#posting now bc it's relevant to my state of mind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lains-reality · 10 months

Text

nondualism and "manifestation"

okay so there was an anon question abt manifesting. i'll answer with this post. i barely proof read this so tell me if theres an error. if you need more (you don't) then there are relevent links at the end.

anon: Ima here with a question :) Suppose I'm manifesting my desired clothes , so I just be aware/know that I already have them in my closet ? And Whenever I think that nope it's not true they aren't there …I JUST USE MY IMAGINATION, SEE A PICTURE OF THOSE CLOTHES AND AGAIN BECOME AWARE OF THE FACT THAT I HAVE THEM ? Basically when I found myself thinking about them I just shift my awareness to that I have them ! is this all I have to do ? And what if I feel euphoric 🤧 knowing that I already those clothes in my closet ? Is it oky ig it should be bc feeling has nothing to do with it !? RIGHT ?

I'll ask these questions first: do you want the desire or to be free? could you let go of trying to get happiness from this item and sit in the happiness you are?

you don't use your imagination. you ARE imagination. you're living in your imagination.

you don't have to identify with those thoughts telling you, you don't have the clothes

you've asked this question to another blogger, so you're spamming, searching for an answer? not gonna get you anywhere .. also have u even read my posts?

are you the person that sent this? nondualism IS NOT A METHOD

first of all, i want to you to remove every information, believing that it's real, your brain, spiraling, wavering, blockages, the universe giving you what you want, someone outside of you, the 3d, the 4d, behind the scenes, the 3d mirroring you, saturating your brain, etc ... [choroukgod]

there's no manifesting.

you are not the manifestor. you are not the doer. i mean it as the character, anon, doesn't do anything. Self does. Self can also be called awareness or consciousness. for Self, all exists. its like a comb, there's the handle and then all the teeth. Self is the handle, you anon, are one of the teeth. you are Self imagining being a human with desires.

i'll give you a snippet of a draft post i made:

"they wanted to be the doer. the character doesn't do. it's not You, it's just a habit. when you know you are Self, then everything is harmonious and effortless. the Self does, it is under all the imaginary character - if the character isn't real, then it doesn't do, the Self does."

since you are Self, this means you are beyond time and space, body and mind. they're not real. only the character/mind thinks its real, it'll chat forever about how you need to do this and that.

this is because the mind only knows what it knows. it cannot know anything more than what it knows right now. it's a collection of thoughts, feelings and memories that you've collected and turned into a habit. it's a habit to go back to the memories as a reference point. its a habit to identify with thoughts that come into your awareness. when you stop the habit and don't identify as the character, it goes away.

abt the body: well when you dream, you might still think. you feel the body and all, all the sensations. it feels real enough. then you wake up. you didn't take the physical body into the dream did you? you just felt the sensation of having one. doesn't this mean it's a bunch of sensations, just like a thought in the mind is?

also the mind can affect the body (e.g. nervous feeling -> sweaty palms). the thought or feeling rising into awareness, the mind takes note and ownership "i'm nervous, my hands are sweaty", affecting the body. if the unreal mind can affect something, then is that thing also not unreal?

(try to observe the thoughts or feelings next time without attaching a story to it or resisting it. see whether it goes away quicker. being able to accept the present moment is essential for this)

extra note - you as Self is also imagining the concepts of manifesting and shifting (and all the concepts related e.g. states, 3d, persisting etc).

thinking they the reason why you can get what you want IS FALSE. THOSE ARE YOUR OWN CREATIONS, ARE YOU GOING TO CREATE SOMETHING OUT OF YOUR OWN CREATIONS? [choroukgod]

What is there to be saved from except illusions? And what are all illusions except false ideas about myself? My holiness undoes them all by asserting the truth about me. - acim workbook

so, you know now the reality of who you are and not to identify with the imaginary, lets talk about the desire.

desires are born out of not knowing who you are. if you think you're the body-mind then several hundred concepts are needed to be taken into account to just live.

another snippet

"all these memories, feelings, thoughts and subsequent stories create desires and fears. the mind will try and protect itself and plan for stuff, but it can't. because it's so limited in knowledge & power."

the character wants the desire because of the story it has, the feeling. usually of happiness, love, joy. what you don't know is that that's your standard way of being. so you search everywhere.

the characters main motivation is to find the truth and happiness, underneath the searching is the belief 'i am not okay' or 'i am not enough', which leads to several needs & fears but importantly, need of control, especially of the future. it refuses to sit in the present moment.

desire is completely fine actually, its the attachments to it that make it hurtful. when you don't understand that desire is just another passing sensation, you, as the character, think you NEED it and will not stop until you get it, or you suffer.

you think that theres a world to control. you think that its outside of you. you think that there is a physical world. you're missing the most important info of all: all is Self. all is consciousness. all is awareness. whatever you wanna say. all is you, theres nothing to manipulate now. theres nothing to force now. its all unreal. you as Self, are imagining to be a human with desires that now has to change stuff that they think is real! how exhusting! you don't even need to change yourSelf, Self is perfect!

there's nothing to do.

Self is all. Self is whole. Self is perfect. Self is who you actually are.

there's no transition to Self. you already are that. it's letting go of all the concepts of limitations that is a transition. - i don't remember who said this, maybe lester levenson?

manifesting is not the point. the point is to be free! it's to recognise your true self! not just to feel better or okay .. to BE freedom, to BE peace, love etc. do you want to keep going into imagination to fufilll yourself all the time? you don't have to if you understand that you are fulfillment, you are whole already.

the "world" changing can't sway you because you are complete as you are, when you manifest with the intention to fulfil the desire so you 'physically' get it - you're only gonna feel full when you get the thing .. and then it goes. things cannot fulfil you. what would happen if the clothes get shredded by a dog? your happiness goes. why? why would you place your happiness on a thing that is FINITE?

being in the present moment is best. its literally the only way you live. you can't see into the past or future, there is only now.

The best place to grow is right where you are. The best time is now.

when you're worrying abt the future, you're thinking more. when you're worrying abt the past, more thoughts. in the present moment, you slow down and see what is in front of you now.

when you get caught up in the mind, you can stop yourself halfway (or even after it happens) and go "oh the mind was doing ...", then you start to pick up how much your mind wanders back or forwards. you start to pick up how limiting the thoughts are when you remind yourself that you are not the body or mind. with the understanding that the mind is imaginary -> no need to listen or identify with what's happening. it just is. feelings or emotions that come up into awareness cannot do anything. you are never disconnected from Self.

'oh i want to go [x] but i have to buy a plane ticket and get this and that...' -> if you are not the body-mind you don't have to worry about physically travelling anywhere, you are beyond time and space naturally. you don't have to prepare anything either, the mind wants to plan, but Self is harmonious and all, so whatever you 'need' will come to you. lester actually did this once.

"With full confidence that “everything is A-okay and taken care of,” I packed a bag and walked out of the house."

when you catch yourself in the moment: release and disidentify. you can just disidentify with it immediatly if you want to.

to release a belief or emotion (probs also desires) (sedona method):

welcome the feeling. it doesn’t have to be strong. it is what it is. ask yourself: Could I let it go? Would I let it go? When? then, remembering that you are not the body-mind, answer. deep breath in and out, let relief come if you feel it. read the link for more.

when you ask yourself, “Could I let this feeling go?”, remind yourself that you can let any emotion go, like dropping an object. when you ask yourself, “Would you let the feeling go?”, consider whether you would you rather hold on to pain, stress, and suffering, or, would you rather be free? when you ask yourself, “When?”, what you’re doing is creating an invitation to do it now

it can take some courage depending on the emotion, the character'll want to run away. but sit in the present moment and observe the feelings. ignoring and suppresing is not healthy. the focus is to keep releasing the feeling when it comes up. you can also coax the feelings up yourself.

to disidentify: well, just don't identify with it. just go "oh that's a thought". maybe remember your Self. maybe say 'on this path i constantly give up trouble' and move on. a simple knowing that that is not You, is enough.

surrender. i used to be scared of surrender bcs i thought it'd mean i have to let go of control and i'd get nothing! or just the same thing or worse! i was scared, i as the character was in full force. then some days past and i calm down (and lowkey give up), then i get some experience where it feels like i'm saying 'yes you ARE your true Self, its natural!!' to myself. something happens w/ 0 effort and i'm never suprised tbh (i used to be), it only grows my faith in mySelf. i promise you when you go 'f it idk whats gonna happen, it'll be fine' it'll be okay. but first you need to understand who you are. you trust your Self and just release the stories that tell you you aren't, that you are stuck, that you haven't got it, that you aren't fulfilled etc.

let me rephrase that bcs ppl saying "just believe!" used to piss me off: surrender it all. just stop. on this path you constantly give up trouble. you give up entertaining thoughts that make you feel bad. stop getting annoyed at yourself. stop beating yourself up. stop trying. just let yourself relax. if you want to do something, do it so you can feel better rather than to fix, manipulate, control etc.

all this arguing takes effort. it takes energy to not surrender. its hard to be something you are not. all the effort is being put into being an ego or to resist being it. you're squashing god into a small box and going 'why won't i fit?!' - lester levenson (modified)

Self is perfection, you are not surrendering to get worse, you are surrendering to perfection. Absolute Perfection. your mind only knows like 20 years (less or more!) of experience, in only one way of being. to your Self, there is all.

if theres anything to "do" its recognising stories of limitation and releasing/disidentifying as them.

