#if the timeline with free to be you and me doesn't work. please just. ignore that

[creating--memories]

This is How it Went

Part 4: You can say we're nothing but you know the truth

Themes: Angst, fluff?

Warnings: light mentions of internalized homophobia, that's it I think?

Wc: 4k

Author's note: Hi friends, for those of you still awake I hope you enjoy part 4. Thank my job for literally not giving me anything to do today so I wrote most of this at work oops 🙈 Anyways um I kind have an idea where I want this to go but please send ideas if you have any. Also, please ignore that the timeline for this doesn't match real life. I know Azzi already announced her commitment before prom, but let's just pretend for the plots sake. Also ofc I didn't edit this so um ignore any typos.

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P 💗

1:26 AM

Azzi

Azzi

P 💗

1:45 AM

AZZI FUDD

1:46 AM

Az 💗

Paige.

What the fuck.

it’s 2 AM

P 💗

Actually its 1:46 AM

Az 💗

Ok well why are you texting me at 1:46 AM

P 💗

Well

1:47 AM now

but

I wanted to show you something

Az 💗

…

It can’t wait till the morning?

P 💗

technically it is the morning

and no, it can’t wait

Incoming Facetime Call from: P 💗 Buckets 🏀

Az 💗

Paige

It’s the middle of the night

you’re gonna wake my whole family up

P 💗

Azzi just answer the phone

I promise it’s important

Azzi groaned as she reluctantly pushed herself up to rest her back against the pillows on her headboard. At the end of her bed, Stewie stirred slightly from her movements letting out a small yawn, clearly disturbed from a deep slumber.

She reached down to give the dog a small pet on the head

“Sorry Stew” she whispered

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her either”

Stewie crawled slowly over to Azzi and settled into her lap, his eyes slowly drifting closed as he settled back into sleep.

“She’s lucky we both love her” she mumbled as she opened her phone to the Facetime app, finally returning her best friend’s call.

“fiiiiinally” said Paige as Azzi’s face filled the screen on her phone, her voice echoing against the walls.

“Hello to you too” responded the younger girl.

Azzi stared at Paige’s image through the phone, it was slightly pixelated (thanks Uconn Wi-Fi), and her hair was pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, a thin white headband holding back a few strands of hair that were escaping from her previously slicked back up-do. In the background the bright light of the gym shone down through the phone screen, blinding Azzi with the stark contrast from the dark room around her. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, and the familiar face of the blue-eyed girl, she found herself relaxing a bit, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

It’s not like Paige and Azzi weren’t used to being far away from each other, they did live about 1,000 miles apart until a few months ago, if anything they were physically closer now. But despite the decrease in geographical distance from each other, it had seemed to become increasingly more difficult for the two of them to get a moment alone.

Azzi was happy for Paige, really. She was settling into UConn quickly. She was doing great on the court, she had been bonding with all of her teammates and overall seemed to be thriving. Every time the blonde talked about UConn her face lit up with excitement and confidence that seemed to radiate off of her through the phone calls and facetimes. But things were different. Paige’s schedule was a lot busier than it was in high school. She couldn’t come home straight after school to talk to her best friend. Her weekends were booked with practices and during her free time, she had team bonding or other school events. Not to mention, the blonde basketball player had begun to get even more media attention in her college debut, and she had interviews, brand deals, and a plethora of other media engagements scheduled around the clock.

So, when the older girl finally did get some time alone, she always made sure to talk to Azzi. Azzi appreciated that her friend made the effort to find the time to talk to her, but she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, embarrassed almost. She didn’t want to be the kid-friend who was still in high school begging her best friend to pay attention to her when she probably had much better, more interesting things to do. So, Azzi pulled back. She rarely texted first, always waiting for Paige to start up a conversation, to which she always replied, but she made sure to wait a bit of time as to not seem toodesperate. But as much as she tried to put on a cool, nonchalant front, she ached for the sound of Paige’s voice, her presence, to be wrapped up in her arms again enclosed in her bedroom with the rest of the world shut out around them. So now, despite her grogginess, at 1:47 AM, in the dark, her blond-haired, blue-eyed best friend on her phone screen, she couldn't help but feel a sense of ease wash over her, happiness that hadn’t felt this calm in a while. Happy to finally get her best friend all to herself.

“So what is so important that you needed to wake me up for? And why are you at the gym in the middle of the night?” Azzi implored.

“just getting some extra shots in. You know I gotta stay on top of my game” the blonde smirked.

“Well, you know what else keeps you on top of your game? sleep. something both you and I should be doing right now.” Azzi responded

Paige chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“That’s beside the point Az.” she waved her hand in dismissal

“Anyways, I was just here at the gym, putting in some extra hours, it takes a lotta work to keep up this physique you know”

Azzi sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes in fake annoyance, as Paige continued on.

“But, I was looking around at all of the names around this room, all of the championships won and how amazing the legacy is here and how one day, I want my name to be hanging up there too.”

She angled her phone towards the outer edges of the gym letting Azzi get a clear picture of her descriptions.

The blonde took a brief pause looking her best friend in the eye.

“And… when I thought about it, trying to picture my jersey up there… I pictured your name next to mine”

Azzi couldn’t help but blush at the thought of Paige picturing their jerseys next to each other. Bueckers 5 and Fudd 35carrying on the UConn legacy.

“Paige —” Azzi sighed

Paige cut her off before she could continue

“I know you still have a lot more time before you have to decide where you’re committing, and— and I’ll support you wherever you go. But, I really, like reeeeaallyyyy want you to come to UConn. And I just thought maybe if you saw all of the greatness that would surround us in this gym and how amazing we could be together that you would want to come too.”

She looked away from the camera and at the floor, trying to avoid the curly girl’s gaze, nervous about how she may respond to her proposal.

Azzi looked at her best friend endearingly, her eyes softening with the wholeheartedness of the blonde’s words.

“P, you know I think we’re amazing together too. And I really appreciate you showing me all this, seriously. But recruitment, especially with COVID and everything has been so difficult already, I— I just need a little bit more time to think about everything you know?”

Paige nodded slowly still adverting her gaze from the younger girl.

Azzi could sense the hurt on her face. She wanted nothing but to tell her yes, that they can spend the next 3 years playing side by side making the best college duo anyone has ever seen. But this was a big decision, and she needed to make it with her head and not her heart.

“Yeah that makes sense.” Paige nodded.

“I just— I really miss you Az” she confessed.

When her blue eyes finally looked up at Azzi through the screen, the brunette felt a lump creep up in her throat, the sincerity of the comment hitting her.

“I really miss you too P.”

Both girls were silent for a moment. Their words hanging in the air.

“You’ll be home for Christmas, right?” Azzi asked hopefully.

By home, Azzi meant where she was now, and even though she didn’t clarify, Paige knew what she meant. Home was where Azzi was. Home was with Katie and Tim, Jon and Jose, and of course, Stewie. And as much as she was dying to see her dad and Drew, home was in Virginia with the Fudd’s. So yes she’d be home for Christmas.

“Of course,” Paige responded cheerfully.

“Good, I’ll be counting down the days then,” Azzi said with a smile.

“Now show me what you’ve been up so late here practicing”, said Azzi, changing the subject towards something more lighthearted.

Paige propped up her phone and began to show off her practiced form for her three-point shot.

As Azzi watched her energetic best friend, the tiredness that had previously faded started to drift back in. Slowly she stopped fighting it and she drifted off to sleep, the sound of Paige’s sneakers and the bounce of the basketball lulling her to sleep.

—

Winter break came and went, Paige keeping her promise that she’d be home for Christmas, flying in the moment her last practice let out and heading straight for the Fudd’s house. Paige and Azzi spent the next few days spending every second together, challenging each other to games of 1v1 in Azzi’s driveway, even in the snow, baking cookies, in which Paige was banned from the kitchen for eating the raw cookie dough too many times, and fighting over which Christmas movies to watch, alternating between forcing Jon or Jose to be the tiebreaker of their antics.

By the time New Years rolled around, the two had fallen back into a comfortable rhythm going through their days attached at the hip forgetting about all of their other obligations for just a few more days.

Despite how happy Paige was to finally be with Azzi again, there was a thread of anxiety that she couldn’t shake off since she’d arrived. Since they last saw each other, neither of them had brought up the kiss they shared the day before Paige left for UConn, and as much as Paige wanted to confess all of her feelings to Azzi the second she stepped off the plane, she stopped herself. Ever since she had started her freshman year, she had felt the younger girl pull away a bit. Paige was always the one to text first, the one to bug her with calls, and she couldn’t help but feel like she was constantly begging for the curly-haired girl’s attention. Paige had confessed her frustrations to Nika on multiple occasions:

“No, like I get it, it’s her senior year. She wants to enjoy her last season before college. It just sucks sometimes.”

She couldn’t help but feel like Azzi was pulling away because of that day before she left for UConn. Maybe she was pulling away because she regretted it. Maybe she just got caught up in the moment and was scared for Paige to leave, so she gave in to it. She felt guilty about it all. She hated feeling like she was just some creepy lesbian who preyed on her friends. She didn’t want to feel these things for her best friend but she couldn't help it. So instead, she pushed her feelings down and decided that it was better to just pretend the kiss never happened.

Which was working. Until Paige found herself at a New Years party at one of Azzi’s teammate’s house, the brunette dressed in a shimmery silver tank top and black ripped skinny jeans that hugged every inch of her figure perfectly. Her hair was pulled back into a half up half down style, two strands left out, framing her face. The curly-haired girl was slightly tipsy, making her cling to the blonde even more than usual.

