#so that's basically how i draft things out

[caitlinbueckers]

told you so.

kate martin x reader

2.9k

woooooh this is a fucking doozy guys. literally received one (1) anon and then i blacked out for an hour and a half soooo here’s this ! realized during this journey that kate martin means an unfathomable amount to me and it’s like . Actually concerning 🔥🔥

ANYWAYS it’s giving Kate martin’s controversially hidden girlfriend that goes lowk public at the wnba draft like SHUT UP

18+ AS FUCK

“babe, quit looking at me like that.”

if there’s one thing you know, above the fact that you were certain there was gonna be an unsuspected draft tonight, was that kate martin could be such a bitch in the morning.

not that this was new for you, in any sense— you’d been more than used to it since the dawn of your relationship, learning all the little things about her that made her tick. whether that was her favorite to least favorite foods, or teams, even her obsession with fucking hot sauce.

you knew she still slept with her childhood blankie, the one currently curled under her chin atop the hotel comforter because she’s ridiculous, and because nobody has ever and would ever disrespect her blankie game.

and above all, you knew how much she wasn’t a morning person.

“you’re so dramatic,” you snort, pushing yourself up onto your elbows with a tired, but mocking voice as she emits a slow groan, turning to shove her face into the pillow, her body curling away from yours in an act of indignance that only makes you laugh.

you were far too used to her acting like a baby, so the action only made you sit up on your knees, slinging a leg over her so you could straddle her sides, leaning down to pepper kisses against the side of her face as she lets out a string of groans that turn into halfhearted chuckles, until her hands are planted firmly against your thighs, bare due to the oversized IOWA shirt that she insisted on you wearing.

‘for good luck,’ you remembered her snickering, something you knew was really just ‘easy access’.

her voice is still hoarse from sleep, quiet and raspy and tinged with that midwestern accent that you’ll never give up on bullying her for, when she whispers, “dude, you’re so annoying.”

of course, she proves it by hoisting you off of her, onto the bed, simulating something like a WWE smackdown moment as she rolls over onto you, mumbling something that you really can’t decipher due to her face in your neck, your chest, basically every place she knows will pull that hysterical, annoyingly high pitched laugh out of you, that for some reason, she loves.

“can’t believe you made it here.” she murmurs quietly against your cheek, lips moving lazily against the skin before she lays a smacking kiss there, and it’s almost gross, how much saliva she uses, but you snicker anyway, hand coming up to stroke through her blonde strands.

in all honesty, you couldn’t really believe it either. it had been soemthing close to hell trying to get it all straightened out, from clothes to hotels, to transportation and getting from des moines to brooklyn, not to mention just how fucking exclusive it had been to even get a seat open with all the hype surrounding women’s college basketball, the posterity that the final four teams had brought to the sport— not to mention, the fact that you and kate weren’t public in the fucking slightest, so having to account for that definitely sucked.

of course, it was a huge accomplishment, one that would definitely go down in the history of sports in general, so of course it was a huge fucking honor that your girlfriend was apart of it—

but also, you just thought it was hot.

in fact, the thought makes you smirk to yourself, corners of your mouth curling upwards in a self righteous grin as you turned your head, bumping noses with her to whisper, “can’t wait to see you all dressed up, baby,” she snickers at that, and you kiss her lips once, twice, three times before continuing, “and, i can’t wait to see where you get drafted so i can buy myself a plane ticket.”

the subsequent groan you receive is expected, but it doesn’t deter you even slightly, “and to watch you play on a professional fucking team, like, kate, i’m basically wet thinking about it right now.”

that makes her laugh out loud, and it warms you just a bit to hear it.

it’s not like kate has been super confident about it recently, usually choosing to not speak or avoid talking about how bad she wants it— especially considering the night being mainly for caitlin, an old teammate of yours from school and one of kate’s best friends on the squad, and arguably, one of the best players in the league (next to kate, of course).

still, it didn’t change your focus, or the unyielding hope you had for the possibility of kate getting drafted— no matter how late in the draft it could be.

“babe, quit selling yourself short, okay? you’re a legend. it would be literally, fucking stupid to pass you up, okay?” she doesn’t respond at first, her eyes closed and lashes brushing her cheeks, before she flutters them open just a crack, blue peeking through as you offer her a grin, one that she only rolls her eyes to, but kisses you regardless. you knew how much she hated to talk about it, but it didn’t matter.

you knew you were right, anyway.

“mmmiloveyou.” it comes out in one smushed whisper against your mouth, before you nip at her bottom lip, hand sneaking under the sports bra she wore to bed to brush your thumb across her ribcage, “get off of me and get ready, okay?”

—

caitlin was top draft pick, which was heavily speculated and yet still unexpected to a degree as you stood from your seat with a cacophony of shouts and hollers from around you, pride swelling thick in your chest. you’d known the girl since you two had been in middle school— seeing the same tall little girl that had hated losing in an elementary school gym turn into such an infamous champion was something alike to a parent watching their kid go off to college or something, you’d swear it.

but, to say it was nothing short of nervewracking would somehow be an understatement, and as much as you felt the impending pressure with each name called, you could only imagine how kate must’ve felt.

it wasn’t hard to tell— the way her molars steadily worked the inside of her cheek, the way her tongue would dart out to wet her lips again and again. her hand, jittering too much to be held stationary within your own, drumming along your bare thigh beside your dress— ‘self soothing’, she’d explained in a whisper, a halfhearted, almost weakened smile on her face when you’d given her a lifted eyebrow at the hand placement considering the amount of cameras that surrounded you, but somehow, despite the rush of adrenaline, decided you didn’t care either.