(although surrendering is put last here. it is actually the first step. it might even be the only step)

self inquiry pointers (do not skip)

could i let go of wanting to get happiness from [insert item] and allow myself to rest as the happiness i am? can i turn [desire] into a desire for freedom? would i rather have the desire or would i rather be free? am i longing for the desire or to get out of pain? can i let go of wanting to change this and let it be as it is? could i let go of [belief]? would i rather believe in [the belief] or know the truth? would i rather believe in [the belief] or be the truth? am i arguing for my limitations?

letting go of ego | haven't read yet, but the skim looked good.

detachment | edwardart

what is the main difference between the now and old? | nisargadatta

go all the way, not just tolerate and endure | lester levenson

the true you | 4dbarbie

self surrender | edwardart

things come to die | heavenlythea (use of the word 3d, but still great post)

manifesting is struggling, life is effortless | 4dbarbie

how did i get something random? | 4dbarbie

attachments | 4dbarbie

some pics to read

after thoughts

i talk abt a method after my you don't need a method post lol, but that method is actually completely for the mind, says it upront and isn't just used for manifesting. in the end you'll stop using this too

could this be a guide to recognising your greatness? maybe?

let go of the insane amounts of responsibility, pressure, and personal attachment you've put on yourself.

#lainsmail #lainsreality #nondualism #nonduality #manifestation #spirituality #do not tag this as any law i will hide in ur walls #self inquiry

377 notes · View notes

orinthered · 28 days

Note

Finally got around to finishing the post game and gotta say, if DD1 was 50% of what they wanted to do, DD2 felt like 70% but the other 30% was the story and Battahl. I loved the game, but it really suffers from the lack of a narrative.

the game's story really does feel like a rough draft that was somehow polished up into a full game. sometimes not even that: more of like a pitch that got tossed around like "ohh yeah i guess we could do that"

the most egregious part for me is now that i'm in ng+ i can really think about just how fucking weird it is that after act 1, where lord phaesus gets the big "i'm the bad guy looking disdainfully out my carriage window, onto you, the arisen, whom the camera states i see as lesser" cutscene the rest of the game just pivots to us working with him and his assistant, i guess.

a lot of stuff in dd2 also feels like it exists out of necessity because "well, we had it in dragon's dogma 1, so it has to be in this game!" largely the beloved system. we don't have a character like duke dragonsbane who really just exists to justify the idea of having a character you're willing to give up for ultimate power and seeing what that effect might have on someone, because in dd2 you just see the dragon (who isn't named! what!) clutching your beloved, 99% some random fuck npc if you didn't manage to get the ring off the sphinx, and you just have to laugh because like there's a good chance the player has no emotional attachment to this character bc they're just pretty faces with stock personalities and the game doesn't treat the arisen as a person so what reason does the player have to do the same?

i also like briefly talked about this on twitter but when i was looking through the design documents for dragon's dogma 1 and you see how much concepting went into cassardis, the starting area... it makes it really hard for me to buy the conceit of the arisen in dragon's dogma 2. games that just drop you into the action without any backstory work really good if roleplaying was a major aspect of the gameplay, but for dragon's dogma 2 it's not. the point of being chosen to be arisen is that you have the ability to show courage in the face of futility — in dragon's dogma 1, the arisen throws away their life in order to save the village that they love.

in dragon's dogma 2... what, you push some pretty girl out of the way? you're maybe like a village guard? ulrika has like so much more motivation to be chosen as arisen it's kind of mind-boggling. dd2's arisen is a cipher but they need to be an actual character for the conceit of the arisen's will changes the world to make any sense.

this screenshot actually made me laugh out loud but in the way that one might laugh in the face of oncoming traffic. what do you even mean man. the only characters with any story relevance for the entirety of the game's plot are brant, sven, and phaesus lmfao you could get rid of everyone else and it wouldn't matter whatsoever

i mean i love this game. it's easily an 8/10 for me but it's so much harder for me to ignore a good game's bad story than it is for me to ignore a good story's bad gameplay. and if dd2's story is markedly worse than dd1's in every single possible facet...

#long post sorry. i don't yap this much about games i hate #.txt #dd2 spoilers

15 notes · View notes

ranboo5 · 2 years

Text

The Beeduo Meta

So, c!beeduo is unimaginably hard to analyse for the same reason the entire SMP is hard to analyse, especially in post-Doomsday DSMP when a lot more Offscreen Time became relevant: there are different backfilling assumptions. This is also complicated by the fact that it’s, well, a dynamic, and this fandom has an unimaginably hard time dealing with dynamics, because of “show me the clip” analysis being the norm. This kind of emphasis can be unsuited to dynamic analysis, because individual interactions cannot be taken as by themselves definitive of a dynamic without examining the framework they exist within.

My aim with this post is to establish the patterns we see in c!Ranboo and c!Tubbo’s interactions, to examine each successive one with the context of established precedent in mind, and to assert the thing I have known since February 2021: the framework assumed by the fandom and the framework that actually exists and makes sense to exist (regardless of authorial intent!) are incongruous, to put it lightly.

Will be dropping character tags from now on, but obviously all c! and /rp

Disclaimer also that this is very much coming from a c!Ranboo main – I am trying to do c!Tubbo as much justice as I can but being a boober is going to influence how I come at this, pretty obviously

Ranboo will be referred to with it/its pronouns in a couple places throughout, a) for clarity and b) because I want to

Under a readmore because it’s unimaginably fucking long there is a TL;DR at the bottom

Beeduo starts with imbalanced expectations because of the situation Ranboo shows up into and how Ranboo interacts w/ situations he considers high risk. In New L’Manberg, Ranboo quickly becomes functionally the only one in Tubbo's corner in several important respects. They are genuine friends, dgmw, and at this point it hasn't quite spiraled, but from the start the established dynamic is Ranboo thinking he has to care for Tubbo bc no one else will, and Tubbo ending up with Ranboo being the only one who really appears to respect him as president and stand by his side. Even before the cabinet actually has tensions in it, this is a suspected thing, which is evidenced in the manner in which the cabinet’s dynamics deteriorate as New L’Manberg wears on

Even before this deterioration, this setup is immediately extremely high stakes for Ranboo. One of their first interactions, while Ranboo is still calling Tubbo honorifics uncertainly (which Ranboo doesn't even do generally man is still throwing spaghetti at the wall in terms of how to interact with him), is Ranboo having to talk a tripping-balls Tubbo off a cliff edge while he's standing there high and rambling. Stakes of this kind are not immediately damning, but they can be something that complicates matters if handled poorly. They will be handled poorly.

This precariousness is also immediately dangerous for Tubbo, because Ranboo is a yes man. It knows it needs to comply, or appear to, to maintain its safety and autonomy. In other words, this is a tendency to partial duplicity and disingeniety in the interest of one’s own safety. Ranboo’s apparent alignment with anyone or anything cannot be assumed to be exclusive or even genuine. At this point he genuinely does think the best of Tubbo and his decision making, but this does not last, bc Ranboo takes ppl on good faith and gets disappointed.

As Ranboo befriends like 30 enemies of the state and is also repeatedly reminded of the danger he faces (the Butcher Army, the armor thing, "be loyal"), the stakes only get higher, especially as Tubbo gets more and more unpopular. This culminates in Ranboo’s statement on Doomsday about how he's literally expecting to be executed. This Is Indicative of the stakes he has been and continues to be living under.

Tubbo, meanwhile, has had it told to his face with receipts that Ranboo is a traitor... and immediately enters copium central, blaming it on Ranboo's memory issues. This is setting out a pattern that will continue all the way to Tubbo absolutely refusing to implicate Ranboo in Tommy’s death and beyond – Tubbo cannot consider Ranboo to have the capacity to be a threat. This will be bad for both of them.