The two stood now in the back corner of the room, Azzi’s hands pressed up against Paige’s abs, her fingers grasping at the blonde’s T-shirt, as Paige leaned against the wall, her eye contact locked on the Brown-eyed girl in front of her.

Azzi was doubled over laughing at one of Paige’s absurd stories from one of her practices with Geno.

“there’s NO way you said that to him Paige.” Azzi pleaded.

“Sure did. I don’t need no old man telling me I don’t know how to defend the three-point line.” scoffed Paige between laughs.

“Paige! You’re gonna get yourself benched” yelled the younger girl playfully.

“Nah. Grandpa would never.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at her friend’s cockiness, finally recovering from the laughing fit she had been caught in.

Suddenly, some rambunctious girl ran into the room that stood in, waving her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“ONE MINUTE TILL MIDNIGHT” the girl yelled, and then quickly made her way to the next room, presumably to do the same thing.

As the girl left, Paige and Azzi turned their gazes back to each other, the quiet between them contrasting from the extreme bouts of laughter they had shared moments ago.

“So… You save anyone your New Year's kiss?” said Azzi, tentatively looking up at the blonde girl in front of her.

Paige shifted between her feet, an uneasiness settling in her stomach.

“Uh, no. not this year,” she said, scratching the back of her neck nervously.

“Me neither.” responded the younger girl.

Azzi rocked back and forth on her heels, both girls standing in the awkward silence between them.

“Well, maybe we could be each other's then?” said Azzi, finally breaking the silence.

Paige’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest.

“yes” she blurted out

“I— I mean yeah. Maybe we could.” she nervously tried to play off her previously overly enthusiastic response.

As her blue eyes landed back on Azzi’s brown ones in front of her, the sound of chants filled the room, counting down the seconds left till midnight.

“10…”

“9…”

“8…”

The two girls inched closer to one another, Azzi’s hands finding a comfortable spot on Paige’s shoulders, and the older girl’s hands resting on the younger girl's hips.

“4…”

“3…”

“2…”

“1…”

Paige held her breath, her heart was beating so fast she thought it might stop.

Slowly Azzi pulled on Paige’s shoulders slightly, closing the gap between them and pressing their lips together. The blonde sighed at the contact, letting herself lean into the kiss, breathing in the familiar scent of the girl in front of her.

Before they started drawing the attention of the rest of the people at the party, Azzi gently pushed herself off of the older girl.

No longer stuck in a trance of their shared kiss, Paige suddenly snapped back to reality and a panic started to set in. Before even a few seconds passed, Paige was pushing her way through the crowd and running towards the back door.

“Paige wait!” called Azzi

but the blonde was already out of earshot, the sound of excited cheers and “Happy New Year’s” muffling out her pleads.

—

When Azzi finally made her way through the crown of people at the party, stopping occasionally to hug friends and teammates, flashing a smile and a “Happy New Year” to her drunken classmates, she found Paige sitting on the back porch steps, her hands gripping the t-shirt on her chest, heaving into the cold winter air.

“Paige! What’s going on— are you okay?”

The blonde’s hands trembled as she tried to answer her younger friend.

The blonde stuttered out her words between tears.

“I— I’m sorry Az. I’m sorry for everything. I— I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry for making you kiss me. I know I shouldn’t—”

“Hey, hey let’s calm down”

Azzi moved to sit next to the trembling girl on the steps. She rubbed slow circles on the older girl’s back as she tried to slow her breathing. After a few moments and Paige’s breaths started to stop coming in small bursts, Azzi took both of her hands in hers and looked at her tear-filled eyes.

“P. Tell me what’s going on?”

Paige’s hands clenched in Azzi’s grasp.

“I— I’ve been trying to stop it. I’ve been trying to pretend like they’re not there but Az I can’t. I have these feelings for you, feelings friends aren’t supposed to have. And I thought maybe you had them too, that night before I left for UConn and I kissed you.”

She slipped her hands from Azzi’s grasp and wrapped her arms around her stomach, attempting to soothe the pain that was pulsating throughout her entire body.

“But then, when I started college you started to pull away. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me. I thought maybe you regretted kissing me and I was just forcing myself onto you.”

“Oh Paige” Azzi sighed

“So when we kissed, I just freaked out and ran away. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable again. I didn’t want to push you away again.”

Azzi pulled the distressed blonde into her lap and squeezed her tightly as she let muffled cries into the younger girl’s chest. After Paige’s tears subsided a bit, Azzi pulled back and took her face into her hands.

“P I’m so sorry. I never regretted anything. I’ve felt those feelings for you too Paige.” the curly-haired girl reassured.

“I didn’t mean to pull away, but I was scared. You were off at school starting the next big chapter of your life and I didn’t want to be your annoying friend in high-school constantly bringing you down. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Paige breathing settled down, the clarity of the situation finally releasing some of the tension she was holding in.

“Az, remember what I said that night? the night before I left?”

Azzi shifted slightly on the step

“You said you’d never forget about me”

“Exactly,” Paige said as she moved the younger girl's hands from her cheeks to hold in her own.

“Azzi, you could never bring me down. Every moment we’ve spent apart has been torture for me. The last thing I could think is that you’re getting in the way. I miss you every day Az.”

Azzi let out a small smile, her heart warming from the older girl’s confession.

“Gosh, why are we so stupid” groaned Azzi as she squeezed her eyes shut in regret.

Paige let out a chuckle and the comment and pulled the younger girl into a tight embrace.

“I don’t know. But can we agree to not be stupid again?” she responded

Azzi leaned into the hug, squeezing the other girl tighter.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

—

Unfortunately for both of them, they indeed were stupid again. Very stupid.

Paige leaned on her crutches while watching Azzi comb through her freshly flat ironed hair in the season her vanity.

“I just don’t see why not?” scoffed Paige, picking at the hair of the unicorn plushies that sat underneath her arms.

“Paige you can’t even walk” said Azzi turning back slightly to gesture to the blonde’s foot wrapped in a clunky boot.

Since their New Year’s revelation, Paige and Azzi had fallen into a comfortable, slightly confusing situationship of sorts, where they weren’t together, together, but they also weren’t seeing other people. And they acted as if they were dating, although never said that they were. Azzi would visit the blonde at school. And the whole time she was there Paige would go completely MIA from the rest of the team, only appearing for practices or other mandatory team obligations.

“Damn girl, I thought she kidnapped you or something.” would tease **Aubrey when the blonde would suddenly appear at practice.

They would spend the whole time lost in each other's presence, wrapped up in the sheets of Paige’s small dorm bed, laughing and talking until the late hours of the night. They stole kisses whenever they could, making up for lost time they had spent apart. Even though there was an underlying uncertainty to their situation, both girls were too wrapped up in the feeling of being together to care. They didn’t talk about what they were, or what this meant for either of them. Which is how they ended up here. In Azz’s room, arguing about whether or not Paige could take her to her senior prom.

The blonde winced at the younger girl's comment as she rolled her eyes

“way to rub it in Az.”

“P you know that’s not how I meant it, I’m just trying to make sure you stay on track for recovery” Said Azzi, giving the older girl a pitiful look.

“Doc said minimal movement in the boot is fine! I could make it work! I don see what the big deal is?” Paige argued back

Azzi set her hairbrush down on her vanity, and turned her body to face the blonde girl head on.

“Paige it’s not just that.” she sighed

“I already have so many eyes on me waiting for my commitment announcement. I really don’t need any more speculations about my life or my identity for that matter”

Paige felt the sting of the Azzi’s word ripple over her skin. Her frustration quickly transforming into hurt.

“So you don’t want people to know you’re gay. That’s it isn’t it.” Paige shot back

“That’s not what I said Paige”

Being gay really shouldn’t be a taboo thing for Azzi. She played women’s basketball for god’s sake. No one really “came out” in basketball, one day they just pop out with a girlfriend and that’s that. But for some reason the idea of thousands of people speculating about her sexuality, before she even makes a name for herself scared her.

“Then what? You just don’t want people to know you’re with me?” Paige pressed further

“No, I— I just don’t need all of the unnecessary attention. You know the rumors that are already out there about us. Imagine if there’s a million pictures of us together circulating the internet.”

“Well Azzi, we’re about to be spending a lot more time together at UConn. So if you can’t handle taking pictures with your girlfriend at prom then I don’t know what you’re gonna do in a few weeks when media day rolls around” scoffed the blonde.

“Oh, so I’m you’re girlfriend now?” Azzi said as she crossed her arms.

“I don’t know what you are Az. But if you’re too scared to be seen next to me, then maybe we shouldn’t be anything at all.” said Paige.

“Paige,” let out Azzi quietly

“Forget I even asked” she said as she adjusted her crutches and turned towards the door.

“Have fun at prom Az, I’m sure your date will think you look beautiful,” she said over her shoulder.

As much as she wanted to be angry, Paige couldn’t help but let a semblance of truth slip into her words. She really did hope Azzi had fun at prom and she really did think her date would think she looked beautiful.

But she couldn't find comfort in the thought, because each time she imagined the younger girl’s date slipping the corsage onto her wrist, or pulling her in for a slow dance, she couldn't stop wishing it was her.

So instead, she gripped onto her crutches tighter and hobbled out the door, not turning back to face the younger girl left sitting in her room.

[poorlemons]

HI!!! I absolutely adore your art (it's so beautiful. It's so fluid. It's having a long lasting impact on my brain. Everytime I close my eyes theres just lemons art and darkness.) and I think far too much about your Clear Image AU, I fear I may have to start making slideshows about it.