thankfully, you both weren’t anywhere too accessible, but it still made you wonder whether kate had been bullshitting just how anxious she actually had been the whole time for her to need your touch so badly, and for an aching moment of tenderness as you glance at her, you want to kiss her, hard, rub the tension between her eyebrows, relax the trouble in her eyes.

still, gabbie and jada were good eyes too, considering anytime the camera would so much as even pan past you two, jada would hit you with a solid elbow, one to remind you that your poker face was shit, and perhaps you’d have to try just a little harder to pretend you weren’t totally, irrevocably in love with the woman beside you.

but slowly, it was all starting to click into place.

the cameras began panning to kate more and more, your own eyes flickering to the set and noticing how everytime you’d look, there’d be an official looking right past you, right at kate. a surge of excitement rose within you, one that had the words bubbling from your mouth in an urgent whisper,

“baby, i think—“

until an official, dressed in black with a wireless pair of headphones in each ear and a smile, touched kate’s shoulder.

“ms. martin, we’re gonna go ahead and have you and your party move down the aisle just a bit— there’s been a slight seating issue, if that’s okay with you guys?”

jada elbows you extra hard this time, and for some reason it solidifies that feeling you get, one that makes your heart leap as you all nod, getting to your feet without argument, only as kate turns to give you a look that’s supposed to be scolding, but fuck, you can see the glimmer of hope in it that makes your chest constrict, your eyes burn in pride.

“you’re giving me eyes, and for what?” she hums, the teeth against her cheek working overtime as you all settle into the new seats, kate at the end of the aisle, and a fluttery feeling in your chest, “no reason.” you say it almost smugly, as if you know something she doesn’t, and you don’t, but god, you can feel it.

the names fly off, left and right, number 16, and kate’s knee starts bouncing slightly, number 17 and your heart feels like it’s going way too fucking fast, number 18, and jada peers around you to glance at kate, and then…

las vegas, aces— kate martin.

if watching caitlin win had felt like a parent watching their child, this must’ve been adjacent to winning the fucking lottery.

you’re on your feet in mere seconds, the tears that had built finally dripping down your cheeks, a fact you’d only come to find embarrassing once you realize how visible they are on the playback, but fuck it, your girl was going pro.

she wastes no time in wrapping you up, her face ducking into your shoulder as your arms twine around her middle, thinking subconsciously of how you know you shouldn’t risk it, but kate doesn’t seem to mind, only releasing you with a single arm to embrace jada, and then gabbie, before she’s back to you.

of course, it doesn’t occur to you in the moment, that it’s a hard launch— no, it doesn’t really sink in until she kisses you hard against the temple before she’s breezing down the aisle, the subsequent eruption in applause leaving you starstruck, in silent awe.

after that, it’s somewhat of a blur— she takes her picture and accepts her jersey, the newscasters going off on some spiel about your girlfriends work ethic, her attitude, her endurance, everything you already fucking knew, had known for so long, that she’d finally have a chance to prove.

the moment she’s back beside you, it also doesn’t register to you that she must’ve been just as accepting about the reveal, because it’s only a second that she’s in her seat before she plants a soft kiss to your mouth, the dark lipstick you’d been steadily biting off in anxiety sticking to hers and she’s grinning, bigger than she had all day, and for a moment, you think you might actually collapse because god,

you love her. so fucking much.

“told you so,” you make out between the tears, smiling through the tightness in your voice that makes you sound warbled, whimpering even as she just laughs at you, her thumb careful to wipe beneath your eyes, “guess you did.”

of course, it’s only customary that after such a good night, everyone must get fucked up— so, that’s exactly what happens.

you get to gush to caitlin— hugging her tight around the neck and congratulating her a million times, to which she reciprocates when it comes to you and kate, garnering a blush on your already alcohol flushed cheeks, rolling your eyes as you punch her arm.

“whatever, fever.”

“whatever, ‘ace’.”

you pretend you don’t notice the quotations she puts around it, and give her a friendly middle finger instead— if kate was an ace, that meant you basically were too, at least by proxy.

“hey money,” you call to kate affectionately, seeing only the back of her head as she talks to gabbie, your arms sliding around her waist to hold her tight from behind.

“my love,” she greets with a smile, looking over her shoulder to pucker her lips at you, expecting a kiss that you so easily return. it feels fucking terrifying, in all honesty, to be so open, but you can’t find it within you to care enough to give it up— not when she’s this happy.

“dude, you totally knew, didn’t you? there’s no way you would’ve started crying like that unless you knew.” she’s drunk, chattering at a volume level beyond what’s needed considering you were right behind her, hand sneaking beneath her blazer, but you can’t help the way you shrug, “i’m always right, huh?”

later that night, she shows you just how right you are.

it’s past a decent hour to still be tugging off clothes from the night prior— the clock read four in the morning, but the windows spoke of the twinkling lights that surrounded, the city not quite awake, but never asleep.

“you’re a pro,” you hum against her mouth as you tug off her blazer, hands making quick work of the belt that kept you from exploring, smirking at the look she gives you, daring and all too fucking sexy, “it’s so hot to think about.”

“yeah?” her fingers hook beneath the straps of the dress until she’s dragging them down your shoulders, “you want me to show you how professionals do it?”

the next thing you know she’s between your legs, nothing but a white top and her slacks on, unbuttoned, as she hikes a leg over her shoulder, kisses along the inside of your thigh with an intensity only comparable to how she is after a really good game.