For now we go into Snowchester. It is important to note Ranboo is actively afraid of Tubbo at this point. The urgency in his mind ebbs some by the time they get married, but at this point he is actively considering Tubbo a more-than-latent threat. The tower scene happens, which is a continuation of Tubbo being ableist to Ranboo, this time to the point of trying to experimentally cure its memory issues against its wishes – people will say Ranboo said yes technically, and it did, but again remember: Ranboo is a yes man, and it is residually afraid of what Tubbo might do to himself or to Ranboo if it missteps. Consent given under threat is not consent, and it is extremely indicative of what Ranboo actually feels about this happening from his initial resistance, his attempts to weasel out of the procedure/leave early throughout, and his reaction after. In true fashion of a yes man who is trying not to set off alarm bells while keeping his head, he is resistant without openly refusing throughout. To be clear: this is not Tubbo intentionally violating Ranboo's consent (nor are any of the other ensuing experiments and/or proposals). This is their heldover power dynamic. Tubbo is not evil or malicious or anything – the two of them just have a fucked set of expectations, and that set of expectations is not going to improve, because neither of them have the framework to challenge it. Even if Ranboo recognizes something is wrong on a conscious level (which he refuses to as part of the strat), he will not acknowledge it, because of aforementioned tendencies, and Tubbo will not recognize something is wrong, because Tubbo does not have the healthiest ideas abt individual consent and personhood in general, because when in any of DSMP history has anyone shown Tubbo that as a priority? In fact, What Tubbo Thinks about a situation has been repeatedly dismissed, and at this point he has long learned this. To the Joker Tubbo this is just a normal interaction, and he continues to see Ranboo as someone who is at least mostly reliably in his corner, and at least mostly reliably his friend (especially after Exile fucked up his relationship with Tommy), so he has no reason to believe this would be a problem. Bringing this up as an issue is a threat to the stability of their relationship and the surrounding circumstances, which is not tenable; Tubbo has been looking for stability this whole time and is not interested in losing it again, and Ranboo is staking a lot of self-convinced morality on the fact that he's being good to Tubbo technically, and also is still extremely afraid of what Tubbo might do if he isn't there to catch him.

(Literally catch him! There is a scene where Tubbo jumps off a roof shouting for Ranboo to catch him, which idk if cc!Tubbo thought he was in character for, but cc!Ranboo definitely was. You do not react with off-trailing closed-off genuine fear and worry to your friend maybe doing a clown in video games. I know my little guy’s voice that was c!Ranboo I know it was.)

In the absence of being able to unpack the problem, they go for the next best solution to this threat of losing stability, which is to codify that stability by getting married. Michael is part of this. We never got a deeply in character discussion for why they decided to adopt Michael, which leaves us with the interaction where Tubbo is (jokingly?) threatening to “commit adultery,” and Ranboo replies that he can’t because “Michael is our son, Michael is our adopted son." This is evidently news to Tubbo – unsurprisingly, because this is the first time Michael is referred to as anything more than a pet.

Again, absolutely do not get me wrong – both of beeduo are genuinely affectionate for and extremely attached to Michael (Ranboo has so much sentiment and love and kindness in his hearts). The aforementioned scene is also dubiously canon at best – I only mention it at all because the essence of it is consistent with the previous established dynamic and with how it keeps going. They care, and it’s absolutely ridiculous to pretend they don’t, but Michael’s ultimate importance outside the (again, very extant) sentimental aspect is as a prop in the game of house these morons are playing because they are so so so afraid of losing everything – in Tubbo's case, of losing everything again, and in Ranboo's case, of failing to be there for Tubbo and prevent whatever Tubbo does.

Including with the nukes! I didn’t forget about the nuke scene! We’re talking about the nuke scene!!

For those who do not remember the nuke scene, a summary: it takes place shortly after the silo’s inception, before the marriage. Tubbo, obviously jumpy and nervous, asks a visiting Ranboo out of the blue if he wants to see smth secret, and says he’ll just stress Ranboo out to make him forget it afterward. Ranboo, to this offer, says no, he would rather not be intentionally triggered into situational memory loss. This was, however, not an actual offer, as Tubbo ignores him and leads him into the silo anyway.

Tubbo’s literal world destroying weapons bolster the stakes I’ve mentioned earlier that Ranboo perceives in this dynamic; Ranboo, trying to hang on to what could become an extremely dangerous complicating factor, goes to write it down and Tubbo tells him to put the book away. When Ranboo hesitates, Tubbo threatens him. Tubbo is counting on Ranboo’s memory loss here to be able to trust him, after all, as he has before and as he will again.

In fact, this is relevant in the literal next arc beeduo have relevance, which is outpost arc.

I've gone off abt Ranboo's ideology 40 million times and I'll go off abt it more; for Ranboo to function safely he needs an environment where he does not feel surveilled/scrutinized, where he is not subject to others' whims, and where he is not expected to be specifically and exclusively allegiant. See earlier discussion of his yes-man tendencies – he doesn’t want to be that way! These are character flaws and he knows it! But he must keep yes-manning for the sake of surviving in a society that will not give him the ability to breathe!! Ranboo is a mf anarchist for a reason he needs his agency!!!

And you will notice this is not raising green flags for his dynamic w/ Tubbo. Outside of the implicit coercion elements, Ranboo has actual positive motivations to align with Tubbo: he shares Tubbo's desire for peace and stability, and he feels genuinely sentimental and affectionate to Tubbo. Both of them want the same things, because wanting to have a peaceful happy life is a generally appealing goal, and they want to have it together, because they’re friends and care about each other. Unfortunately, they have a radically different understanding of most everything about how to get there, including in regards to personhood. Including what it means to value someone. What it means to be happy. What it means to love someone.

Ranboo does not want to confront this, but outpost-burger arc beeduo is where this conflict makes him. This is the arc where it is made absolutely unambiguous that Ranboo and Tubbo have a dynamic where neither can love the other like the other loves him, because they have fundamentally philosophically different understandings of what that even means. "Maybe he built those walls to protect me" KILLING ME WOULD HURT LESS, RANBOOLIVE

(While we are here, and I am getting a glass of water to calm down, re: the love point: the romanticity, platonicity, queerplatonicity, etc. of it is not the relevant part the point is that it's philosophically in com fucking patible. Are we clear. Are we clear this is not relevant discourse. Good. Okay)

Ranboo is suffering increasing confusion and confabulation and stress as the arc goes on, almost certainly bc he is again in a political situation; he makes explicit that this is another instance of it "happening again", like he did at the worst parts of his spirals irt his situation in New L’Manberg. Tubbo is not the only factor in this; Ranboo has complicated dynamics w/ Quackity and the cookieduo (Ranboo and Slime) arc is also relevant, but Tubbo is Ranboo's first priority and Ranboo is putting his brain thru the blender for him! We do not see him in a comparable consistent state like this at any point except New L’Manberg! Ranboo is fucked up in outpost arc!! And Tubbo obviously is too; the entire arc is about his lash-out and he is obviously paranoid doing it. And both of these only make it clear that the unbalanced expectations the whole dynamic was built on, of reliance on Ranboo as specially in Tubbo’s corner, are still fucking there

Ranboo’s behavior is extremely worth scrutinizing here. When Q sends Fundy and I am pretty sure Foolish? to go check out the outpost and they trash it on the way there, Ranboo cleans it up (and leaves threats, which is not a Hinged Action and is something he knows is self-compromising, which goes to show his state of mind) w/ the explicit motivation of keeping it from Tubbo. Ranboo talks to Quackity abt Tubbo and repeatedly makes excuses abt how Tubbo is neurodivergent and a minor, and sure, it says the same thing about itself, but then it continues saying similar shit to rationalize Tubbo's behavior on its own. Ranboo has very expressed interest in portraying Tubbo, both to any audience it has AND to itself, as someone who is not responsible for his actions, because he’s Going Through A Lot, and it has been doing that since the mention of the experiments/tower scene in character.

Tubbo has to cling to the idea that Ranboo's treasonous tendencies are tied to his memory loss. Ranboo has to cling to the idea that Tubbo’s erratic and violent behavior all doesn't really matter bc Tubbo is ~ twaumatized ~, because he “has a lot of problems,” and they both have to cling to their ableist copium, because if they don’t, then each has to admit that his husband would hurt him, and in fact has.

Outpost arc is also where we get "you'd tell me if I was a bad person right" "yeah I’d tell you if you step out of line" – I talk about it in connection to the things I’ve discussed earlier more in depth here, but further: it’s extra chilling when you consider 1) Ranboo does not genuinely concur with Tubbo's philosophies, is not kept safe by them and he knows that when in his right state of mind as evidenced by his active ever-present weaseling-out-of-this maneuvers; 2) that Ranboo is demonstrably extremely good at aforesaid weaseling; and 3) that he is extremely ideologically critical and fiercely independent and arrogant, all the time! And this is the evidence point for what I say in the tags of that ask: Tubbo is the closest on the server to come to ever having control over Ranboo ideologically

Ranboo is so good at 5D chess. Ranboo outmaneuvered Wilbur and Quackity and Dream. Ranboo, increasingly freely, is able to disagree and bring up concerns to Phil and Techno (not fully obv but more than everyone else he talks to lmao), whom broadly he agrees with and has seen the benefit of the philosophies of, but still doesn’t think are Fully Correct, because he doesn’t think that about anyone but himself. But with Tubbo, Ranboo conceded so much that he could have lost the game if Tubbo hadn't proceeded to fold during the burger arc. And Tubbo didn't even know! He didn't even realize anything was off!!