But also curious about what happens to Michael during the rest of the timeline, like post season 3 times. Does she stay in the archives or move on with her life? And then what happens to her after the Eyepocalypse, is she okay (can she be okay please I'll cry)?

thank you so much that is so sweet of you!! im glad you enjoy my evil machinations. also i apologize if any of this has weird grammar or anything, i just woke up and am eating breakfast as i write this. also grammar is hard and im jsut a silly little guy, have mercy on me and post season 3 timeline... well as I see it, theres a couple ways it could go, and I think I will ponder them all. why get 1 ending when i can show you the good and the bad and let you sit with it! :3 ok so i need to establish somethings first. 1) the way I explain michael shelley herself still existing after becoming the distortions vessel is her tether to the Eye. If she had not been so connected to Beholding through the archives contract, and by how long she worked down there (in my michael timeline she's been there since the like, 80s. she's the michael mentioned by eric or whatever, i like that version of events). So it has its claws in her deep, even as she's kept ignorant. She wants to know, she wants to dig... she's just also prevented from doing it. and 2) Yeah that contract is still in place. how? because its funnier if it is, and also she never did *die*. Michael Shelley was missing, but never really reported, and she never died while she was being used as a vessel. So michael only has a few options if she wants to be free of the archives. In no timeline does Michael die! She's OK-ish. also none of these are 100% planned out so itll mostly be sparknotes So the first option for her to take is stabbing out her eyes to get that contract broken right there. But heres the issue: who would Michael get help from? Suddenly becoming blind is not really a hurdle you can jump alone, at least not easily. And she has no home, really no physical ties to anything because everything she had is most likely gone/thrown out by now. It would leave her blind and homeless, i fear. Because the archive people are her friends sorta, but like... theyre still caught up in the archives, they're busy and stressed all the time. Plus, the eye stabby thing is only found out some while into season 4. so she's probably not taking that route

the second one is she stays at the archives (good timeline): Heres when I reveal CIau as a fix-it. In this timeline a few things are true (Tim is alive, Jon didn't get comaed, Martin doesn't go with Peter, tensions are generally lower, Daisy did get coffined, though. the Unknowing did happen it just went... Better). This obviously frustrates Elias greatly, but Michael is a powerhouse of pure spite and determination to thwart that son of a bitch. He *knew* what Gertrude did to assistants, and he didn't *care*. Getting him out of power is the closest thing Michael could get to revenge. And oh how she wants that, never forget she is angry at what was done to her- its a low, dormant anger, but it is anger. So they go about Season 4, but less loneliness sand misery. Michael is determined to live her life to the fullest and she's pulling everyone into it as well. Its a little awkward in the Archives, and nobody can fully heal while they're trapped but relationships are improving. Melanie's bullet is removed consentually, everything is "great" (jon probably still gets stabbed though, i think thats funny). Tim is even less... sad miserable tim. And really a lot of it is different because... well season 4 hinged on that loneliness and misery. So in between mandatory get-out-of-the-archvies days and shit like that, theyre trying to figure out how to get rid of the contracts. Maybe they burn it or something, maybe they throw elias into Helen and carve out his eyes- that'd be fun. But they get free, yippee, and so Michael can go about getting new papers n shit and everyone can heal. I'd like to think she gets like, a nice calm job. She and Jon definitively volunteer at an animal shelter on the weekends. Her, martin, and anyone else who wants to tag along have little tea hangouts. Her and Tim sit in amicable silence or go out on some sort of hike, depends on how they feel (Michael's back does not appreciate it sometimes but she tries her best to keep up with her friend). Her, Basira, Jon, and Georgie have a book club. Georgie is chill too!! She gets a cat named Private Pea (name courtesy of Jon) and all is vibing.

Now time for bad timeline: A few things are the same, a few are different (Tim is alive, Jon gets comaed (this one was more of an accident that deliberate of Tim, Tim feels bad about it), Daisy is coffined, Martin is pulled in with Peter though its much more of a struggle for Peter to *keep* him, tensions are lower for most of them (Melanie has a bullet in her leg so shes still angry), and Georgie is wary but they manage to communicate the situation to her better so she doesn't fully cut contact with Jon.) Things are rough for a while, since Jon is out for the count, but everyone makes do as they can. Tim feels Bad about what happened, but Michael makes sure to help Tim out and try to make him feel better. They're friends, your honor. Yadi yada Jon comes back, Melanie gets her bullet taken out, everyone misses Martin. The events here are much more in line with canon season 4. They're still trying to find a way to break contract, but with the concerns about Martin and Daisy- and Jon's whole humanity- they're lagging behind about that. Michael does cry when she hears Eric's tape, Jon makes sure to let her listen to it. Melanie stabs out her eyes, daisy is retrieved from the coffin (Jon still loses a few ribs bc he's... Jon and of course he'd do that still), etc. Helen's relationship with the main crew is a little odd, since Michael is around, but maybe they're at a tentative truce. Maybe they paint each other's nails as a peace offering. The final peter-elias confrontation happens, shit hits the fan in the archives with the hunters 'n everything. Helen shelters Michael and Tim (michael is more or less safe from the distortion's effects and just hold onto Tim really hard) but Daisy still goes Hunt mode etc. Martin is saved, he and Jon get sent off to the safehouse and all is quiet for a little while. Michael and Tim do their best to just exist, Basira is off looking for Daisy, Melanie and Georgie are at home, the stage is set. Maybe Tim and Michael were out of town on a little trip when the eyepocalypse starts. OK. so. Eyepocalypse. Michael is trapped in a spiral-esc domain. I think her position is fairly unique. Not an avatar but so heavily marked by the Spiral that even the domain is confused on whether or not she's in charge. Its torment either way, she feels as if she's back in that hell of being Michael. Tim's probably also stuck in a domain, probably stranger, and maybe a bit of desolation, though i don't know how that'd look. I think Tim is 100% afraid of losing everything he has again, of burning those bridges for good. and also clowns. I think when Jon makes it to that domain, it takes a moment for him to realize who's statement he's taking. And then Martin and Jon try to hunt her down a pull her out. They do! She doesn't even really need the "ceaseless watcher make this person into your little bitch" or whatever, because her existence is just that muddled. She just... gets pulled out and her position shifts from watched to watcher. They go hunt down Tim, and idk maybe with the help of Helen and Michael they manage to fish him out without him becoming an avatar was well. Maybe he does have to get ceaseless watchered, no idea. Then theyre back on track through the domains, now Jon, Martin, Michael, Tim, and a Helen sometimes. They make it to London, they meet up with the others, everything is generally the same. But instead of that jon-stabbing kurfuffle, they kill jonah and everything falls apart and boom its ok the world is normal. Maybe most of the world doesn't remember but its alright, Theyre free. and thusly it sorta picks up from there like how it did in the better timeline. But maybe with a lot more issues to work around and heal from. so um. yeah something like that. I dunno

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Stay (post-established relationship, extended war timeline)

Summary:

Even though they've been Claimed Mates for over two months, Eragon keeps waking up to an empty cot, Arya fleeing into the night once he falls asleep. His frustration comes to a head when he catches her in the act and she still leaves despite his pleading. Angry and hurt, Eragon confronts his new mate in the morning.

Eragon and Arya have their first argument after becoming mates. Turns out being magic-using, sword-wielding, Shadeslaying war heroes doesn't stop young, quasi-immortal love from hitting the same stumbling blocks as any other relationship.

~

(A/N: Eragon has abandonment issues. Arya is always walking a line of self sacrifice and duty vs what she wants and loves. Saphira is rolling her eyes at these two because even though she's never had any sort of romantic nor physical relationship, even she knows that you can't stay happy for long if you don't openly communicate.

There's more to this on both Eragon and Arya's sides for why they both are hurting beyond just what we see here, but I can't find a way yet to work it into a long form story.)

~

STAY

Eragon’s breath was calm, the rise and fall of his chest against her back steady and even. He hadn’t moved for some time now, and for not the first and certainly not the last time Arya cursed her damaged temporal awareness. Had it been long enough? She didn’t want to wake him, not when he was obviously so exhausted from the fighting. But staying risked that far more than leaving.

Carefully, timing her movements by each breath he took, Arya gently took the arm draped over her waist and lifted it just enough to slip out from his hold. She eased herself to the ground beside the cot and gathered her boots and socks in one hand, keeping her new mate in the corner of her vision. Satisfied he had not stirred, Arya shifted to a crouch and rose, silently willing the world to remain quiet for just a few moments longer.

The elf held her breath and stepped toward the tent flap to make her escape. 

And suddenly froze, warm fingers tangling with her free hand. 

Arya’s heart sank. She turned back to him, feeling her pulse jump to her throat when she saw his face. Not entirely awake, his curls tousled and pressed to the side of his head. The upward tilt of his brows confused and…hurt. 

“Stay?” Arya bit her tongue and swallowed hard at a single word so thick with emotion. Eragon’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “Don’t go this time. Please?”

Her chest ached. The elf lowered herself to the ground again, knelt beside the man she loved and pressed her forehead to the back of his hand where he clung to hers. Tried to hide the trembling of her lips. That he could do this to her hurt. Just a few words from his mouth had her screaming inside to give in, to ignore her reality and simply climb back into the damn cot and huddle close to him. 

“I can’t.” 

“You can.” His grip around her fingers tightened. “Stay with me?” 

Inhaling a shaky breath, Arya lifted her head and pressed reverent lips to his knuckles. “You need sleep.” He smelled of tilled earth, warm, soft cotton, dragonfire. Faint traces of milled soap and the tinny water from a washbarrel. 

“I sleep better with you here.” 

If she waited any longer she ran the risk of him convincing her, those liquid dark eyes and the pleas in his mellow voice. 