“fuck—!” it leaves your mouth in a sound that’s almost unrecognizable, the realization that you’d been pleasantly and uncomfortably horny ever since the draft had ended making itself known considering just how much kate had been unrelenting during press— hands on your hips or on the inside of your thigh, toying with the hair on the back of your neck or grasping the inside of your elbow to lead you along.

she knew it drove you crazy, you knew she’d make it up to you later.

her mouth makes easy work on you, tongue long and flat as she laps against your cunt, rough in all the ways that she knew you could handle— thumbs pressing fingerprint bruises into your skin, breath hot and heavy against your clit, hips moving on their own accord as you gasp out a string of incoherent whimpers. “shit, baby- just… just like that.”

it wasn’t like kate had ever failed at getting you off, but tonight, she performed as if it was her last game, greedy almost as she drinks you in, making sure to not leave one bit of you unchecked. her tongue is almost sinful in the way it makes your voice careen, high and whining, your hand finding a permanent tangle into her already mussed hair.

but she’s cocky tonight, presumptuous right before you orgasm as she raises her head to kiss your thigh, biting the skin before she’s climbing onto the bed beside you, too tall to be graceful, but you’re too fucking horny to even spare her the laughs you usually give.

“up, c’mere.” she’s breathless still, but she doesn’t let you rest for even a second, leaning across you to curl her fingers around your thigh to tug you up from your laying position, rousing you from the hazy, almost delirious state of mind as you push yourself up, letting out a shaking breath when she’s sliding your leg over her chest, hands grazing up the back of your thighs until she’s pulling you, right over over her mouth.

“kate, wha- you’re so— fuck.”

any semblance of words or sense seem to leave you in one second, as she flattens her tongue against the wetness that’s collected, the friction almost unbearable when her head tilted upwards, nose brushing hard against your clit in a way that pulls a cry from your lips. she’s unfaltering, diligent, unabashed in the way she’s moving your hips, the way she pairs each grind against her nose with a curl of her tongue, and really, it’s over before it fucking starts.

her mouth is glossy, damp when she’s done, and she smiles and it’s arrogant as she’s sliding you back down to sit you against her hips, the mere control she had of your body making you bright red as you pant pathetically, reduced to fucking nothing by her mouth.

it makes you throw your head back with a whimpering sigh, “don’t fucking look at me like that.” you complain, legs still open, thighs still trembling as she races her hands along them, “tired already?”

funnily enough, you were far from fucking tired.

“actually… was thinking about showing you some celebrity treatment?” you muse softly, as she peels off her own top, eyebrows raising, her thumb swiping along the edge of her lip before she’s placing it on the bottom of yours, pressing until it dips into your mouth, the heady taste of what you knew was yourself finding a place on your tongue.

she smirks, tongue poking between her teeth as your stomach fucking turns almost, arousal prickling unforgivingly at you once again.

“ooh,” she muses under her breath, eyes laser focused on the thumb she’d placed between your lips, voice coming out in a whisper, “i like the sound of that.”

she’s smirking though, because sex between you two have never been anything completely serious— that’s just not how kate operates, “ace money martin’s got a ring to it, huh?”

“shut up.”

“make me.”

so, you do.

#kate martin x reader #kate martin smut #kate martin #writing asf #be gentle i lowk like this one…..

[sunflowerskies00]

bet my heart, part 2

waves are gonna crash

series masterlist

My weekend was packed, not only was I performing during NHL All-Star Weekend and a celebrity captain, but I also had a sold out concert at the end of the weekend in Toronto this weekend, which Quinn, Jack, Luke, and some of their friends would be attending. I loved when friends came to my concerts, it just added to the energy in the air. I gave friends tickets basically whenever they asked, I wanted them there as much as they wanted to be there.

“So,” Jack starts causing me to look over at him. We’re waiting to start the All-Star draft. “You and Quinn,” he starts. 

“What about me and Quinn?” 

“When are you guys going to admit that you’re more than friends and so in love with each other it’s stupid?” He asks. My eyes widen for a split second before I just shake my head at him. 

“He’s my best friend, Jack,” is the only thing I say. 

“And you’re his, doesn’t mean you aren’t in love with each other.”

“I can’t listen to you be logical right now, it’s weird, I don’t like that you’re using your brain.” 

“You can’t live in denial forever,” he says as Quinn walks over to us. 

~*~

The internet was going crazy for the Quinn and Sage content that was all over TikTok. They had gotten enough content for a year during the all-star draft alone. Our friendship was the center of a lot of teenage girls' lives. They also thought we were more than friends, and read into everything the two of us did together. Which I couldn’t blame them for, I read into a lot that happened between the two of us too. Jack and I’s conversation from the draft had been on my mind since it happened. Jack was right, I couldn’t keep living in denial. I knew how I felt about Quinn, I had been having more than friends feelings for him since we were 18, probably before that if we’re being honest. Jack was hell-bent on the fact that Quinn felt the same way about me, but I wasn’t sure, and I wasn't ready to put our friendship in jeopardy if he didn't feel the same way. I was pacing the floor of my hotel room. I needed to get ready for the all-star game, it was today. I had done a mini-show last night, and my concert was tomorrow. Instead of doing anything beneficial to getting ready or making an appearance, I was doing laps around the hotel room, questioning every single moment of my friendship with Quinn. Dissecting every little moment that could have been interpreted as more than friendship.

A knock on my door pulls me from my pacing. I walk over and swing open the door to find Quinn standing there. 