That fold is the next relevant point in this torrid saga. Tubbo reaches a breaking pt with Wilbur's return; Ranboo gets even more visibly freaked out at all times bc of the complicating situation; it’s here when we get the conversation where Tubbo talks abt the outpost and having signed it over.

This hits Ranboo in a way Tubbo is going to miss, because, again, when has anyone on the DSMP given Tubbo a precedent for caring about that? He has literally 0 example reason to consider all the work™ that any individual put into a project as far as he’s concerned that’s not going to work. Ranboo, unfortunately, not only does, but also has RSD. This already hurts. And then Tubbo makes the to-him extremely innocuous statement that yeah, now that he has a job and a faction and a direction that he isn't buckling under the weight of losing, he's finally happy

Ranboo, who is extremely dubious abt LNV's labor conditions anyway, fully hears that Tubbo never needed him. Tubbo is finally happy in service to the exact construct that Ranboo has repeated concrete evidence fucks himself and everyone around him, Tubbo included, up. Ranboo hears that he has been soundly cucked by the concept of sides, to put it a little facetiously. He has been checkmate liberals’d.

(This, understandably, does nothing for his mental state.)

And before I continue I must mention again: Ranboo and Tubbo do care about each other. They do legitimately want the best for each other. They have legitimately bonded, and are genuine friends (&c).

But you also have to remember that Ranboo is extremely calculating, and if you’ll also recall, he is still in a high stakes and high delicacy political situation where he has to be making a lot of those calculations. Now, he's just heard that he was never needed for one of his primary goals. Yes, this hurts, but it carries an important second significance to those calculations: if keeping Tubbo stable was never Ranboo’s doing, this is a reason to deprioritize it.

And that is how we go into Hitting on Sixteen/The Wilbur Van. That is why Ranboo is able to snap at Tubbo in Ho16/TWV. The sheer contrast between the "I'll tell you if you step out of line" agreement and Ranboo dismissing and yelling at Tubbo in this is the biggest and clearest indicator – and the deciding difference is that in Ho16, Ranboo has the goddamn burger van interaction in his information bank, the one where Ranboo was told that his concerns were useless and could be deprioritized. He has been functionally dismissed from his post – he no longer has to worry about appearing good and trustworthy and respectful to Tubbo, and with greater things hanging over his head than maintaining those appearances, he goes full mask off. He prioritizes mitigating Wilbur over mitigating Tubbo in that scene, and he feels bad about it bc he likes Tubbo, and he feels bad for yelling at him, especially considering he is lying – dismissal of everyone who isn’t himself aside, Ranboo knows just fine that Wilbur is dangerous and doing something harmful! He is lying!!

But that's the thing with Ranboo. Ranboo will lie to fucking anyone. It will lie to your motherfucking face with full confidence, and then it'll feel soooo bad about it later, it'll tear him up inside, and you will hear about none of it, and he'd do it again, because it'll be another calculated concession. Because Ranboo is a yes man and a survivor and a political agenda haver and is balancing like 478363 conflicting priorities at any given time because he has to

So it lies. It mansplains Wilbur Soot to Tubbo (and I do not use that word as a joke I use it as shorthand) and it lies and it can do this so immediately because it did not have to lose or shake a long-standing respect for Tubbo – at that point, its initial wisps of respect for Tubbo had been disintegrated and gone for months. He was never trustworthy to Tubbo – Tubbo put his trust and his reliance in a liar and a traitor, because Ranboo's lies were the only semblance of respect and understanding he got, and it was against what both of them wanted for Tubbo to realize that ever. Tubbo is married to a motherfucking stranger.

Tubbo appeals to a better person that Ranboo isn't, to a loyalty Ranboo never really had, and bc Ranboo doesn't have to pretend to respect him anymore Tubbo gets berated and condescended to, again. Like I cannot emphasize this shit enough! Ranboo was shit to Tubbo in that scene, and even if he had sacrificed himself for Tubbo, it wouldn’t have done fuck anything to address how awful he was in that moment and why it was so deeply such. And Ranboo didn’t even “sacrifice himself”! People made that up!

Yes, Ranboo's political motivation was in large part that Tubbo, someone he cared about, was being repeatedly endangered and used as a prop from where Ranboo was standing, and Ranboo found that kind of mistreatment of a person he cared for the wellbeing of untenable. He cared about that, genuinely, because he cares about people and about their individual safeties, and even when he hurts them it’s, again, a concession. It’s something he wants to avoid. So Tubbo is in danger and Ranboo acts in the capacity of his care for Tubbo and gets Tubbo out, makes sure that materially his loved one is safe – and then, having dealt with the danger to people, turns around and deals with ideology.

It's not for Tubbo that it kills itself, because Ranboo, again, cares about people. Ranboo killing himself did nothing for Tubbo, and it fucking knows that; Ranboo’s critical eye is extremely good at seeing past the notion that benefit to some ideology is necessarily the same as benefit to some person without being able to draw a clear line to the effects that ideology has on that person. The division between effect on people and effect on system – the concept that the ideologies one live under affect people rather than breathe as them, and that they thus have to justify that effect being good rather than having symbolic gestures take priority over individuals – is the whole motherfucking point of people not sides.

Ranboo killed himself as a symbolic gesture in service to a rhetorical point he was making to Wilbur and Quackity. Ranboo killed himself to win at 5D chess. Ranboo thoughtlessly made it so his husband watched him die, because after saving Tubbo, he had bigger things to worry about.

Ranboo killing himself is, extremely intentionally both in universe and out, evocative of Wilbur doing so because in a sense it was for Wilbur, and it was thought out. Ranboo’s suicide was not nonsensical revenge; it was not emotional protectiveness; it was the callous, cruel, condescending, twisted logic of a man who has shown this flaw in its ways of thinking again and again and whose lack of sleep the night before was specifically emphasized. Ranboo reaches drastic action and violence when he finds himself when he finds himself desperate and alone in the corner he’s backed into, and left with his own mind and only his own mind, he thinks himself into the deranged awfulness of the brainspace he was in when he made the decision. Though the choice itself was likely spontaneous, it was a culminating manifestation of a thought process that had been building for this kind of opportunity the whole time.

Yes, Ranboo is emotional; yes, Ranboo is sentimental; Ranboo does, however, think with his fucking head. He does it too much, in fact, and here he thought with his head into deprioritizing Tubbo, and functionally leaving Tubbo behind while he pursued his own agenda – which is really what he had been doing all a-fucking-long; he'd just been lying about it out of worry and fear, and Tubbo had believed him out of desperation.

The love was there, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the need, and the desperate belief from both of them that the other could fulfill that need.

TL;DR: - Beeduo is based on a fundamentally imbalanced dynamic where Tubbo trusts Ranboo to be in his corner in a way no one else really is - This is bad because of the expectations it places on Ranboo and because of the way that it’s not something that Tubbo can actually rely on - The second Ranboo was no longer coercively held to pretending, everything fell through - Both of them clung for the longest time to ableist copium that dismissed the other’s capability to harm him to get away from the fact that they have already hurt each other and continue to - While they care about each other, their understandings of personhood, love, relationships, agency, and happiness are fundamentally at odds

TL;DRTL;DR: Ranboo is a liar and Tubbo is an auth

#Dream SMP #Tubbo #Ranboo #beeduo #c!beeduo critical #c!Ranboo critical #c!Tubbo critical #you are not immune #for the approval of the forum #FINALLY. FINALLY AFTER ALL THIS TIME #SEVENTEEN MONTHS. 4.1K WORDS.