She still could. She could climb back up beside him, the space she had abandoned still warm. Huddle up to his chest in the narrow cot and bury her face in his shoulder and forget everything for a few hours. Together just for the sake of drinking each other in, for the simple comfort of closeness that she never quite reached when sleeping with her shoulders pressed against Glen’s or waking under the weight of Brom’s heavy coat. Comfort and closeness brother and father by war could not give, and that she could not give in return. 

She never wanted to leave him. Never, ever–

Arya abruptly stood and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” 

Eragon’s outstretched arm remained where it was as the canvas flap whispered closed. His hand hung in the thin air where he swore he could still feel her warmth, dissipating in the chill night. He lowered the limb to hang limply over the edge of the cot and curled his legs close to his chest, shivering. 

Outside, he felt Saphira stir slightly, the ache and confusion of her partner leaking through their connection. 

A gentle hand against her scaled side, a pulse of apology that Eragon could not grasp, and the dragon settled again. 

Saphira reached to him in the safety of their link and enveloped his pain with her soothing thoughts, curling around him as she would in their many nights of travel and solace. ‘Sleep, Little One.’

‘She doesn't want me, Saphira. We’re Claimed, but she doesn’t–’

‘Life and love are rarely so simple. Breathe, and rest.’ Saphira nuzzled her mental self’s snout against his chest. ‘Wild dragons such as Arya take time. Worry about this when the sun is up, and ask of her then.’

Throat thick with swallowed emotion, Eragon nodded and returned his partner’s mental embrace. He cast off the blanket and retrieved Brisingr and his shirt, donning them both before slipping out of the tent and clambering over Saphira’s forelegs. She lifted her wing slightly and let him settle against her, a soft hum vibrating through her side. 

The low tone soon lulled his troubled mind back into a state of exhausted sleep, all the while missing the press of his mate’s body against his.

~~

Despite morning finding Eragon well rested, he could not calm the roiling of his mind. The more he tried to put the way Arya left out of his thoughts, the more the splinter dug into his brain.

It was not the first time he had woken to an empty space beside him after falling asleep in Arya’s arms, or with her wrapped in his. They had been Claimed Mates for over two months now, and in the nearly two dozen nights they had shared a bed, passionate or otherwise, Eragon could only remember Arya remaining with him till dawn twice. 

It…bothered him.

He had shared his troubles with Saphira before. At her urging he had asked Arya why she left, and her simple answer of him and his partner needing uninterrupted sleep had left him dissatisfied but quiet. Despite Saphira telling him in no uncertain terms to push her on it if he still felt upset, Eragon had shrugged it o ff at the time. They were happy together otherwise. 

But now…now Saphira was mentally trying to drag him back from the brink of anger as he marched through the camp.

‘Little One, give yourself time on this.’ Saphira’s exasperation was clear, sour in her thoughts. ‘Cooler minds are needed. Do not start this angry, it will not end well.’

‘I have to talk to her about it. I can’t keep doing this.’

‘Then talk to her about it. Do not yell, Little One. I can feel your words pulling at your throat like a battle cry.’

 He pushed her away. Saphira’s thoughts flared their wings, the draconic equivalent of throwing one's arms up in frustration, and she retreated to the edge of his mind, a trailing tendril monitoring him as he finally found the subject of his ire.

Glenwing raised his mechanical hand in greeting, fingers giving a chipper click against his palm. “Good morning!” Brom did the same, barely a grunt into his coffee as he took a healthy slurp of the burning liquid. 

Arya looked up from the report resting between her hands braced on the camp table, and flashed her mate a bright, vibrant smile. “Well, look who’s up! Figured we should let you sleep in after all the fighting yesterday.”

Eragon gave his father and the medic a curt nod but did not return their typical morning greetings. Instead he stopped a pace away from his original bodyguard, fists jammed into the pockets of his hoodie, and tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. 

“We need to talk.”

“Sure.” Arya dipped her head, swiping up the half-full mug of herbal tea that rested beside the morning scout report. “What do you need?”

A fresh surge of animus tightened Eragon’s still stubbled jaw. How could she act so casually when he had begged her to stay the night before? Even with their agreement to keep their relationship as under wraps as possible, how could she not even acknowledge it in the slightest? “In private.”

The mug stopped for just a breath of a second in its travel back to the table. Arya swallowed the sip she had taken, the fire in her eyes warping to stuttered surprise and trepidation for the briefest moment before the ceramic clacked twice on the wood. “Of course. Tent?”

“Please.”

As they turned to leave, Glen caught their attention with metallic knuckles rapped on the abandoned mug. “Meeting in an hour, command pavilion. Don’t forget.” Arya flicked an informal salute off her brow in acknowledgement before the Rider and soldier disappeared out the flap of the mess tent and into the early morning light.

~~

“Are you alright?” Arya reached up a hand to touch his cheek, concern evident. Eragon turned his head away, refusing the contact. The walk to his tent had been short, but even that span had brought his anger to head. Everything felt tight high up in his chest, some creature snapping just below his throat and clawing to get free. He could feel Saphira hovering at the edge of his mind, keeping a respectful distance while taking in the exchange through his senses. She would intervene at a moment’s notice should things get out of hand, but for once Eragon found her presence far from soothing. It buzzed like a lingering insect just out of his sight, and it took all his self control not to push his partner away.

This was his business. Saphira had made her thoughts on the matter clear to him earlier, and he did not want another woman in his life tangling his emotions like so much forgotten yarn. 

The elf before him seemed to flinch at his sudden distance, surprise and hurt flashing across emerald eyes in the dim light. The dark little creature struggling to free itself from his throat cackled in glee at the woman’s reaction, taking some satisfaction that she was hurting too, before Eragon felt disgust at himself well up. That wasn’t what this was supposed to be about. 

“Eragon, what’s–”

“Why won’t you stay?” Though he did not raise his voice, the words were sharp off his tongue.

Arya blinked, startled at his venom. “I don’t under–”

“You never stay.” Eragon threw a hand towards the cot they both had abandoned the previous night, the bunched blanket cold. “Every time we’ve spent the night together, you leave. You say we’re Claimed Mates, that means we’re there for each other, but the second I’m asleep you run off like you can’t wait to be rid of me!” Arya’s lips parted, eyes wide at the outburst, but he cut her off again. “Arya, you’ve said you love me. You said it in a language that, at its core, should not let you lie! But–But right now, I am really, really starting to question if you picked up some tricks in Ellesméra last time, because the way you act when you leave is sending some mixed signals here!”

He forced his next words past a growing lump in his throat, that angry creature turned to a whimpering and confused ball of pain. He hated that he was even voicing such a question, hated that she had him questioning it all. And hated, most of all, that he was unsure of her answer. 

“Do you still even want to be mates?”

Arya grabbed his shoulders. He could feel her hands trembling through his shirt, her grip tight. Something in her eyes was screaming to him before she blinked and tried to cover it, that damned instinct to conceal any weakness even– especially – from him rearing its head. “Yes! Yes, Eragon I–” She suddenly faltered, barely hid the crack in her voice in time. “Unless you don’t, I just…I just want you to be happy, and–”

“Really? Are you sure about that?” Eragon crossed his arms, heart hammering in his chest. Her reaction was not what he had expected. But it was in the open now, and stopping now would fester their thoughts and feelings like fetid meat. “Because out there, we have to pretend that we’re not together, that we’re just what we were before. This tent is the only space we can truly be what we are to each other. And you won’t even stay till dawn!” 

“Eragon, you–”

Oh it was well and truly out now. Everything came rushing out of his mouth like dragonfire, spilling and tumbling without the breath to guide it. “Oh, spare me! You’ve already used up the needing to sleep excuses!” Eragon bit down on his tongue, hard, at the sudden panic that flitted across his mate’s face. His voice had jolted in volume, and he had to struggle to pull it back down to kinder levels. “Just tell me the truth. Why won’t you stay, Arya? Do you want this relationship or not? Because honestly, at this point, I don’t need sleep,” A tremor of his lip escaped his control, the lump still building up and threatening to burst from his throat. “I need you! And if you don’t want that, then I think I deserve to be told.”

Arya’s shoulders were hunched, fists tight at her sides as she stared over his shoulder. He could see her shaking through the trembling of the wild fringes of her hair, the bob of her throat as she swallowed. 

The silence stretched. 

Every second hurt.

Still outside the mess tent, Saphira shifted uneasily. Eragon could smell the trickles of smoke leaking from between her teeth despite the distance. The push-pull of her affection for both of them, her loyalty to and love for him in his pain while a strange understanding of the elf hovered just out of his full vision.

And then finally. Arya spoke.

“I didn’t realize this upset you so much.” Arya’s words were a soft mumble. 

Eragon lifted his chin. Her acknowledgement, however small, sparked a trill of pride at making himself heard. “It does.” 

Blazing emerald met his gaze, and with a sudden pang Eragon saw unshed tears. “Eragon. I am so sorry. If I had known, I wouldn’t…I would have told you. I didn’t want you to lose sleep over me and–” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath and holding it for a long, long moment. “I do want to remain your Claim Mate, if you would still have me despite this. I haven’t broken the oaths we took. My stars and sun still burn for you.”

Relief flooded Eragon’s chest. A twinge of the hurt remained, but he had her word at the very least. Legs suddenly weak, he stepped back and sat heavily on the cot. Rubbed his face, feeling the prickle of stubble that he had yet to remove as the wave of emotions crashed down from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. 

At last he looked up at her. Arya still stood, now in front of where he sat, eyes downcast as his had been. Apprehension, something so unusual to see on her, hung about her shoulders in the dimly lit tent. 