“Quinn,” his name comes out as a breath. 

“Hey S, thought I’d swing by before heading over, are you okay? You’re normally way ahead of schedule, and you're not even dressed,” he points out. 

“Yeah, just a lot going on, give me like ten to get my outfit on,” I move to the side so he can come in. I grab the outfit that I was planning on wearing and walk into my bathroom. I pull on the black flare pants and my all-star jersey before walking out of the bathroom. I settle on some mid-rise Jordan’s before turning towards Quinn. “Let’s go,” I say. 

“Hey,” his voice stops me. I turn to face him. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, just exhausted, but I’m all good,” I give him the best smile I can. 

“You’re lying,” he frowns. 

“Quinn, I’m good, I just have a lot going, and we can talk about it later, but right now, we need to go, or you’re going to be late.” He looks like he wants to protest or say more, but he doesn’t and reluctantly follows me out of the room. 

When we get to the arena I start to walk away from Quinn, going to where I needed to be, but he grabs my hand before I can walk away. 

“S,” I turn my eyes to look at him. “If you need anything, just say the word and I’m there,” he says. 

“I know, thanks Quinny.” I give him a super quick hug before walking away, needing a minute, or several, to get myself together before having to see people. What was wrong with me? I had kept my feelings at bay for years. I had told myself time and time again that I didn't need anything more than friendship from Quinn, and that I was happy with that. Suddenly one conversation with Jack, a conversation that we'd had before, was making me spin out of control and questioning everything. I needed to get it together before more people started to piece together that something was wrong with me. Quinn had seen right through my lies this morning, insisting that I was okay and just falling behind. I could see the skepticism written across his face. He just didn't push me on anything, because that's how Quinn was. If I didn't want to talk about something, he left it alone until I'd willingly talk to him about it. He never pushed for details or information, he would just drop it and move on. It was sweet.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by a hand landing on my shoulder. I jump and glance to the side to see Jack. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Lost in your thoughts? That's not like you at all," the last bit is said sarcastically.

"I'm good," I answer. Quinn may know me the best, but that doesn't mean the other Hughes' brother doesn't see through my lies.

"Real answer, please. I can see you having an internal crisis. You're not hiding it very well."

"It's nothing," I mutter.

"So this has nothing to do with the fact that you're in love with Quinn and you're worried I'm lying when he says he feels the same?" He asks.

"I-," I'm at a loss for words I don't have anything to say in response because Jack had hit the nail on the head. That's exactly why I was freaking out.

"Sage, please, Quinn may be your best friend, but that doesn't mean I don't know you," he says.

"Jack," I sigh.

"Sage," he parrots my name back to me. "I'm not lying to you about this. I wouldn't make some shit up just for you to say something and your friendship with Quinn to crash and burn. I know the stakes of you saying something," he says. I nod, not having anything to say, because I know he's telling the truth. He wouldn't lie to me. "I won't but you about it anymore, because I know you have a lot going on, but just know that this is something I wouldn't fuck with you on," he says before leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #vancover canucks #jack hughes #luke hughes #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #trevor zegras #cole caufield #quinn hughes x oc

[snail-squasher]

Stars-Aligning

'boys suck, and girls I've never tried' - chappell roan

word ct. - 1113

warnings - a small panic attack(?), mostly fluff, fem!reader is implied but anyone can read :)

You've never been one to have crushes. Sleepover gossip times would always make you pick at your skin for 5 minutes trying to remember all the boys in your grade so you can blurt a name out when asked who you like. But when you got into college something changed. Something that goes by the name of Kiyoko Shimizu. You first heard about her when in a group project with Yachi, she had suggested that Kiyoko tag along to the cafe meet up that you guys had planned - a simple 3rd person to keep conversation flowing so there’s no random awkward silence. 

Wrong; you were incredibly wrong. In the entire 2 hours you guys were there, you got 2 things done: writing your name and finding out Kiyoko was the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen and that the way her lips move when she talks is mesmerizing; maybe that’s why everything she said you completely agreed with - is this what your friends talk about at sleepovers? Is this what movie scenes are made from? Is this normal? 

Obviously you know what being gay meant, you’ve seen gay couples in movies and even around campus, so why was this the worst whiplash you’ve ever experienced? And why are you getting so nervous and sweating when she asks for your number? Why do you only let out a shaky - mousy - ‘yeah’ 

The only information you absorbed is that the prettiest girl you've ever seen is in your contacts and that she likes peaches and ice cream. There’s only one reasonable response to this information - type out 4 draft messages asking her to the local ice cream parlor. Who would know better how to ask her out on a completely platonic and friendly ice cream date? Yachi. 

You’ve never felt more awkward in your entire life; you could smell the tension before the conversion even started. “Well… I say just ask in the friendliest way possible… this one right there,” she points to the 2nd message, “seems like you're rambling a lot, and the one below that sounds like you're demanding she go.” Yachi explains - a little concerned by how concentrated you are after explaining how this is a ‘totally friendly and chill meet up because she seems cool’ for about 10 minutes. “Okay…so like… the last one? Or are the emojis too much?” “The last one is perfect, she actually texts with a lot of emojis too.” “Okay perfect…” both of you sit in silence for 20 seconds before you blurt “can you please send the message for me.” 

It was set, you're very casual friend hangout, was the next day at 2pm. Although the state of your room said that you were evacuating by 2pm tomorrow; clothes thrown from your closet had basically made it out of your room, forgotten t-shirts now seeing the light of day, even pants that you’ve been meaning to return to a friend had found its way onto the outfit roster. But after what felt like the zombie apocalypse, you put together an outfit that had one inspiration - Kiyoko Shimizu. 