681 notes · View notes

thesherrinfordfacility · 9 months

Text

it's high time that i redid the ✨masterpost✨ of all the shit floating around this blog where i say anything arguably insightful, existential/philosophical, or even just teetering on the cusp of being vaguely intelligent, so voila here you go and fucking enjoy:

worth having a looksie through this: longwinded anon (LWA)✨ masterpost

and then because i am actually so proud of these i did video edits to lewis capaldi (he's my hozier fight me) and im sorry but my beat matching is insane, godlike even:

season 2 (forget me)

season 1 (heavenly kind of state of mind)

also:

did i get emotional over crowley's fall and having to leave behind his creations and aziraphale's various conflicts in faith? you're goddamn right i did (credit to hillywood for the fall scenes that sent me into a frenzy)

stuff that is potentially relevant to s3 or is essentially my safe space to shit on these two incompetent-ass characters for being the most ridiculous beings god ever conceived:

(be warned, all of these will conflict each other bc im a loose cannon, a wildcard, and can't settle on a single thing)

(no seriously my opinion changes over time so interpretations that i once held might no longer be the interpretation that i have now, ya feel me)

you wanted a s3 plot prediction, right?

aziraphale brought an ak-47 to a fist fight and ohooo boy did it have Consequences

god i really ought to work out a tagging system in here, huh - this is my ramble on what i think could have happened during the fall

just a small one on the 1967 scene and the holy water thing (tw: suicide)

crowley found the book of life and tbh it was very james bond of him

saraqael rapidly slotting into my top 5 GO characters based on a singular hc wahoo

fuckin ✨1941✨ (this also upsets ALL of my interpretations of the Final Fifteen which... well what can u do)

a fucking rug just put shivers down my spine

more on raphael/azazel/scapegoat/fall theory, glorious smart anons are feeding me yummy soup

perhaps a more comprehensive rambling on omelas, scapegoats, and Those Promo Photos

an updated maggie rambling why not, she's still giving me a headache (and this ask neatly summarises some stuff too!)

my boy crowley really doesn't like change, does he wee baby (may develop this into a full meta who knows)

you know i think heaven might just be the bad place, i know - shocker

god i hope i was possessed by agnes nutter when i wrote this

a gifset format bc i cba to write, but aziraphale might have been, or might become, raphael

ive lied like a rug in previous theory posts: THIS one, this time travel clusterfuck, is the bottom of the barrel

spent hours studying michael sheens face in utter disbelief that he is capable of portraying every emotion known to man, and wrote about it (ie my take on the kiss)

i think goob might have been more important in the mega miracle than we initially thought (and no - not in the way you're currently thinking)

aziraphale and suffering are pretty well acquainted with each other (warning: i absolutely HATE this meta it's so bad)

um i guess you could term this as god is dead theory? nietzsche strikes again anyway

we REALLY hit rock bottom in the theory stakes with this one, lads (it's about whether crowley does in fact fully remember the fall)

(REWORKED) greasy johnson is the second coming. that's it. that's the post.

finally wrote about the book of life well done me

crowley was offered the same chance as aziraphale, im fairly sure, and as far as ive seen noone noticed??

the motif of lies in job made me come over all poetic

relativity is NOT my milieu especially in GO but giving it my best shot

hahaha is everything aziraphale's fault hahahaha

fuckinnnn BOOOOOOKKKSSSSS

EVERY DETAIL MATTERS? YEAH I SHOULD FUCKING THINK SO (and im still keeping this on here bc if im right in s3 im never going to shut up)

job is crowley and crowley is job except job didn't get sent to sit on the naughty step

never thought id see the day where i analyse richard curtis' 4WAAF but this show has got me whipped, jumping through hoops and over stalls like a fucking show pony

i have the dreadful feeling that we might have been fools by sleeping on aziraphale's own angelic importance all this time

did the costume department just simply go ham in s2 or are the angel costumes Important?

more on outfits

ruminations on the fall, morality and omniscience vs. free will, and making choices as if i have any idea what im talking about

okay this one is a little shitpost-y but the message is sound and im an un-apologetic aziraphale supporter, sue me

a sprinkle of s2 symbology, a dash of ineffable plan speculation, and laure girlbossing on how the two go together mwah

this was sooooo tasty i love talking about nietzsche

honestly this one doesn't even have a theme i just like talking to people

okay so this is the genesis of my aziraphale defence league (population: like 15% of the fandom) but i will not stop until he gets the recognition and empathy he mf deserves

Cancel Metatron 2k23

this was pre-s2 but the concept still stands: something feels icky about crowley's fall narrative and the book of life is ringing alarm bells

the concept of pedestals is one of my juicy favourites in psychology and you will find out just how much if you stick around this blog long enough (aziraphale's critique)

and lastly crowley's narrative of his fall? hm, big issue there and honestly the root of all Crowley discourse on this blog, be duly warned

old stuff if you fancy having a giggle at my expense

come chat to me about things

#good omens #no need to interact if you dont want to but feel free to like #this is honestly so i don't have to scroll through my blog shitpit to find old theoties etc #toodles✨

38 notes · View notes

heartbrake-hotel · 1 year

Note

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

16 notes · View notes

fbfh · 2 years

Note

what are your height hcs for the hoo boys??

THANK YOU FOR ASKING ANON BC I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ON THIS!!!!!!!

First of all, it's established early on that "demigods are usually tall" which makes reasonable sense and I think it's safe to assume they're not ALWAYS tall yk. but I also would like address the whole gods don't have genetics thing real quick:

most of the demigods we've seen look a lot like their biological mortal parent, and since gods don't have genetics, its safe to assume they're just a genetic shuffle of their mortal bio parent (I'm sure I'm not the only one who's wondered if that would make them a genetic clone of their mortal parent but I think it would be more like genetic siblings, the same genes just mixed up a little) that also means there's room for recessive genes or stuff that skipped a generation on the mortal parents side. Not directly relevant but my thoughts adjacent to the topic at hand.

Also while I'm sort of on the topic, we all know hair color (specifically blonde, brunette, red, and black hair) is a state of being and not what hair you're given at birth. I could never bleach my hair again and I'd still be blonde yk. That being said most children of athena are ABSOLUTELY bottle blonde, and whenever someone new shows up that's not already blonde they're like "hey do you wanna dye your hair"

"...yes"

"you've wanted to for years right"

"...yes" new child of Athena has never felt more at home.

Actual answer to your question

Percy - 6'1, looks and acts like it too. Sally's family are average/tall ish so its not unreasonable, Sally is the shortest in her family at 5'4 (and Paul is around 5'9 if you were wondering)

Annabeth - 5'5.5 but says she's 5'6. Percy is the only one who knows and will not correct her ever. Her dad was 5'8 or so the last time he measured but he hasn't checked since before college and always forgets to check, kind of doesn't care that much. Her stepmother is 5'2 and she feels a little weird about being taller than her.

Grover - 5'6 - 5'8 depending on how stretched his legs are, a little bend at the hoof is comfier yk

Juniper - 5'6, the exact same height as her bush, her favorite trait about herself

Jason - 6'0 exactly, mans is already perfect and when people find out hes exactly 6' they get even more pissed. He looks exactly 6' too.

Thalia - was 5'4 now 5'5, seems taller. Big scary dog privelages. Gained an inch somehow after the tree incident. Freaked out /pos when she came to and saw lil Annabeth is now slightly taller than her. Annabeth feels weird about that too.

Piper - 5'7 with long ass legs. Has been BEGGED to model by so many agencies because she's physically incapable of taking a bad picture and looks gorgeous in everything (thanks aphrodite). Always refuses and has made it her mission to find the ugliest aesthetics but they always become microtrends because she's an involuntary nepotism baby. Her dad is 5'11 but his publicist will sue if you say he's shorter than 6'0.

Leo - 5'7 during the books, 5'9 by the time he graduates MIT. The perfect height for hugs and cuddles but I might be a little biased. His mom's 5'4.5, says she's 5'4.

Nico - 5'10, cried when he was 13 and realized he was taller than Bianca. Lowkey wishes he was shorter than Will so he could be the little spoon easier. Will does not give a fuck.

Bianca - 5'2, would have been 5'3. Their mom was 5'3 too.

Will - 5'8.5, when asked Nico interjects that he's "doctor height". Doctor height has become code for 5'8.5 specifically

Hazel - 5'2, doesn't know why Nico likes resting his head on her shoulder but she doesn't mind. Thinks it's just the bees knees when Frank picks her up and spins her around or gives her piggy back rides. She doesn't quite remember how tall her mom was, but she was around 5'4.

Frank - 5'7 pre blessing, 6'0.5 post blessing, 6'3 by the time he's done growing. Beefy build too. Definitely didn't know how to process the fact that he's taller than THE Jason Grace. His mom was 5'3 and his grandma was 5'1. Says he's 5'10 to mess with assholes who claim to be 6'.

Rachel - 5'3, The only person Annabeth likes being taller than.

Reyna - 5'4, memorized that she was 7 inches shorter than Jason when they worked together. Either he grew or she did, but she feels a little weird about it now.

C*lypso - asshole height. Jk little bitch height. Jk heinous shitlord height. Jk 5'7.5, made fun of Leo for being "short" when he was on Ogygia. She's gonna be half that height after I steal her kneecaps.

#heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus headcanon #heroes of olympus headcanons #lmk if i forgot anyone #LeO iS sHoRt says jason at easily 6 feet #also thanks rick riordan but ive got it from here

47 notes · View notes

omegalomania · 2 years

Note

hi!! just saw your post abt brendon and all the shit p!atd has covered up and i honestly feel so sick :// i have a question tho bc as much as i hate them now and wanna distance from them, i genuinely love some of their music but also i cant listen to it w/o being sick but i wanna enjoy the music solely yknow? dyou know how i could do that lol bc im gonna be sad if i can never listen to their songs the same way again

i cant say im an expert on any of this and it's hard because im of two minds. on one hand, yes, i love the idea of death of the author and reclaiming a work from a shitty person. on the other hand...i dont like the idea of continuing to validate that shitty persons work and maintain that persons relevance in the public eye, especially if it means that they get to coast off of that relevance and dodge consequences for their shit actions!

what muddies the issues so much with panic is that despite how much the marketing has pushed this idea...panic really isn't and never has been solely the brendon urie show. the band was started between two childhood friends (ryan ross and spencer smith). the band managed to exist because the original bassist, brent wilson, happened to know brendon urie and thought he could sing. the band got a record deal because ryan ross bothered pete wentz on livejournal enough times. panic at the disco got a career because pete wentz decided to take a chance on these kids from vegas and create an entire label to sign them. a fever you can't sweat out exists because of ryan ross and spencer smith as much as it does because of brendon urie. pretty odd exists because of jon walker and ryan ross and spencer smith as much as it does because of brendon urie. vices & virtues exists because of spencer smith and pete wentz and dallon weekes as much as it does because of brendon urie. too weird to live, too rare to die exists because of spencer smith and dallon weekes as much as it does because of brendon urie. death of a bachelor exists because of lolo as much as it does because of brendon urie. pray for the wicked exists because of brendon's 43 writers (yes, really, i counted, it has that many credited lmao) as much as it does because of the guy himself. all these records exist because of the producers and engineers that worked on them just as much as they do because of brendon urie, if not more so.

i don't want to downplay how many other hands have been involved in the machine of panic. brendon is not and never has been its sole engineer, no matter how much he's billed as the central creative mind. and i don't want to erase or dismiss how many other people contributed to that art because the one guy who owns the title now happens to be a garbage person, particularly since brendon didn't start the band to begin with! for however shit he was treated in the band, dallon has stated that he's still proud of a lot of the instrumentation and lyricism he put on too weird, and i want to still recognize a lot of that record as something i can admire.

for my part, i've still got a few panic albums on my ipod. i didn't...actually buy them because i was a broke college student when i got my hands on them lol so i didn't actually ever give the guy my money. and it's hard to listen to them now for the most part. i don't stream panic stuff, i don't give it views. if i listen to the older stuff, i do it on my own time and as isolated from statistics as possible. i don't support brendon voluntarily in any way and the only times i discuss him is to dunk on him mercilessly because he deserves it lol

i wish i had a better answer for you that could give you peace of mind, anon. the sad fact is that it's not a simple issue because the simplest part of the issue - that brendon urie is a sack of shit - is frustrated by the fact that he took ownership of a band that was never really his to begin with, and performs songs that he never actually wrote drawing from situations he never personally lived.

#askin hours #anon #...ask to tag i guess?#i dont have as much nostalgia for panic as a lot of people do so its pretty easy for me to step away in that regard #but i know for a lot of people its kind of gutting and im not unysmpathetic to that

17 notes · View notes

shrunkupthejams · 1 year

Text

hello tumblr, good timezone! a little life update (which was written at 2am? and gets very rambly and long but *shrugs* i tried to break up the walls of text a bit):

1. did i disappear? yes. will i elaborate on that? not really, i don't feel like it. but i will say that once you take a break from social media it is really hard to go back. it's very freeing, and that made me worried about how tumblr would take over the little free time i have if i came back. also hyperfixations are a lot harder to not hyperfixate on when i frequently spend time on here. overall, idk how long i was gone for, but it was a very good, much needed break that was probably great for my brain.

2. idk if i'm back back yet. we shall see. again productivity is doing much better without any tumblr in my system, as much as i do love spending time here.

3. i have read some very inspiring fics lately and am having many writing thoughts! which is great bc i really fell into a slump that i haven't been able to get out of this year like... back in may, or whatever. unfortunately, i have no time between catching up on missing school work from being sick, my job, and fucking moving. so.

4. not very tumblr relevant, but oh my god im fucking moving. again. story of my life basically. it's. fine. just happened really fast and it's weird to process. im officially in moving limbo for the next two weeks. and that sucks. but it's ultimately good for my system, i think, because i was getting restless waiting for the usual regularly scheduled "big change" in my life, and that quota is now being filled and it's relieving.

5. dear lord i don't even want to look in my notifications.. if anyone tagged me in stuff while i was out... im so sorry but it's likely lost in the pile. avoiding my problems on social media is like my specialty, and my notes is currently one of those problems.

6. (if you see me unfollow a bunch of stranger things blogs (hello, i know some of those are mutuals), im sorry but i clogged my dash with st blogs so bad and i cannot afford slipping into that hyperfixation rn. i can't do that to myself. it's not personal or anything. so um. don't mind me haha.. i should really consider the state of my dash before i follow... but alas, i do not. one of the main reasons i typically avoid the hellscape that is instagram! oh and tbh, i knew it was time to come back to this hellsite when i started casually wasting like. an actual amount of time on instagram semi-regularly. that's when yk it's time to go like fuck i do not want to be in a place where i am wasting time on instagram of all places. wasting time on tumblr is at least tasteful. sorry artists of instagram ily but i simply cannot.)

7. ahaha watch me avoid my sideblogs after this (not that's incredibly relevant). i can only involve myself in social media so much rn...

8. more irl news: after, at least of 2022 and then some of saying i need therapy, i'm finally getting therapy! first appointment booked for this wednesday babey :) thank GOD. definitely needed this after discovering that apparently you can have grandfather issues, as if my current parental issues weren't enough.

9. another irrelevant irl update: i got my license! fucking finally! idk if i ever complained about that on here but YEAH. it feels like so much has changed since i was last active on tumblr..

10. as a final bit of news, since this got fucking long im so sorry, im trying out the name kurtis now. seeing how that fits :)

and um yeah that's how my life is going rn. ill try not to go off in the tags about anything, considering the length of this post. sure makes that relatively new dashboard post shortening feature come in handy tho! haha..

6 notes · View notes

light4jesusblog · 6 months

Text

Bible Study | 1 John 4:1–6 | Do Not Believe Every Spirit, but Test The Spirits

In the modern church, where false teachings abound, it is imperative that Believers discern truth from deception. The Bible provides us with guidance on this matter, and one such passage that addresses this is found in 1 John 4:1–6. In this post, we’ll delve into this scripture to understand the importance of testing the spirits and staying rooted in God’s Word.

Beware of Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing

Even before the 1st Century BC church was founded, Jesus warned His followers to be cautious of false prophets, whom He likened to wolves in sheep’s clothing. This warning reverberates throughout the New Testament, emphasizing the significance of this message.

In Matthew 7:15, Jesus explicitly states, “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.” This vivid imagery serves as a strong cautionary note.

Neglecting the Warnings

What’s even more alarming is how often we encounter individuals who identify as Christians but seem to disregard these warnings. It’s as if they’ve omitted this vital teaching from their study of the Bible. The frequent mentions of false teachers, prophets, and apostles underscore the gravity of the problem we face.

1 Peter 5:8 reminds us to be sober and vigilant, recognizing the presence of an adversary who seeks to devour. Ignoring these warnings can have dire consequences, as we witness the emergence of false churches even now in the 21st century.

The Role of Biblical Literacy

A significant factor contributing to the rise of false teachings is the biblical illiteracy among many professing Christians. This issue is especially problematic because Jesus Himself is the Word. He instructed us to worship God in Spirit and in truth, which is only possible with a solid foundation in God’s Word.

John 4:24 asserts, “God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.”

Reflecting on the churches in Galatians, we see the consequences of disobeying the truth by following false teachings. This validates the apostle Peter’s instruction to be sober and alert. We are accountable for avoiding the clutches of wolves, and God has provided ample guidance in His Word for this purpose.

Staying Firm on the Rock

Matthew 7:24–25 illustrates the importance of a solid foundation in Christ’s teachings: “Therefore whoever hears these sayings of Mine, and does them, I will liken him to a wise man who built his house on the rock.” Our faith must be firmly rooted in Jesus’ teachings to withstand the storms of deception.

The Remedy: The Truth and The Light

Jesus offers us a remedy for avoiding deception — the truth. In John 8:12, He declares, “I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.” This isn’t merely a comforting verse to display on some wall art; it is the key to avoiding ensnarement. Jesus, as the Word, illuminates our path.