“Then why won't you stay?” All his pain and confusion leaked into his words. In some odd way, the emotions flowing out made his teeth tingle, as if magic and energy were a part of his raw feelings now made real in the air.

She would not meet his gaze. “I meant it. You need sleep.”

“Damn it, Arya….” The exasperated curse slipped out before he could stop it. He winced, knuckling his forehead as the thread Saphira held with him fired a zap of a warning into his mind. “I’m sorry. That was wrong to say. I’m…I just don’t understand.”

“We’ve said worse while we sparred.” 

“That was then. We’re trying to communicate right now, not beat each other black and blue.” Eragon shook his head, curls flopping about his face. “Context is everything. I’m sorry.” 

The phrase seemed to snap something in the elf’s countenance, a flutter of sharp brows dipping, the press of lips together in a momentary frown. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Arya pushed her hands into the pockets of her combat pants. Through the spidersilk-enforced fabric Eragon could see the barest outline of her knuckles rising up as she dug her fingertips into her legs. Seemingly unsatisfied, she pulled one free and settled it on the hollow between her neck and right shoulder, massaging some knot out of the muscle. “Eragon, when I say you need sleep, I’m…I’m saying you’re less likely to get it when I’m around.”

Eragon snorted softly. It earned him a gentle bump of her boot against his. “I have better self control than that.”

“That’s not what I meant.” The prickly tone pulled him out of the admittedly juvenile lapse. Arya’s frown had returned, expression hard. “I mean me being here would more likely wake you up.” Another jolt of apprehension. She turned her head and looked to the tent flap, fingers pushing hard into the back of her shoulder. “...I get nightmares.”

“I know.” Eragon reached out, offering his hand. That the simple gesture brought a tinge of a blush to the elf’s cheeks warmed his heart through his new confusion. He knew this of her. They had spent plenty of nights wandering the camp together, running laps with Saphira gliding overhead, and shared many late night meals throughout their friendship as the three of them worked their way through memory and misery. 

Despite the anger draining, he couldn’t help the edge of exasperation that crept into his voice. “I already told you, Arya. I’m not going to hide when it gets tough. We’re supposed to be here for each other. You’re always there for Saphira and me. I can’t be there for you if you keep running.” He pushed his hand up further, closer to her. “Let me help you. Please! Stop treating me like the kid you met then and just…accept that we’re together in this.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? It’s not that simple!” Eragon blinked at the snap in the elf’s tone, her sharp teeth clicking together with a frustrated hiss. Still, he kept his hand out, not a hint of hesitation displayed anywhere. Arya closed her eyes and breathed, brows twitching as she tried to force the wave of her own anger down. “I don’t like to leave you. I don’t want to leave you. But this isn’t…just nightmares. You deserve–”

“How about you let me worry about what I deserve?” Eragon frowned. “And if it’s complicated, then explain it to me.”

“It’s not–”

“Arya. Enough. Talk to me, please. I want this, I want us, to work more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.” Still, he refused to move. He would fight for this. For them. “And we can’t do this unless we’re truthful with each other.”

Eyes still closed, Arya bit her lip. Using the afterimage of his outstretched hand burned against her lids, she gently pushed the offered comfort down. She couldn’t take it, not when he was right about this. She had been hiding the truth from him, no matter if it was from a place of concern for him. 

“I’ve…I’ve been getting Recall. With the nightmares again.”

Calloused fingers closed around hers. Arya opened her eyes to see Eragon clasping both hands around the one she had tried to push him away with. His gaze was clear, completely unwavering as he held her in place with both touch and emotion. 

“That’s never happened before, has it?” Concern was thick in his voice. His anger at her had seemingly fled at the confession, leaving only hurt, confusion, and, in some ways, relief at her assurances. Worry lingered, which was exactly what she had wanted to avoid. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

A nod of confirmation. “It started after Varaug.” At least she could name that Shade without her lips twisting in disgust, the syllables catching in her throat whenever his name came up. “He brought up some memories I apparently buried and didn’t really…understand the extent of until then.” Arya shrugged. She felt muscle etched at the surface of what remained of her skin ripple beneath the fingers still gripping her shoulder. “Dras Leona made it worse. It’s just how it goes with these things. I…I didn’t want you being distracted by my stupid fucking issues.”

Eragon pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, a mirror of her actions the previous night. Asked her with deep brown eyes, liquid and softly gleaming, to trust him, to tell him of her hurt so he could hold it with her. The need to know. And the need to help.

“You don’t need to always protect me.” His lips brushed over her skin with each word. “Let me help. Please, Arya. Stay.”

It damn near broke her to refuse him again.

“Eragon…I can’t always tell when I sleep if a nightmare will trigger a Recall episode.” Careful, she knelt down before him, staring up into his face as she covered his own grasping hand with hers. The abandoned patch of scarring pulsed weakly in protest, quieted to a prickling chill at the sudden absence of extra stimulation. “They’re not…they’re not like the times you’ve seen me have them before. The ones where I’m just seeing things or get a flash of something.” 

Her grip tightened over his, just barely a second before she forced it to relax. Trying to hide that building stress he could feel hovering over her skin like a smothering blanket. “I never want to leave you. I hate it. I really, really fucking hate it. But Recall like what these nightmares can bring isn’t…it isn’t something you should see. It’s not just something I can be tapped on the shoulder and brought out of, it’s….” She stopped. When she spoke again, her voice was small. “It’s terrifying sometimes. Glen and I see each other through them. We’re more used to it and still, it’s scary to see someone you care for go through it. Grounding doesn’t always work, sometimes you just have to let them ride it out and stop it on their own. And mine are…loud.” 

Faster than he could catch, Arya suddenly yanked her hands away from his. She let herself rock back, arms crossed and tucked in close as she pulled her knees up and folded in on herself. As Eragon watched, this woman who had become his goddess of war, second only to his goddess of the skies, seemed to grow smaller right before him in a way she never had before. 

“Brom and Glen and Saphira all already know. They didn’t tell you because I asked.” Eragon lowered himself from the cot and settled beside his mate, shoulder to shoulder with her. The fact that his father, her war brother and his Partner of Heart and Mind all knew before he did twinged a spark of jealousy in his chest, but it wasn’t entirely surprising. She had always gone to them first, familiarity and long ties a comfort in chaos when she didn’t want to worry him. “I don’t want you losing sleep because I woke you up with my fucking Recall. I know you. You worry. You’d spend the next nights thinking you need to stay awake to stop it from happening.” 

She turned her head to look at him, bracing her cheek on one knee to force herself to remain. “I don’t want you remembering when I woke you up because I was screaming. I…I can’t be the reason you lose sleep. That’s why I leave. That's why I can’t stay.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, Eragon leaned over and settled his shoulder against hers, his head tilting to rest against her hunched upper back. The patched leather that protected her shoulders smelled of her, gunsmoke, worked leather, pine and a battlefield frenzy that lit up her eyes like blazing infernos. It was cool against his cheek, soft even. Her heart muttered through her bones and echoed in his ear, little flutters from a deep seated anxiety she couldn’t quite mask when her very lifeblood could give it away to him. 

“I love you.” The mumbled confession, heard so many times before, lifted a scoff he could hear through her shoulder blade. “I love all of you, Arya.” 

She rolled her shoulders, the warning subtle, and he obediently lifted his head. A twinge of nerves, still oddly uneasy about him being so close to her scars. It hadn’t been that way till their relationship had started, her shyness about the remnants of her torture surprising them both. 

No matter how many times he told her that he loved her inside and out, that strange little spark of concern for how he saw her remained. He filed it away in the back of his mind, a reminder to find some way to put that worry at ease. Someday. 

So instead he mirrored her position and tilted his head back until he felt her shift beside him, felt her eyes boring into him as she sat up. Eragon gave her a gentle smile and reached out a hand to toy with her fingers, trying to distract her from the growing apprehension that always accompanied her forays into such vulnerable moments. “Hey?”

“Hm?” Arya blinked at him, owl-like. Still not quite relaxed, but easing into his soft presence again. 

“Do you think…” He slipped his fingertips under hers, stroking the patterned ridges of her fingerprints with ghosted traces of his own. “Once the war is over, these Recall episodes will stop?” 

Bitter sharpness tinged his mate’s response. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know, I know.” He kept his voice light, tried to show her through gentle touch and gentle words what he was aching to convey. “But look. Arya. I’m going to be with you as long as you will have me.” 

Something flickered in her eyes, a quiet realization. 

“I’m going to want to stay with you, and keep you close for as many nights as you can stand.” Careful, letting her read his movements before he got close, he tucked a few of the many wayward strands of hair about her face behind a pointed ear. “I know this is scary. For you, and for me. But I can’t take the running anymore. Not if it’s going to keep happening forever.” He drew his thumb down her cheek and felt her lean into his touch. “So maybe…maybe we try this. I can talk to Glen, if you’ll allow it. He can teach me how to help you when you get Recall. And we’ll both learn. We can try this out, just for a while.” 

Eragon leaned in and pressed his forehead to Arya’s. Kissed the tip of her nose. “No matter what, I sleep better with you here. I promise. I love all of you, and that means I am ready to stand by you and hold you through whatever you need me to. And you won’t chase me off.” His eyes were bright, hopeful as she met his gaze. “Please?”

Arya closed her eyes. Drank in the scent of him, the feeling of him close. The things she wanted every time she forced herself to slip away.  

“...Okay.” Eragon sucked in a breath as she finally spoke. “I’ll try.”

He kissed her cheek. Her lips. Lingered as she threaded shaky fingers through his curls to keep him close when he broke the gentle contact. “Thank you.”