It was just to seem cool right? To hope that she'll want to be good friends right? And maybe kiss? Do good friends do that? 

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea you’ve ever had. Gripping the steering wheel so hard you make a mental reminder to call a mechanic and breathing so hard you reach for a non-existent inhaler. You’ve never had a worse timed star- aligning ever. You can see her in the window, occasionally glancing out the window waiting for any sign of you, but you’re too busy having second doubts because your gay awakening is waiting for a obviously, for sure, ‘no wonder Yachi was awkward’ date. You try to quickly regain yourself after seeing Kiyoko start to look down at her watch every 6 seconds. Checking your face in the mirror and fixing your hair in the shop’s window reflection, you finally open the doors and come face-to-face with the most attractive cause for your midlife crisis. You're not even 25.

“Hey, sorry I’m a little late, I was picking up my room a little and lost track of time,” well that's not a complete lie, you had folded about 4 shirts and then rethought your entire outfit and started from scratch. And then she did the smile, the little lift up that makes her beauty mark move 3 cm from its resting place, “It’s really no problem, just glad I wasn’t stood up.” Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god. Being stood up means a date. This is for sure a date. You're glad you didn’t over analyze but also panicking because you just processed what a lesbian is in the car you’ve had since 17.

“Yeah, sorry again, I didn’t mean to leave someone like you waiting,” are you actually stupid. ‘Someone like you?’ You’ve been homosexual for 5 minutes and already messed up. “Hope that’s a good thing,” she says sarcastically before walking up to order. “I’ll get the peach please, and what would you want?” She looks at you. She focuses on you. “I’ll just get the same thing” a smile. She smiles at you. “Sounds good, do you want to find a table while I pay?” “Oh you don’t have to pay f-” “No no, it’s okay.” You're starting to understand why your friends freak out when a guy offers to pay. 

“Okay- so- wait. He asked you to marry him after only seeing you?” you ask holding back a laugh, “Yes! I still give him a hard time for it too,” Kiyo - she insisted you call her that - was laughing telling you about her time in high school, while checking her watch, “Oh! It’s already late! Sorry for non-stop talking, I feel like that’s all I did.” You quickly try to recover as you both stand up and throw your trash away, “oh no it’s okay, I loved hearing about you.” After making it through the front doors, she turns to you and smiles before leaning in and giving a small kiss, “Well maybe you can tell me about you next time.” “Yeah! Of course,” you reply too quickly for you not to cringe when thinking about it later. She does the smile again, the same smile, “Make sure you text me when you get home… I’ll see you soon.” “Yeah of course, have a goodnight…” You watch as she walks away to her car before slowly sitting getting into your own. You're surprised the shop owners didn’t come running out after the excited scream you let out.

I hope you guys like it!!! the divider(s) is from @cafekitsune

STREAM CHAPPELL ROAN!!!!

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #kiyoko shimizu #kiyoko x reader #hq kiyoko #wlw post #fem!reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu oneshot #oneshot

[overchromatic]

Ghost Eclipse

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh #gym leader allister #fanart #hi this has been in my drafts for months #i originally made it to test new brushes and then got to into it basically #but i was too embarrassed about how edgy it turned out so i kept putting off posting it #but now? well im killing the part of me that cringes babe. things are getting SPOOKY #alli under the fuckinggg blood moon raising the spirits of the dead? BASED

[heartbrake-hotel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this is where the reader steps in !!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ah. there it is

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"let's get to it."

#blurb #ask #goddamn will they EVER let each other finish a sentence.??? #sorry dialogue is Not my forte 🙈 im a prose kinda girlie hardcore #also yahhhh i just kind of . totally abandoned the ending to cater to my h/c fantasies. sorry not sorry 😎 #halfway thru the second block of bullets i realized the hc format was completely pointless and i had basically written a full fic #on the other hand im nothing if not a stubborn bitch so.. not changing the formatting now.! #if u think about this too hard u start to see a lot of plot holes #or at least further questions about the specificities of vamp lore in this au #to that i would recommend u pls ignore them 🥰 #GODDD i started writing this directly in the ask. like a fucking FOOL #knowing FULL WELL how this stupid post editor not only eats ask drafts for breakfast and spits out their bones #but ALSO that the even STUPIDER copy/paste restrictions would hit #since theres a character block limit separate from the character POST limit 🙄 #so ive had this tab open for almost a week and have just been walking on eggshells around my laptop praying to not lose it dfghj #MASSIVE SIGH OF RELIEF TO POST IT TBH #also smitty ive got a sidenote for u as well but its gonna go on main lmao. one sec #oh god............ just realized i did the ff.net thing with the in-text ANs 😳😳 #pOST CANCELLED; EVERYBODY GO HOME

[aria0fgold]

Staring at this fic and wondering how to tag it. I'm done writing it, pretty short! And everything formatted, all I need now is to figure out how to tag this thing.

#aria rants #immediate unrequited love tag there cuz of the song its based off of >:D (<-evil smiles as if i didnt tear up writing it) #to me this seems more like hc territory about what i think happens After all the events in the game buuuutttt #it miiiight be spoilery too????? im gonna ask around to see just in case. second opinion time #cuz to me the only thing it spoils is stuff during act 3. primarily stuff about the friend quests but left vague instead #so until i figure out how to tag this. itd be in my drafts and i might post it tomorrow instead? well tbf its tomorrow here now #but like-- tomorrow as in after i sleep which is basically later in the afternoon once i wake up

[awfullybigwardrobe44]

Waiting on the guy to make the first move sucks.