Psalm 119:105 NKJV — Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.

Following the Leading of the Holy Spirit

Moreover, God has given us the Holy Spirit, the Helper, who guides us into all truth. When we encounter situations where deception lurks, the Holy Spirit brings relevant scriptures to our minds. John 14:26 assures us of this Helper’s role.

John 14:26 NKJV — But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all things that I said to you.

Listening to the Shepherd’s Voice

In John 10:4–5, Jesus emphasizes that His sheep know His voice and do not listen to strangers. The Holy Spirit helps us discern the voice of the Good Shepherd, leading us away from false teachings. We have the assurance of His guidance and protection.

John 10:4–5 NKJV — And when he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them; and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. 5 Yet they will by no means follow a stranger, but will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.”

Testing Every Spirit

We are instructed to test every spirit and to hold fast to the truth of God’s Word. To abide in Jesus means to abide in His Word and follow Him. As Matthew 7:16–20 reminds us, we can discern false teachings by examining their fruit, and this can only be done by comparing their teachings and works to what is prescribed and described in the Word of God.

Hebrews 4:12 NKJV — “For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”

The word of God is the sword of the Spirit which is a part of the armour of God. So when the Word dwells richly in you, you can rightly divide the Word of Truth and discern the Spirit of Truth from the spirit of error. It is as simple as that.

In conclusion, in a world filled with all kinds of false spiritual influences, let us be vigilant, discerning, and deeply rooted in God’s Word, guided by the Holy Spirit, and always listening for the voice of the Good Shepherd.

#bible #christian blog #christian faith #faith in jesus #share the gospel #christianity #jesus #bible study #devotional

0 notes

controversialstateofme · 2 years

Text

Alright this post is probably going to be disgusting or a bother to some of you. I’m putting it under the cut and giving a content warning for blood and menstruation. Sensitive topics , mentioning of abortion with the current state of Roe V Wade and the future.

TOPIC: States Banning or thinking of banning Contraceptive/Birth Control

I hate the Idea and it’s stupid and nothing but controlling an another personal damn attack against women. Not only do we have a limited supply of BC for men, but majority of the blame, shame, and responsibility falls on women. She’s gotta protect herself. She’s gotta keep her legs closed and be/dress modest. She’s gotta watch who she sleeps with. She’s gotta make sure she takes her BC right. She she she she…and it’s appalling.

But here’s the thing, whether you agree or believe in abortion or not: removing one of the only aspects women can take to control being pregnant at all—is appalling. Especially since BC isn’t just used for preventing pregnancy.

I am a HEAVY bleeder. Take a look below what my flow looks like.

These pictures first sets of pictures was from my first tampon change this morning on day two of my period. I had a SUPER PLUS JUMBO TAMPON For about 2 hours, and this was the result. The toilet is WITH IT STILL IN. After two hours, just sitting on the toilet produced what looks like, a murder massacre in my toilet. You can also see the pad I have soaked through as well.

This picture here is what the tampon looked like after 2 hours. It’s soaked to the brim, and even has some clotting on it. The pictures below is the next two hour, super jumbo plus tampon. Once again, it’s staining through my underwear, filling a pad, and saturating the public toilet red. My hands after wiping and removing said tampon to replace with another is covered in blood, can’t wipe enough without more blood streaming through.

Now I bet you’re wondering why the hell is this bloody, gory mess relevant? I recently, to attempt to have another child, removed my birth control. It’s called an IUD. I haven’t had one for about 6 months. When I did have one, you know how much I bled? Probably a quarter sized drop two days every month. It significantly reduced this bloody mess that I am when I am not on BC.

Now don’t try to tell me it’s because BC changes my menstrual flow and it can be fuller after. Because it used to be worse than this before I got on BC. Since I’ve had my period, I’ve ALWAYS had a severely heavy flow. I used to wear diapers, 3x super plus overnight pads in the day time, and still, with my puffy diaper butt would leak through in an hour. I once wore a boys sweater the day I got my period and everyone was laughing and Snickering. The boy who lent me the sweater came over to me and said, quite nicely, “ you can keep the sweater”, and pointed to the back. It was SOAKED in blood. The brightest red you could ever see.

I was humiliated. The boy was very kind, told me to wash it if I wanted to and that he didn’t mind. He got that girls get their periods, despite me being the torture of peoples words for weeks over that. Bloody Mary…ugh.

Alongside that—I was extremely anemic from all the blood loss. No matter what I did to fix the issue, and doctors if seen—I was told the same. It’s normal. It won’t go away. You’re fine. There aren’t any cysts. Take iron supplements that give you chronic constipation and develop bad hemorrhoids. The works.

Until I had birth control. IDGAF how you feel about abortion, but stay the fuck out of womens helathcare!!!! If we ban contraceptives—we’re putting me and people like me, at risk. Stop limited what women can do when it surrounds their hormones and reproductive systems!! Why is birth control your next damn target??? Everything is subjugating us to nonsense, and it’s damn well a power move.

But stay out of birth control! Hell, stay away from health care period unless you’re expanding it to cover more! But fucks sakes, stay out of it!!!

#birth control #menstrual #menstraution tw #female reproductive system #female reproductive health #tw periods #heavy flow #just ranting #rant post

0 notes

helpimstuckinthewashingmachine · 2 years

Text

Needed to rant, pls ignore

Life is stressing me out lmao. I feel sick. I feel empty. I feel overwhelmed and numb at the same time ... like idk. I didn't study today I just had fun with my friends but now why do I feel so...... dead. I feel just sick with anxiety for no good reason. Its probably a mix of things... I don't want to list them all bc it'll just stress me out more. I feel like my sexuality has been distressing me a lot lately. I can't watch any vague inkling of a sex scene in anything any media even if it's relevant to the plot I just can't.. I genuinely get distressed and upset. Its as if its a trauma response but I was never even that traumatised. Like idk growing up ace I found sex incredibly uncomfortable and distressing and I think a lack of understanding of why I was distressed only made me more upset and I think that's just made the response I have to it now even worse. I just feel sick to my stomach and lost and confused like I go into a dissociative state and just try distract myself.... a lot of stuff is stressing me out. Exams, housing, friends. I need to work to pay my parents back for concert tickets. I can't believe that I'm in such a numb state that I cant even feel the thrill that I usually get when I think about the concert in July. Its been 3 years since my last concert, I saw monsta x, I can't wait to see cravity like their little brothers... it feels so apt. And every time j think about it I squeal out loud but now I'm just... numb and empty. It's like all my emotions have been shut off. Additionally... I usually watch ship videos edits etc and I get a thrill of joy when I see my fave ships close and interacting but I just watched a few videos on one ship and .. I felt nothing inside. No emotions. I said "aww" and "thats so cute" out loud at their interactions but it felt.. forced? I just feel like my emotions have all been suppressed to stop me from getting upset and I'm waiting for them to turn back on. Will I be able to sleep tonight? I didn't do the washing up or change my sheets or clean the kitchen and we have a flat inspection tomorrow. I'm trying to stay positive, I'm going to do some exercises after I post this to cheer myself up. I'll write down all the things that are making me happy, I'll dance, I'll make art or write, I'll meditate. Anything I'm just. I just feel sick. The numbness is making me feel sick. Everything tastes bad and I want to go away. Why am I so different from everyone, so different from my family, yet exactly the same as them. It doesn't make any sense. This is all word salad I know but .. its a lot . There's a lot on my mind. Thank u to everyone who makes my life bright. U mean a lot to me

#rant #long post #ignore

0 notes

disfrutalaisla · 3 years

Text

#depression rambling again #this is a diary post basically bc im annoying like that #also possibly update ?? on yesterday ??#so i did in fact have some depression breakdowns today but only actually cried once #had some really shitty family reactions to my mental state #essentially my mental health isnt relevant or important to anyone else unless im going to attempt something #so i guess i will just continue to suffer #as much as i wanna unalive im actually terrified of the possibilities so im like...there but im not going to do it #so basically no one thinks its important to worry about bc i wont go through eith it and if i dont then it doesnt affect them at all #theres a lot i could say about that but it would be a bit much so lets just drop it for now ig #so um other than my rock bottom mental health i appreciated the streams today they really helped keep my mind busy #and i hope tomorrow i feel ok enough to not need to keep busy

0 notes

kashimos-hajime · 2 years

Text

—𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒 | 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

summary: Viktor wants to follow what is known as “professional courtesy”. Too bad his eyes won’t.