~~

It was a handful of nights before their schedules aligned again. Arya had trudged into his tent after knocking, looking as utterly exhausted as he felt. Unable to do much in such sorry states, they had simply kicked off their boots and shed their daily outer combat gear and fell into the waiting cot. 

He didn’t know when sleep had taken him. The last thing he remembered was Arya’s back through the material of her shirt warm against his bare chest, his hand draped over her side and feeling her breathing even out. 

Now, blinking a waking dream from his eyes, Eragon felt a familiar absence. Nothing pressed against his body but the cool night air. 

Numbing weight settled on his chest. She had promised him. 

Eragon reached out his mind for Saphira’s comforting presence, and then suddenly stopped. 

Arya’s mind was still near his. Muted, guarded, ironclad and yet…fuzzy with sleep.

Careful, shifting his hip just so to avoid the one unevenly tensioned patch on the cot that always creaked, Eragon pulled himself to the edge of the frame and peered down.

The sight had him grinning despite the loss of warmth at his side. ‘My silly elf.’

As if she had heard him, Arya let out a soft mumble of protest, coming half awake. She didn’t seem to notice her mate looking down at her, only blindly felt around for the corner of the blanket she had commandeered from their stash and tugged it over her shoulder. She turned again, effectively rolling herself into a woolen cocoon with another soft grumble.

Eragon watched her settle again before laying back. He let one arm drop over the side of the cot, his fingers brushing against his mate’s shoulder. 

‘It’s a start.’

[robinvomit]

Am I crazy or did you mention one time something about damian having bpd? I’d be super interested if you wanted to expand on that!

Also, if it wasn’t you that said that, and I’m just mixing it up with another account, please feel free to ignore this lolll

[ disclaimer: i write these things from my own experience and understanding that not everyone's brain works the same with a disorder. i have also worked with and known many people with the things listed below. friend edited, if somethings wrong lemme know. ]

♧ dick grayson // ocd

◇ intrusive thoughts about failure, death, or loved ones getting hurt.

dick often fixates on the fear of losing people, especially after losing his parents, then bruce, then wally/kory/barbara across several timelines.

he plays out worst-case scenarios in his head constantly. 'what if i miss a step? what if someone dies because i didn’t check something twice?'

these thoughts are not just anxiety. they are vivid, uncontrollable mental images. graphic, violent scenes just playing in his head.

◇ compulsive checking or rituals tied to safety

he’s shown repeatedly doing things like checking equipment obsessively, not sleeping unless he 'feels right,' or re-doing patrol routes.

in nightwing (1996) and a few later arcs, his sense of control through physical action can feel compulsive, not just methodical.

◇ guilt loops & moral scrupulosity

dick holds himself to impossibly high moral standards – thanks to everyone around him. he replays mistakes, feels overwhelming guilt, and obsesses over whether he’s 'done enough.'

he has trouble forgiving himself even when others already have.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♧ jason todd — schizophrenia [ post-resurrection ]

◇ auditory hallucinations & sensory distortion

after coming back from the dead via lazarus pit, jason has canonically dealt with hearing voices, seeing visions, and disorientation.

some comics blur the line between lazarus trauma and psychosis symptoms, especially in under the hood and countdown. he has quite a few moments that look like he's bordering on mental collapse.

◇ paranoia or altered perception of threat

jason often misreads allies as enemies, interpreting love as betrayal. he has a warped sense of trust.

he’s convinced people are lying, plotting, or going to leave him, even when they aren’t. this goes beyond ptsd and feels psychotic in structure. this is also why he had a strained relationship with roy. plus, tim. even though it's not the weird type in fanon.

◇ fragmented identity/delusions of persecution

jason has canonically said things like 'i’m not real,' 'i’m a ghost,' or 'i’m the only one who sees the truth.'

these are classic expressions of disordered thinking, where selfhood and reality testing are unstable.

jason, also canonically, believes he's living on borrowed time. a part of his brain refuses to believe he's allowed to live the life he has.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♧ tim drake v1 — autism [ high masking. ]

◇ flat affect

tim often narrates with dry, analytical internal monologue. canonically.

he feels deeply but expresses very little facially or vocally. it’s consistent and noticeable, especially in contrast to characters like dick or steph.

while he believes he doesn't deserve to have feelings, he doesn't like admitting it could be something else.

◇ obsessive interest in patterns/systems ( hyperfixation )

tim’s focus on detective work, computers, and strategy is not just intelligence, he immerses completely and blocks out everything else.

he disassociates from his body, ignores hunger, and hyper-focuses to the point of exhaustion.

he also fixates on people and bonds. ( he literally tried the whole clone of his best friend thing. )

◇ masking, burnout, social confusion

he often mimics social cues, but internally questions them ( 'is this what they want me to say?' )

he has the chameleon affect. he blends when and how he needs to.

and when he’s overwhelmed, he shuts down entirely, not explosively, but quietly and catastrophically. he doesn't want anyone to know because he does not accept comfort.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♧ damian wayne — borderline personality disorder

◇ intense fear of abandonment ( masked by aggression and hatred - especially early on.

canon damian lashes out when he feels someone pulling away.

he tests loyalty, pushes people, and acts out because he’s terrified they’ll leave. especially dick and jon.

damian believes that everyone will leave at some point. no matter how good he does.

◇ black-and-white thinking with emotional splitting

people are heroes or traitors, beloved or hated, with little middle ground.

he flips from idealizing someone ( like bruce or jon ) to completely devaluing them over a perceived betrayal. ( jon in dark crisis is a good example but that's also after they aged him up and changed his entire backstory where he didn't grow up around damian. like the fuckers they are. )

◇ identity instability and emotional volatility

damian constantly questions who he is; wayne? al ghul? robin?

he struggles with self-worth and reacts to emotional pain fast and hard.

he gets violent, impulsive, destructive when he feels invalidated.

this ties heavily into relationship problems. because it adds another title onto what he doesn't understand.

I can make a more full, detailed breakdown later, if you'd like.

[thegirlwhowrites642]

Hi, please free to ignore( huge fan of your metas btw)

What are your thoughts on Peter pettigrew? In swm we saw him fanboying over james to being responsible for his death. Just because he was afraid or he never really loved his friends. Many people say James and Sirius treated him shitty thats why he betrayed. Some even say he was just a tag along. Please share your thoughts.

First of all, thank you!

(also, unless they are rude, I don't ignore any questions, it might just take me two years to answer)

Peter Pettigrew

My very controversial opinion on Peter is that I love him (as a character).

To me, Peter is one of those characters who represent how Rowling's clear lack of self-awareness as a person translates in her work into her being unable to recognize her strengths as a writer. The majority of the most interesting things she comes up with are not the ones she focuses on.

And that's the case for Peter Pettigrew, who might be the Marauder with the most interesting story.

It's way too easy to reduce him to a coward as the author seems to want you to believe. And even claiming he didn't love his friends is a flattening of his character.

You can have a tendency to be influenced by peer pressure all you want but you don't become an unregistered animagus to help someone if you don't love the friend you are doing that for and you don't have a bit of courage (especially considering how long the whole thing was and that he wasn't particularly talented). He risked extremely severe consequences on his body due to the possibility of the process going wrong and he risked Azkaban for being unregistered.

That's fundamentally the opposite behavior of the one he later has with the Potters.

I also think it's important to point out how Remus is not a close relative (father, son, brother) and how the help Peter provides is not essential to Remus' survival, it's emotional comfort. The lack of necessity of the animagus matter and the easily cancellable bond with Remus increase the braveness and love of Peter's act (in contrast for example with something like what Narcissa does with her son by lying to Voldemort).

I think Peter's story is the one of someone who lost his courage, not the one of a person who never had it.

Doesn't this also make it so much more delicious how his downfall is caused by the return of a glimpse of honor?

I do agree with the fact that in SWM, James and Sirius don't treat him particularly well, especially Sirius, but I don't think they are that aware of it, especially James. They are a bit crude, and they are arrogant. They are two bright posh 16yo guys in a boarding school in the 70s. I don't expect from them a particularly high level of sensitivity in how they talk to people, especially to someone they take for granted knows to be their friend. Sirius is probably more aware of it, but I believe James to be quite unaware of himself at this point in the timeline. This is before his maturation really kicks in, his whole interaction with Lily shows a lack of self-awareness in how he talks to people (we know Lily turns him into a bit of an idiot, the problem is that he doesn't seem to be aware of it). Sirius on the other hand seems a lot more self-aware than James. A lot of people are not going to like what I'm about to say but: James is canonically a better person than Sirius.

And yet, it is abundantly clear that both James and Sirius love Peter.

James gives into Peter's hands his own life and the ones of his wife and son. Sirius gives in Peter's hands the lives of the family he chose.

In the Shrieking Shack, under all the pain Sirius has for the death of James and Lily, it is evident that there's also the pain that comes from the betrayal of a friend.

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!" - Chapter 19, Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban

Lily herself is very attached to Peter, in her letter to Sirius, she calls him Wormy (how cute is that?). And, let's remember that she too puts her life and the ones of her husband and son in Peter's hands.

It's too easy to say Peter was just a tagalong, that they didn't love him. It incredibly diminishes the pain of his act.

I also would like to point out that Peter isn't stupid. He was a double agent, he managed to frame Sirius by using in his favor people’s low opinion of his skills (and Remus and Sirius' rocky relationship). James, Sirius, and Remus might have thought of themselves as smarter than Peter but I don't think they actually believed him to be stupid. Considering who the Marauders are, their knowing how good of a liar, and how cunning Peter could be, would be a perfect explanation of why they became friends in the first place.