#He told me at Easter that he wasn’t interested in a relationship at that time #But he’s since shown what I consider to be interest in me #Asked me an interesting question that made me wonder #And we’ve had some really amazing conversations together #And I want to tell him how I feel but because of the Easter thing I basically have to do this all in his timing and wait for him to #Approach ME #And it just sucks because he’s not doing this in my timing 🤣 #I literally typed out a draft of the confession message and a friend convinced me not to send it #I just really like him and he loves Jesus so much #how can I not be impatient

[icewindandboringhorror]

various little Pictures of thinges

#photo context/information described here in the tags since there are no longer photo captions #(from top Left to right) image 1: BABYY!!!!! SON!!!!! HE!!!!!!!!!!!! #image 2: I found a patch of these clovers that were kind of mutated or infected or something? like they were not actually Red clovers #it was patches of totally normal green clovers except every once in a while one of them would have one leave thats red or half red or even #be completely red. AND they were growing near a patch of these wildflower weeds that have red stems to them. so I wonder if it's even poss #ble that maybe some of the red like.. got mixed in with the clovers somehow? a lot of the patches with a few red ones look spotty and unhea #thy so it could have been the sun or something. I dont know how plants work. I just thought it was really cool to find these one or two #special mutant clovers in huge patches of ohtwerise totally normal green clovers.. :0 #image 3: look at these weird round fat baby carrot things... Rotund #image 4: laying out some fabrics for a costume just drafting them and seeing what looks okay in the pile and what doesnt etc. #thats my whole process is just 'throw things into a pile on the floor that look okay and match then put them on eventually' lol #image 5: MORE wii scores lol.. I think this is my best score on this one though. There's 10 little markers you have to select so getting 7 #means I selected more than one per second. #image 6: I couldnt decide which type of muffins I wanted so I just made a batch of plain/vanilla batter and then added things to each littl #section to make multiple flavors without having to actually make a full batch or multiple batters lol. I think it's chocolate swirl (with d #rk chocolate chunks). banana cinnamon. strawberry. normal chocolate. rosemary and lemon. peach. ginger peach turmeric. and #'scraps of the other batters all thrown together' lol. Decent however the random recipe I found online for a basic cupcake batter was #not very good and they were weirdly dense and spongy. #image 7: A PICTURE OF THE dishscapes that I watched and rambled about (to the like 5 of you who saw that post #and read the tags of it lol).... beach houes..I still so much wish I could make my own Fantasy Screensaver Story.. oughh #image 8 & 9: a really cool flower from outside. I like that it has all these weird spindly little things from the center :0 #photo diary

[lilacline001]

When do you think chapter 11 is gonna be ready? No pressure tho, I love your fic sm

Okay, so here's a Nocturne update. In total, there should be 5 arcs roughly 5 chapters each. Arc 1 and 2 are complete, and with Chapter 11, we will begin arc 3. The fic in total might be up to 120k words.

My goal is to again shoot for an update every two weeks. However, I'll try to be more responsive when things aren't going well and/or I'm taking a break.

Moving forward, I will update my Bio with percentage progress on the next chapter. This will be a rough estimate, but it'll be better than nothing. Also, please remember that Nocturne chapters are generally massive, so yeah something like 10% would be several hundred words, 50% a couple thousand. I do not want to start posting about progress, that will give me a complex. So it will be up to interested parties to check my bio for updates.

In general, if its been two weeks and a few days after the last posting, feel free to harass me - within reason. Everyone's been awesome and super kind, but I don't want to give people blanket freedom to get on my back. Sometimes things are going well and I want to spend time with people instead of writing alone (writing can be really lonely) and then other times things are going poorly and drinking water is an accomplishment

Also, something that helped my block recently was writing for another fandom. I haven't posted for a different project yet, but please understand that I might. This is a good thing! It helped me get my mojo back and write for Nocturne. So like please don't get upset if you see me update other things. coughRipple Effectcough

My goal is to complete this fic before 2024, hopefully by a lot. At the absolute latest, my goal is to complete Nocturne before Season 5 comes out. 2025 is not good news right? But here is my promise as a Fanfic creator who hates in-complete works just as much as the next reader:

If by the premiere of ST episode 1 "The Crawl," Nocturne is not completed, I promise to release my outline.

I understand that this would not be satisfying, and it's something that I don't want to do - I want to finish what I started, I love Nocturne and I plan to see it complete. But life does happen. So if literally all else fails, I will post my outline, and that way you guys will know how it ends.

I have gotten so much support for this fic, like an incredible amount of support. Simply lovely fan art has been made! Which if I think about long enough will make me cry So I want to give you guys the assurance that your time hasn't been wasted, I will finish and if all else fails, you guys will at least know what happens.

Until then, thank you so much for your patience! Thank you for supporting my bat fic! Thank you for the art!!! *sobs* Thank you for tagging me in bat posts & videos; they're so cute!! Hope to see you next week with Chapter 11!

Happy reading!