WARNINGS: awkward flustered teenage viktor, meddling heimerdinger, set 6-7 years before the events of arcane, minor babbling pairing: viktor x fem!reader word count: 1.7k

a/n: hi im still alive anyway take this bc i love him and reader. maybe ill have more parts (probably? who knows.)

for relevant ages: viktor is 17-18 (act i viktor is 24-25 in my head), reader is 18, and mel is 19-20 as a newly elected councillor

posted on ao3 :)

part 2

Viktor had heard of the Lion of the Lanes long before he reached Topside. Leading a pride of the most talented mercs in their field, they never faltered in pursuit of a job. Whether it be for Pilties, or someone from the Undercity. Whoever paid the highest, they got it done.

Until they didn’t.

He had been just beginning his time at the Academy—four, five months in—when Heimerdinger had ordered him away for the day, and that rarely happened. Most of the time, it was because the Council had overtaken the scientist’s schedule, but by the worried frown hidden behind his bushy moustache, the redness rimming his blue eyes, and the way he kept mumbling to himself as he walked away, Viktor knew it wasn’t political affairs.

The Lion of the Lanes being caught was no laughing matter. Not even a jest, for the fight that broke out had killed eleven enforcers in the progress.

But… if the enforcers managed to cage that animal, it would be the sweetest revenge. The death penalty would be kinder compared to what they’d face in there. At least, that’s what Viktor’s line of thought was as the case was closed with a final stamp set in front of the Council.

Never, in his life, did he expect to wake up three weeks later to Heimerdinger requesting his assistance in a commission by the prison to construct new cells that could withstand powerful magic.

It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.

“Only two or three are needed for special cases. Prisoners with arcane talents are so rare in Piltover,” his mentor said thoughtfully. “Demacia’s petricite, now that is something of wonder. If we could ship in blocks of it to carve out our own cells like they have, that would be most efficient.“

At some point, Viktor tuned him out. He hadn’t meant to, but his own mind was running wild with the possibilities.

Arcane. Someone with real arcane talents was being held in Stillwater, and it was the Lion, of all people. No wonder their gang had grown so powerful. It’s a wonder they never tried to take over Piltover from the Undercity.

And if this mage could somehow be convinced—

His grip on his cane tightened. It was a foolish line of thought. Who knew what state of mind the prisoner would be in when—if—they visited to supervise the installation. And even if the mage agreed to help, who was Viktor to trust them?

He bit his lip and blinked, focusing on his work. The only way he would know was to go to Stillwater himself, and that was a very slim possibility. At present, all he had to grasp onto was what Heimerdinger was willing to unveil. The whole situation was already kept so tight under its wraps that he felt he was being suffocated, watched every second for even being aware that there was a mage present in Piltover at all.

There’s a gentle knock on the door before it’s pushed open upon Heimerdinger’s call.

Someone slipped into the lab, holding in her hands new files of the situation, and Viktor set down his notebook, curious eyes following the unknown figure cutting across the huge room to speak to Heimerdinger, voice low.

Stunning.

It was the only word his mind could make up when he caught a glimpse of your face.

You were stunning. Your expression was arranged into a determined, yet placid smile, and the crest of Clan Medarda was designed into the back of your uniform, your shoulder blades covered in a slight flowing drape of fabric cut into the shape of the councilwoman’s clan.

Viktor had fallen for about a hundred people since he arrived in Piltover, and while he was smart enough to know honeyed words when he heard them, he still couldn’t help himself. It was never more than surface level, nor did it ever go anywhere, but it seemed it was every week that his heart lurched and his mind was occupied with the face of a stranger.

Something about Piltover was sharp, and clean, and put-together, and beautiful.

This city was a mask of lies and political traps and progress, but he could not deny it. His eyes betrayed him every time he set his sights on someone more ethereal than anything.

When you met his lingering stare, he flinched, whirled around, and dug his nose into his book, but it was too late.

He had caught your attention. Worse, he had caught his mentor’s attention.

“Oh, that’s my assistant. Viktor—“

Maybe if he ignored Heimerdinger, the problem would go away. After all, this laboratory was big enough and the machinery was quite loud…

“Perhaps I should introduce you?”

Were those footsteps getting louder?

“I don’t think we should bother him. I must be going—“

“Oh, no. I insist. You’re also new to the Council, aren’t you? I recall Councillor Medarda briefly mentioning bringing more staff into her fold. It would be nice to find some friends, no, especially with the news?”

“Yes, Professor, but I must insist. Lady Medarda keeps a tight schedule.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed as he focused on looking at the measurements of the cells over and over again, not quite reading. The machinery got so loud all of a sudden. He lost track of where they were in the room. All he could hope for was the sound of the door opening and closing.

For the love of—this was mortifying. He was rarely caught staring because he had the common sense to not stare long enough to be caught.

There was a light tap on his shoulder, and he snapped his book shut, his entire body going rigid as he spun around, lips twisting into a scowl.

“What—” But his words faded quicker than he could salvage them.

You smelt like ink and lilies.

And you were beautiful. Beautiful in the way something inconceivably gentle could form in a storm of violence.

“Hello,” you began softly. He swallowed and gave a short nod. Your throat was draped with silver chains that clinked when your head cocked.

“Hello,” he said weakly. “Was there something you needed?”

Heimerdinger appeared by your legs. “Viktor, this is Councillor Medarda’s new member of the staff.”

Your grin shrunk. “That’s being generous. I’m just a volunteer at the moment, helping Elora with her paperwork. Ordinarily, I work as a financial adviser.” Extending a hand, you moved to introduce yourself, and when your name slipped out your mouth, he couldn’t tear his eyes off the way your lips moved when they formed it.

Bewitched.

He was bewitched.

Oh, this was very bad.

“Viktor,” he said, taking your hand weakly. You looked down before reaffirming their grip. A cuff shone along your wrist, amber tinged with a blue tint, and he fixed his stare on it to prevent himself from staring even more. There were intricate engravings on it—he wondered if they had some sort of meaning… “An honour to meet you, my lady.”

“It’s an honour to meet you, too.” He lifted his head to find you smiling at him. “I was just here to drop off some papers regarding the investigation. There’d been new reports from eye witnesses about more suspects who had fled the scene.”

“Ah.” You squeezed his hand and his fingers sprung apart, the heat in his face only intensifying. You clasped your hands in front of you, expectant, and Viktor didn’t know what to do any more than to turn back to grab his notebook, waving it around superficially. “Well, then, there is a lot more for all of us to do. This is a dire situation, is it not?”

You snorted to hide your laugh, your eyes squinting as you agreed. “I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you. Professor Heimerdinger.” You departed, leaving with a shallow dip of your head.

As soon as the door closed, Viktor let out a breath he hadn’t realized was stuck in his chest and he let his arms fall limp, his notebook smacking against his thighs.

Heimerdinger stepped up onto the electric stool beside Viktor, raising himself with a press of the button, and promptly smacked him up the back of his head.

Grabbing the back of his head, the young man turned to his mentor with a scandalized glare, mouth dropped open in protest but Heimerdinger merely shook his head.

“Do not do this to yourself, Viktor,” he chastised, plucking the notebook from his student’s hand and returning it to the table. “You know already that anyone who works closely for Councillor Medarda is more acclimated than the rest of us in that sort of political climate.”

Exasperated: “I know, I know. I was just looking.”

“You are always just looking,” Heimerdinger tutted, shaking his head and lowering himself to the ground. “You must get used to beautiful women.”

“I have,“ he objected petulantly.

“Then, you must get used to being in the presence of that beautiful woman. That won’t be the last time you see her. We’ll be working quite closely with her from now as a liasion.”

Viktor frowned at his tone. It was not a happy one. “And why is that?”

“Based on what our new friend has just told me, the Council wants to test Councillor Medarda to see if she’s up to snuff.” Shuffling back to his desk, his voice was not quite overwhelmed by the machines that dampened themselves when the Professor walked by. Reaching for the files dropped off, Heimerdinger flipped them open and, by the twitch of his moustache, his displeasure was growing by the minute.

A lump congealed in his throat. “How, sir?”

“Lady Medarda’s first major engagement as a Councillor of Piltover will be find, arrest, and try these accomplices in court, before securing their life imprisonment in Stillwater Hold. A ridiculously tall order for someone sworn in only two months ago, but when the vote occurred, I could tell. They wanted her to fail.”

“I’m sure the Council did what was right. They would not put innocent people in jeopardy,” came the reply as Viktor turned back to his notebook and flipped to his notes. He wasn’t exactly sure if he was telling the truth or not, but he couldn’t get that distracting smell out of his head.

Lilies. Where did lilies even grow in this part of the city besides cultivated greenhouses near the entertainment district?

Etching in a new note (-petricite (?)), he closed his leatherbound and straightened up, excusing himself for some fresh air and a trip to the library.

To be honest, the Council was the least of his concerns.

#fic: the lion of the lanes #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #arcane #viktor #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #viktor x you #arcane x reader #league of legends #viktor league of legends #lol its 4am here im just gonna pass out now

386 notes · View notes