therapy, medication, and to pursue my education, which is the only thing I have, really. I never had the luxury of having dreams of anything and only found light in pursuing academic achievements. Before I started my degree, I spent my life until I was 18 thinking I would spontaneously die when I turned 18 because I couldn't stand being alive and that helped me have peace of mind. Since that obviously didn't happen, my mental health started rapidly getting worse and shit along the way made it even worse.

I asked for help yesterday sort of but maybe because my ugly face was attached to it nobody cared. I'm just in a bad mental space and asked for support in the stupidest way possible. I really need just around 100 euros, or I will be unable to get my prescription refilled and go to therapy. It is that expensive. Check the price tag on Ritalin. And I take more shit, including Risperidone. And not only that, the session is in another city and I have to take public transportation to go there and that's another 10 euros, plus the ride fare to go there because it's in a remote, well, mental health asylum, that is far from the city centre and there are no buses that go there because then it would be too easy for patients to escape. I was referred to that place because my mental illnesses are really not just a little bit of anxiety and distraction. I'm not even counting food money here. I have an ed and the wild anxiety I've been in in the past week thinking about this session has made me almost unable to eat. Especially because I also have had to forcibly taper off the anxiety medication to have some and avoid, well, dying. As much as I'm suicidal, I can't die because of my family and the friends who still care about me for some reason.

I'm really nothing but a burden, but well, for the sake of my family, especially my brother who would be destroyed if I did something irreversible, consider helping me if you can. I guess I have no choice but to say it how it is even if it sounds like a shitty sob story told a million times.

I'm scared shitless of going to that asylum, which doesn't help, but I don't have money for private therapy so I need to subject myself to this shit in order to stay alive. And I am a translator and proofreader. But freelance. I haven't seen a cent for my work since June. I translated a whole book and am translating another with nothing but the public library and a PC that takes over an hour to book and over half an hour to open MSWord. I know this isn't the right therapy for me because I'm so scared of this asylum (there are horror stories and the place is located on top of a mountain) and can't trust the therapist fully, but I need to go there or I won't get my prescriptions and well, I am in danger, but I can't tell that to the shrink, or I'll be immediately made to stay there and last time I was there I was already scared and feeling this intense awful energy in those hallways and even around it. I was fucking crying even before I stepped inside. But again, I have no choice and I need this money by tomorrow so that I can have it available to use on Wednesday. It needs to be paypal because stripe takes one week or something to let you use the money.

Coffee is /silverfurioso. There's more info on my carrd.

Please, if you can, I'm begging. I need my medication and I'm a fucking broke loser who can't find a stable job. All I get are small gigs here and there but that doesn't even cover half the meds I need and it's so sporadic, I can only pay for half of it every other month. I've locked my inboxes because last time I asked for help and advertised my services, I got spam and a scamming attempt from someone who wanted to pay with a check and could only "help USAmericans". Which I obviously am not. And that was the stupidest fucking scam attempt I've ever seen.

And I know that some people need money more than me and understand if this lands nowhere. I am aware that I have no voice and no platform and nobody in my corner to speak up and have support if I get in trouble for opinions. But I need to try anyway.

Thanks in advance and if you can't help, thanks if you read this.

[we-live-we-die-we-live-again]

RULES

These will make things so much easier for everyone involved. Please read these, and understand that any steps outside of the boundaries made in these rules are grounds for being blocked. With no warning, no explanation, and no remorse.

1. I am very open to shipping! Please do not come to me expecting to ship without discussing it with me, first. I will most likely say yes! I just want some heads up that you’re interested.

I will usually say if I am interested in a ship. This does not mean that I am forcing a ship, simply letting someone know that I am open to and interested in that ship.

Shipping With Me Info Meme

OCs and crossover characters are welcome to try and ship but do not just jump in expecting a ship. Desired characters to ship with will be listed on their shipping calls, but I will never, ever force a ship. That being said, I love shipping and will most likely be into it! Just let them have some time.

I do not have exclusive ships and I will ship with multiples of each character. Please be aware of this.

2. HEAVY warnings for: Gore, blood, canon-typical violence, religious themes, trauma, PTSD, regressive coping mechanisms, mental/physical/sexual abuse, unhealthy relationships, drug use, alcohol use, cannibalism, age gap ships, taxidermy of humans/animals, body horror, death, guns/weaponry, abuse, domestic abuse, gaslighting, victim blaming, non/dubcon, cruelty, sociopathy, animal cruelty, animal death, prostitution, slut shaming, coercion, homophobia, racism, mentally ill muses, mental health.

Know that I will not limit myself or my muses in any way if not asked by a specific partner. I will not write rape on this blog, though it can/will be talked about if it happens. Everything is tagged with cw -tag-. If you need something tagged I will tag it happily, just let me know. 

I may forget catch-all tags because I have a memory disorder that makes remembering hard. Please be patient with me and let me know if I forgot to tag something!

ANY HATE that I get is going to be deleted. I am not going to tolerate it on this blog. If you dislike what I write, simply go elsewhere. I will block people that overstep my boundaries, I’d like for you to do the same.

If A Villain is going to be doing anything abusive or cruel to your muse, you need to clear it with me, first. You do not get to play my muse, I get to play my muse, and you may not know how MY portrayal’s abuse works.

My NS/FW tag is (NSFBlood Bags)

For anything else: Please tell me and I will tag whatever you need me to! Just a reminder that I’m not a monster, and I will happily tag whatever is needed. Also, you are always free to ask about what things I tag! I will happily get you a list!

3. If you have an OC, I need to know about them. I would prefer an image and written bio, but at least tell me about them and their relation to my character. Unless you have a good backstory and discuss it with me, no family of them that aren’t canon, please.

4. ABSOLUTELY NO EYE TRAUMA OR DEFECATION. At. All.

5. I have decided to write smut on this blog provided my partner is okay with it. I only talk/plot over DM, I do not rp there. If you cannot do Discord we will figure something else out. I do participate in Sexual Sunday and Hump Day, so Sundays and Wednesdays my memes will be of the horny variety all day.

6. If you have read these rules please say ‘We could be immortals, just not for long!’

7. Please understand that they are somewhat canon-divergent.

8. PLEASE no minors. If I follow you and you are a minor, please let me know. I do not have anything against you, but I am not comfortable rping with underage kids as I am over 30.

9. I operate under “reblog karma” rules. If I reblog a meme from you, I will also send at least one ask from said meme to you. I ask that you do the same for me. If you reblog from me constantly and never interact, it is an instant block.

10. Due to an influx in personal blogs following and not knowing rp blog etiquette: I do not mind if personals follow me. I do not mind if you like my threads. But do not reblog my rps, and do not like my starter calls. I understand that you like the gifs and that is fine, but do not interact with my starter calls. It messes up my bookkeeping system.

11. I have the right and ability to block anyone for any reason. Do not come to me about it. Do not block evade. Do not send your friends after me. I only hardblock, I never softblock.

12. Do not bring drama to my doorstep. I don’t care. I don’t want to be involved. I’m not going to be involved in any kind of call-outs, or any slandering of anyone. I do not condone bullying or harassment. If this applies to you and you do these things, do not interact. Only I decide who I will and won’t interact with.

I have never experienced a callout post that had any factual evidence to it. If I am interacting with an actual predator of some sort and you have actual proof DM me about it. This goes double for minors lying about their age. These are the ONLY exceptions to this rule.

13. I am semi-selective and mutuals only. Due to some recent-ish events, I have decided to become mutuals only. This is because people keep following me and breaking their own DNI. Semi-selective here means that I will write with almost anyone, but I don’t accept one-liners unless it’s a crack thread.