#nocturne #nocturne my beloved #thank you for supporting my 🦇 fic #🦇 #byler fanfiction #my fanfic writing #byler #also like perfectionist side note Nocturne is basically a first draft and I'm trying to be okay with that but there are so many things #I would go back in change #and that's working itself up in my mind #not big things but like little things #like the freaking seniors in hs right #so they should be getting ready to apply for college but I haven't yet figured out how to work that in and its killing me #part of me is like you should have made them juniors and then you wouldn't have had that problem #and then the last two chapters #did i even fucking pace them right #soo much happens on halloween #sometimes thats what kills my progress #like the major beats of the story are the same but the little details #like the small stuff that isn't foreshadowing just freaking kill me #writing isn't easy yo #but i'm super happy people still are enjoying it! hopefully that continues!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#ok. so all my applications r submitted now. which is something bc at 7pm i didnt think it was going to #i mean. i did half ass the last one. like i wrote the personal statement and research statement in December as a draft #and today i was like oh fuck thats due tomorrow. fuck it. submit. i wish the project was in the US bc i think ive decided i dont wanna do a #uk phd but fuck it lets see what happens. if they want me then ill give minimal effort for the competitive selection process and anticipate #being cut early. i really didnt wanna do it. bc i just dont think i have the energy for the interviews if i get selected but since i didnt #want to that means i had to so here we r. i was kinda bitchy in the personal statement too bc they basically asked for everything in the #research statement so like y tf did u make me write 2 fuck off i spend so much fucking time on that bullshit #anyway. thats one less thing to worry abt but i did just realize i have like 3 days to completely overhaul my last manuscript #so uh thats gonna be fucking fun #sigh... and i try out measurements tomorrow so well see how bad this is gonna hurt :-P #jesus. i just realized im gonna have to intensely pay attention for like 8hrs tomorrow and then manuscript write into the night #fuck. and i need to go to the store agh #unrelated

[spring-lxcked]

as much as i'd like to do a starter call for the new verse i literally. still have starters in the drafts from last time (y i k e s sorry) and i just can't trust myself to actually do starters in a timely manner SO. if anybody wants to write in that verse, i'm gonna rb some asks at some point tonight. feel free to send something in (clarify if you want that verse tho obv) if you'd like!!

#—— ✧ ooc » #.tbd. #sorry that my brain immediately shuts down when i try to do starters fdksahsdakhfja #i'll be like 'omg i'm so excited!' and then my brain fizzles out. not an idea in sight. #(btw this is also why you're all HIGHLY encouraged to continue asks whenever you like!!) #anyway my main focus tonight is going to be: asks /in this new verse/ and basic replies because i am. behind. #i wanna touch on the multi but i really think i might just. drop every single old thing and start FRESH fresh. idk. #i think i look at my asks + drafts there and just get /massively/ overwhelmed a lot of the time #anyway anything i write will be queued because i don't like being Perceived on how long it takes me to write One Thing fkdhsasdj

[aureliobooks]

(listen i know i drop in out of nowhere every three months saying i’m gonna come back because i’m picking a wip up again but i MEAN IT THIS TIME i’m planning to completely rework wayfarer with a new setting and new character designs and i’m gonna try to actually!! write!!! over my month long break from school!!!! and if this is a lie and you see me say this same thing again a month from now everyone point and laugh <3)

#I THINK I CRACKED THE CODE THOUGH #IVE BEEN. so fucking stuck. i got it half edited and then went This Is Not Right Yet #so i knew i’d have to rewrite it yknow. whole new draft. but i couldn’t figure out how to make that Ambiguous Wrong Thing Different #turns out (and i may be completely wrong lol my theory must be Tested) that the fucking SETTING. was the ISSUE. THE ENTIRE TIME #and by extension the genre lol #basically all of my work is meant to be super character centric but unlike with sevensworn this setting felt like . a rlly flimsy backdrop #there wasn’t enough life in it or interaction with the world #so basically . #wayfarer wip #but with a cyberpunk makeover. thank you for coming to the lecture <3 #everyone point and laugh at me anyway actually #‘IRIS IS RAMBLING ABOUT WIPS NO ONE REMEMBERS BECAUSE THEY’VE BEEN INACTIVE FOR A YEAR’ #that should be a new tag LMAOOOO #.txt

[solradguy]

I came to terms with the Sol kinnie thing months ago now because honestly who gives a shit, but every now and then I'll find myself in a situation where I wonder if whatever it was I was about to do was/is a pre- or post-Guilty Gear interest lol

#textpost #Most of them have been pre-Guilty Gear interests which is honestly hilarious #Like of course I don't have proof for most of it but my fursona is the funniest one #He's basically bootleg furry Sol Badguy BUT he was like that MONTHS before I got into GG #I've been thinking about this over the last few days though #Because I was doing some Queen stuff and had a thought like 'am I only doing this because my brain's weird or do I actually care' #And went through like a checklist of things. I do actually care #Sol is like frighteningly relatable though and sometimes I wish he wasn't lol #I typed this at 2am last night but saved it to my drafts instead of publishing it haha Still kinda feeling it this morning though tbh #I wish I could better articulate or find a term that describes how I relate to Sol better because 'kin/fictionkin' feels too... #Hmm.... Psycho-religious? A lot of essays I read while initially figuring this out related the kin tag to something more like a- #-Philosophy or something similar to a religion #But for me it's more like my brain filling in empty spaces within itself because No One was like me growing up and #now that I'm also trans there are even LESS people who are like me #So my brain sees a character that's similar to me and is like 'oh holy shit it's us. Let's be like that' hahah #This got really long I should've put it up in the post sorry lmfao #Anyway this is something I've done my whole life and 'kinning' is really the only term that fits what it is even if it's not a 1:1 fit #It usually doesn't bother me but knowing that some of the things I enjoy now I probably won't later once my interests shift again does #I still keep waiting for it to happen with Guilty Gear but GG is so different from anything else I've been into I'm not sure it will #Since most of the things I like about GG were things I liked before getting into it. Like heavy metal & weird scifi/fantasy #I'm not going to elaborate on how exactly I relate to Sol also. My blog is too public for that #and this post is already a little too personal #kin tag

[beautyofloneliness]

Not me suddenly creating an AU in my head about Altan and Lera being broken puppets in a magical shop owned by a wizard named... Sergey, of course. They try to repair each other in secret and find surprising comfort in one another. 