Does this mean they all loved Peter but Peter only loved Remus out of his friends?

We can't really be sure of his feelings for Sirius, but the admiration he shows for James and the sense of guilt we know he has for his double agent activities don't really align with that image.

I think Peter's fear for his own life ended up winning over the love for his friends.

But why at this point? Why not at Hogwarts?

Something quite interesting is how Peter's father is the only parent of the Marauders who is never mentioned, not in the books, not in any additional material. Doesn't that align just so well with Peter always putting himself at the service of the most important male figure around? First James, and then after school, with the war going on, Voldemort.

Isn't it such a fitting image, Peter growing up without a father, with a too-cuddling mother whom he ends up resenting, faulting her for the absence of the father? It's so natural to paint him as a young man crushed by a sense of inadequacy towards an image of masculinity he idealizes but can't fulfill, supported by a society filled with a very toxic sense of masculinity and an absent father he can sew on any fantasy he wants.

When Peter was at Hogwarts, being friends with James, and being part of the Marauders, gave Peter a sense of security that allowed him to be brave enough to prioritize his love for his friends over himself.

Out in the real world, though, Voldemort is the dominant man and being positioned against the Dark Lord takes away the sense of security he had as a student. Both times Peter goes to Voldemort, he does it because he doesn't feel safe.

It's also abundantly clear how Peter's siding with Voldemort doesn't come from ideology. He becomes an animagus for Remus, he's a dear friend of Lily.

Peter dies because Voldemort doesn't trust him, and he is right in not trusting him. Somewhere in Peter, there's still the boy who risked his life for a friend.

Try to tell me this is not an interesting character.

He's still a coward overall, but a complex one.

Also, Peter Pettigrew is a clear victim of pretty privilege when it comes to the fandom. I'm ready to bet whatever you want that if he had been described as handsome the most popular ship with Sirius would be Sirus/Peter.

Actually, he didn't even have to be described as handsome, he just needed to not be described as ugly. Draco is described as having a pointy face and people have been lying to themselves claiming he's incredibly handsome for the last twenty-five years.

[slimybeth69]

That sent before I was done typing lol… but I do love Girl Dinner, I discovered it this week and it’s amazing. I was also going to ask you if you had any general advice for how to deal with “going through it.” I was scrolling through your blog and saw the anon who asked about it your work involves writing. your reply was heartening.. I had a little menty b and haven’t worked in nearly 4 months. It’s been hard turning it around. My brain is ALL over the place. 🫠 it’s really really really really nice to feel less alone in there though.

I'm keeping your other ask in my inbox so I can look at it all the time.

Thank you for loving Girl Dinner!! I'm so glad you're enjoying that wild ass ride lmao. I'm HOPING to get the next chapter up by monday-- but don't hold me to that or even remember I said that.

First and foremost, I'm so sorry you're going through it. I'm always, always here to talk if you ever needed an ear to vent to or a virtual shoulder to cry on.

My biggest piece of advice is don't put a timeline on your progress. Don't compare your healing journey to anyone else's. You are an unique and the way you heal is going to be different from everyone else.

Here are some things I did to make day-to-day shit easier.

focus on today. don't think about tomorrow too much or it starts to feel tunnel vision-y.

do one thing for yourself every single day. This is FREE, btw. (clean your room, brushing your hair, cleaning under your finger nails (you don't even have to get out of bed for this one, so this is an easy, what I call a 'push day' treat), changing into clean clothes, changing your bed sheets)

DON'T LET YOUR MENTAL EFFECT YOUR DENTAL. Having clean teeth is such a good feeling, and it's such an easy thing to overlook when you're going through it. Force yourself to brush your teeth everyday or you'll be more miserable because of your teeth problems. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE take care of your teeth!!!!!!

Don't deny yourself <- sometimes it can be hard to leave the house or get out of bed-- but don't deny yourself pleasures because of this. Even if you're unable to do the 'thing'-- be kind to yourself for even trying.

Try. Try. Try. Try. Try. You will not always succeed but you will feel so much better at the end of the day knowing you at least thought about it than if you ignored it completely (whatever 'it' is.)

Talk. I already told you that I'm here and I genuinely mean that. I know having access to a therapist isnt something everyone has, so I won't tell you to just go out and get one. And talking to friends about this shit can be scary. but I'm here-- and I mean it. (anon or not- talk about it)

dont get discouraged. I know it's so much easier said than done, SO MUCH EASIER but try to remember what I said before all of this-- your journey is different and your timeline is different.

BE KIND TO YOURSELF. Forgive yourself if you can't try, be patient with yourself when you're feeling discouraged. Understand that this is your first time on this floating rock in space and you're just figuring it out-- like the rest of us. None of us have the answer key, none of us have a cheat sheet you don't have.

I really, really hope this helps you-- even a little bit! I'm not an expert (obviously) on mental health. But I would say that the biggest and most important part is that last bit-- patience and forgiveness with your heart and your brain.

I isolated myself in my house for almost 5 months-- I barely went outside, didn't work, lost a lot of my friends-- but it got me writing fan fiction, and on tumblr, and to share my story (which I didn't really ever think I would do).

and hey!!!

Connecting over our shared menty-b's like some baddies.

SERIOUSLY THOUGH!! I hope you find some comfort in what I said because all those things helped me tremendously. I still am currently struggling but it's gotten so much easier since I started opening up and forgiving myself and being more patient in knowing it doesn't change overnight.

I LOVE YOU ANON!!! I REALLY DO!!

[houndofgod]

I am not your rolling wheels

I am the highway

I am not your carpet ride

I am the sky...

I am not your blowing wind

I am the lightning

I am not your autumn moon

I am the night

Meet Audrey Schwartz, a monster hunter, psychopomp, hedonist and werewolf. What can she say, when you've been around for 400 years you've got to stay busy somehow yeah? So are you gonna sit in the corner and stare at your shoes all night kid? Life's too short for regrets!

To the tune of:

So you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, it's close to midnight and something evil's lurking in the dark, turn and face the strange changes, I traveled the world and the seven seas, might as well jump, someday you'll know where you are, hit me with your best shot, don't give a damn bout my bad reputation, addicted to love

Rules, info, links and sundry under the cut

Hi, I'm Tora, thanks for stopping by! I'm rebooting this blog after being away for a while and I can't edit the original pages I made but things have changed a bit so feel free to ignore those. Most of what you need to know will hopefully be here to keep things easy.

About me:

I like vintage scifi, animation and weird media. I'm currently playing housewife and recovering from burnout after being my grandmother's caregiver for five years. I'm still figuring out how to have a life of my own so if I seem distant or disinterested, I promise I'm not, I'm getting used to talking to people again. Please be patient with me, I've got a lot to sort out for myself rn.

I'm well over 25 and have been rping for something like 10 years. I like both long and short rp forms, I'm not too heavy on formatting (I'm stuck on mobile) and I mainly enjoy action and adventure themed threads with lots of character and relationship development. I've written smut in the past but I'm not interested in it at the moment. Shipping is according to chemistry and written threads. Basically I'm open to the idea of shipping with Audrey but it's not my focus. I know that seems contrary to Audrey's vibe but I'm not interested in writing casual relationships like that rn. I don't mind NSFW stuff on my dash at all, I just don't feel like participating in it at this time. Mainly I enjoy things that make me laugh, tho I'm not above some juicy angst and drama lol. Audrey has her own main verse and an extensive timeline to work in but I'm very open to creating new ones. My biggest inspirations currently are The X Files, Hellsing, Hellboy, and the supernatural and strange.

Rules:

Idk, the basics. If I follow you I think you've got something cool going on and want to play! It may take me a moment since I'm busy but bear with me. I'll do the same for you, I know we've all got lives and obligations offline. Take your time. Please no weird drama shit, I'm here for fun. If something bothers you, message me, communication is king and I don't want to upset someone unintentionally. Audrey can be an asshole but I don't want that to bleed into a relationship ooc.

Special note: this is not an ABO blog, I'm not interested in it unless it's to do something genuinely interesting with the trope.

About Audrey:

Born around 400 years ago to a werewolf and a human in Swedish Livonia, Audrey's had a busy life. There's been ups (fighting demons during the French Revolution) and downs (working for a vampire crime lord in the 60's) and run arounds (eating zombie Hitler?), but that's how it goes innit?

Audrey is inspired mainly by the story of Thiess of Kaltenbrun and was written to be at home in the Hellsing manga canon but is flexible for most other settings. It means she's rather OP but I try not to take advantage of that, it'd spoil the fun!

Faceclaim: Stephanie Beatriz in Brooklyn 99

Height: 5'5"

Sexuality: Swinging both ways, sometimes with a bat

Likes: food, rock music, dancing, sex, video games, old movies, scifi, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong

Dislikes: the ocean, small spaces, ghosts, gods, faeries, being looked down on

Morality: Chaotic Neutral leaning towards good. Sometimes.

Strengths: Persistent, resourceful, generous, caring, independent

Flaws: Impulsive, overconfident, capricious, blunt, overbearing

Abilities: super strength, speed, senses and regeneration. Wolf transformation (partial and full), shadow manipulation, shadow wolf transformation, dimension walking, sin eating. Impeccable sense of direction. Skilled in firearms and bashing skulls with her steel staff.

Weaknesses: silver and wolfsbane. An injury caused by either one will heal at a much slower rate. Loses control of her shifting powers without her wolf-belt. In that case she is forced to transform during the full moon as well as the preceding and following night. She maintains her humanity during her transformation at these times but can lose that coherence under stress.