#basically a slightly angsty hurt/comfort AU with a happy ending #I could even say that it is more hurt/comfort deep friendship than it is romance #(and I definitely don't have a fic wip in my drafts nooooo how dare you think of that) #I have a lot of ideas about it actually #Altan has a broken eye mechanism and Lera's strings that hold her body together got old and loose so she almost mopes around the shop #Sergey tries to get over his break-up with Oleg by starting an unusual friendship with Igor with whom he plays chess (:D) on weekends #(don't worry Oleg is just on a journey of his own) #Sergey also has a fucked up Pygmalion and Galatea complex with Lera which is... honestly one of the aspects I love writing about? #customers in this AU are also a bliss to encounter #newlywed wizards Balor and Yana definitely go to this shop and Balor definitely has a tense relationship with Sergey #they usually come for some cursed illegal stuff which is fiiiiiine #the Realmwalkers trio also comes in here and usually it's Ksenia (I won't elaborate now but the main thing Sergey sells her is information) #Toma is one of the customers Sergey gets annoyed about but she's actually one of the few people who sees puppets as people #Koroleva scares the shit out of Seryozha which is the reason he sells her everything with a lower price #he's surprisingly polite to Angelina and the Nightingale #(yeah. remember about the Pygmalion and Galatea complex? the answer lies there) #Anton and Rita almost burn the shop to the ground but Sergey befriends them because they're pyromaniacs just like him :D #Yuma is a rare customer but a welcome one. this has things to do with the plot but it's too long to explain. #you should just know that she somehow gets everything for free #so yeah. that's my small au for zlatomaki I guess??? #plague doctor

[macabreblublu]

From Lego monkies, to weirdly attractive Hunter aliens, british morbid puppets

And now,

Rugged military men from a reboot version of a game (that’s still thriving, don’t come at me, I don’t play much games I’m sorry-) and was popular when I was a kid-

Yeah anyways uhhhh,

*shuffles through a messy table full of papers covered in sketches of Ghost and/or Soap

Yeah :)

#blu babbles #i don’t even- #how did I go from non-humans to #humans?? #it’s the men innit #god I have so many mixed feelings #I literally have a whole post in my drafts dedicated to one character from CoD MW2 2022 #and the whole thing is just to justify w h y I like em but #I’m too shy to post it (but maybe I will if I wanna clear out my drafts one day) #and plus #it’s basically just gonna be like a drop of water into the ocean #because we all have the same opinion about this dude #I think some people don’t even have to guess who I’m talking about

[saja-star]

I've had a hard time articulating to people just how fundamental spinning used to be in people's lives, and how eerie it is that it's vanished so entirely. It occurred to me today that it's a bit like if in the future all food was made by machine, and people forgot what farming and cooking were. Not just that they forgot how to do it; they had never heard of it.

When they use phrases like "spinning yarns" for telling stories or "heckling a performer" without understanding where they come from, I imagine a scene in the future where someone uses the phrase "stir the pot" to mean "cause a disagreement" and I say, did you know a pot used to be a container for heating food, and stirring was a way of combining different components of food together? "Wow, you're full of weird facts! How do you even know that?"

When I say I spin and people say "What, like you do exercise bikes? Is that a kind of dancing? What's drafting? What's a hackle?" it's like if I started talking about my cooking hobby and my friend asked "What's salt? Also, what's cooking?" Well, you see, there are a lot of stages to food preparation, starting with planting crops, and cooking is one of the later stages. Salt is a chemical used in cooking which mostly alters the flavor of the food but can also be used for other things, like drawing out moisture...

"Wow, that sounds so complicated. You must have done a lot of research. You're so good at cooking!" I'm really not. In the past, children started learning about cooking as early as age five ("Isn't that child labor?"), and many people cooked every day their whole lives ("Man, people worked so hard back then."). And that's just an average person, not to mention people called "chefs" who did it professionally. I go to the historic preservation center to use their stove once or twice a week, and I started learning a couple years ago. So what I know is less sophisticated than what some children could do back in the day.

"Can you make me a snickers bar?" No, that would be pretty hard. I just make sandwiches mostly. Sometimes I do scrambled eggs. "Oh, I would've thought a snickers bar would be way more basic than eggs. They seem so simple!"

Haven't you ever wondered where food comes from? I ask them. When you were a kid, did you ever pick apart the different colored bits in your food and wonder what it was made of? "No, I never really thought about it." Did you know rice balls are called that because they're made from part of a plant called rice? "Oh haha, that's so weird. I thought 'rice' was just an adjective for anything that was soft and white."

People always ask me why I took up spinning. Isn't it weird that there are things we take so much for granted that we don't even notice when they're gone? Isn't it strange that something which has been part of humanity all across the planet since the Neanderthals is being forgotten in our generation? Isn't it funny that when knowledge dies, it leaves behind a ghost, just like a person? Don't you want to commune with it?

#spinning #historical reenactment #fiber arts #history