Personality: Outgoing, passionate, pragmatic loud, Audrey is determined to live a life without regret by doing what she believes is right. Loyal to her friends, deadly to her enemies, although the two are rarely distinguished by their morals. She travels far and frequently for her job but enjoys making friends whereever she goes and adding to her constantly growing adopted family. She’s honest, often to the point of rudeness but she expects honesty in return and dislikes lying and deceit. Ironically she’s become very good at twisting her words and hiding the truth without actually lying herself. Although she often acts without thinking, she means well and tries her best to help those around her. She's at home with flings and one night stands and flirts easily, tho she tries to respect boundaries if they're laid down. Outside of sexual relationships, she tries to be a mentor and a problem solver although she sometimes causes more problems than she solves. It doesn’t help that she’s extremely confident in the rightness of her actions, particularly when they may be morally questionable.

Links:

Headcanons

Drabbles and Audrey stories

Worldbuilding

Human looks

Wolf looks

Everything in between

Aesthetic

My art

Relevant music

Plot wishlist

Threads

[officialjohnjones]

Hello, Tumblr! John Jones here, you may have heard of me. I used to be an Agent of the IO. Some even call me a legend. I'm the leader of the Reality Warriors, and together, we're ready to stand against whatever forces might try to conquer or destroy this island, or all of reality. Today, that's an Oni army that's a horrible blend of IO grunt and demon possession, so that's what we're fighting against!

I keep tabs on the island, so if you need help, feel free to ask. I'm always ready to fight the good fight and protect any who need protecting!

Just don't send me weird stuff, don't insult Peely or my lovely girlfriend Evie, and DEFINITELY don't try to tear down the members of my team, and we'll be chill, kay?

TAGS:

Commander Jones Journal: In Character Posting

Jones Reblogs: Reblogs

Jones Ask Answered: In Character Asks

//OOC Post: Out of Character Posting

Note: I'll also be tagging posts as "Open" or "Closed" depending on whether or not they're free for anyone to reply to.

OOC Rules, Headcanons, Etc

Rules:

1. No NSFW Asks or Comments. I will not respond, and if I find it necessary, I will block you.

2. I'd appreciate hard language being kept to a minimum. This isn't a hard rule, but Jones will call you out on it if needed. He's kinda the main hero of the island now, he's gotta be a role model!

3. I do take acting in character seriously, so I will interact or not based on how I feel Jones would. That said, he is a pretty funny guy, and has watched from the outside of this world for long enough that he may be a bit meta sometimes.

4. I am an adult. Just to be absolutely clear and upfront. I don't mind chatting if you're a minor, but let's keep everything PG, and I will end the conversation if it gets too off-color.

5. IMPORTANT: I reserve the right to refuse to acknowledge any RP, ask or response, if I feel it doesn't fit with the world I've crafted around Jones. This includes character's going "godmode" attempts to kill Jones, etc. For big events, please try to work with me beforehand so we can both have fun.

Headcanon Information:

The idea is that I'm playing the original Jones. The guy who joined the IO, defected to help the Seven, rebooted the timeline at Slone's behest, joined the Underground with Hope, became the Captain America of Reality Zero, and is now hopping around reality solving problems.

1. We're told that his original reality is super unsafe, which is why he joined the IO to protect his family. I'm taking this to mean that the Jonesy in Save the World is who he was-- a Soldier alongside Ramirez and them who ended up protecting Homebase.

2. He joined the IO, and was one of their most loyal agents until the Zero Crisis. He couldn't ignore his conscience when he saw the state of the island, and defected to help protect the loopers.

3. Always has to be the hero. It's a strength and a flaw that Slone called out during the Cube Queen event. With the island still constantly under threat, he's learning to work with a team, but this bit still gets to him

4. He's fiercely loyal to the people close to him, especially Evie, Peely, and Hope. He's lost a lot of people over the course of his life, and he protects the ones he has now with all he's got.

[warlordarcher]

The Code

In war there aren't rules, but here there are

Interacting

SEND MEMES, it’s a quick and easy way to start interacting. It can even work as an ice breaker. Whether we never spoke, or we’re RP a while ago, please send memes, I find them very entertaining while working on longer plots!

You can turn any ask into a thread. I don't mind having multiple threads! In fact, I encourage it.

Feel free to bombard my muse with asks, he loves when both you and your muses interact with him, so he will always be happy to receive attention.

I love plotting! Please talk to me to plot something. I’m okay with almost all genres (Angst, fluff, fight, chill, romance, gore, smut, etc…). If you are shy to approach me to talk, send me an ask and I will land in your inbox

Few topics are blacklisted, but I’m not going to role-play anything related to pedophilia, rape, zoophilia, etc … but Gore is fine! (As long as mun and muse are 18+)

Don’t be intimidated by my length of writing! Quality is better than quantity! I always adapt to the way you write, just give me something that allows me to work! (For example: If you give me -hugs them- and nothing more of context, it is almost certain that I will not reply it, because it is not giving me the opportunity to work)

Romance / NSFW

For any romantic / sexual interaction there must be chemical (emotional or physical) first!

Shipping. LOVE SHIPPING. This blog is multiship, so consider each ship in a different AU! My muse isn’t here to play cheating games and stuff, unless we plot something about it, but it will be in the universe of that particular ship. Saying again, think each ship in a different timeline. I won’t ship anything underage or blood ties. Crush is fine!

NSFW. Mun is 25+, all nsfw interactions, both mun and muse must be 18+. I reserve the right to not respond or block if you try to generate nsfw content while are minors. Usually use “Read more”.

You can talk to me if you want our muses to have a pre-established relationship or want to make one.

Disclaimer

Drama-free zone. Please, this’ a hobby or an escape from the daily routine, bitter is life, so I take the liberty of ignoring anyone who approaches with bad intentions

Please have patience if I don’t reply quickly. Sometimes I don’t have time in my real life or I just feel stuck and don’t know how to advance the rp. You can ask me anything! Maybe simply by talking we can follow the course or plot something new.

Sometimes I just don't have time to sit down and reply to threads because real life is consuming me, but I can make quick interactions through memes. That doesn't mean I've thrown away our thread, I'm just waiting to have enough time and motivation to give you a good reply

No Godmodding, don’t take control of my character (unless it’s something basic like moving to a place, to make the rp a little more fluid)

[misc-obeyme]

I think i forgot to add context on the song I linked. my worde aren't working to even form a proper sentence and IDK why it happens because his story is fully fleshed out :( (<lie)

lets ignore the song is about lovecraft m'kay,, I just love Aviators & their songs are Barbatos headcanon & om au fuel ـ

It's about future visions both Sharo (my mc) & Barbatos have since they share the same power (being a reality warper, but like, Sharo's is way weaker) :<

and the visions aren't only visual imo, they can be smells, tastes, sounds,, anything. even as far as shbconsciously not walking over an area. they can be very vague to very vivid. (ex. not walking over smth can have a varity of meanings like a tiny prop there or a dead body or a large dangerous pit while the visions can be as vivid as the realoty they're in.)

the song talks about voices and Sharo had these "hallucinations" from childhood. the doctors diagnosed him with schizophrenia and Barbatos didn't really,, look too much into his hallucinations (and Sharo was coping lol) until they both heard something. Barbatos realized it was from another timeline and was about to go on with his day, but seeing Sharo flinching made him realized he has also heard it too which makes him curious about the "human" who was mistakenly brought to the devildom lol

I have no idea how to talk about them. more op mcs please

Ohhh that all sounds super interesting!

Okay, so Sharo has visions (though this can be basically through any sense) from other timelines and Barbatos figures out that Sharo is like him because they both hear something from another timeline.

The fact you've got human in quotes makes me think Sharo must not be fully human? Is this at all related to Lilith's angel DNA or is it something different?

And what does Barbatos do once he figures out that Sharo has the same power as him? I mean, he's gotta be curious I bet he doesn't run into that ever.

I hope Barbatos tells him about it so that Sharo realizes the truth about what's happening. I suspect that'd be kind of a relief to finally understand why he's having those visions and things.

Of course you needn't answer any of my questions if you don't want to lol I'm just perpetually curious about such things! Feel free to ignore or answer whatever you like!

[xploreintellects]

Top Mistakes to Prevent When Hiring a Web Development Company

Are you ready to get your website developed but unsure which web development company to go with? You are not alone! Hundreds of different companies exist and it can be easy to make a mistake that you will later regret. It doesn’t matter if you are a small business, a startup, or just getting into online business, choosing a website development company is a big step in your growth path.

Before you shake on an agreement with a web development agency, let’s look at the common mistakes people commonly make in real-time, so you can learn to avoid these mistakes wisely.

1. Blindly Going with the Cheapest Quote

Everyone loves saving money, however, sometimes the cheapest quote can wind up the most expensive in the long run. There are some companies out there that provide very low pricing just to win the deal. And then they will charge you later in poor design, buggy code, no support, or delays.

Pro Tip: Always look in the package for what is included- such as the design, development, SEO basics, and support. Don't just go with the lowest quote, go with what provides you the best value.

2. Not Reviewing Portfolios Adequately

This is one of the most common issues with hiring web developers. Plenty of people hire web developers without checking their previous work. If they offer you a portfolio that is either outdated or basic, consider that a red flag.

What to do: Ask if they have any live links to previous websites they have built, and compare. Check out how clean the site looks, how fast it loads, and whether it's mobile and desktop responsive. If what you see doesn't meet your expectations, move on.

3. Unclear Requirements 

Sometimes it's not them, it may just be us. A lot of businesses never clearly define what they want out of their website. If you don't have a plan, even the best developer won't be able to build what you envisioned.

Solution: Create a simple document to outline your goals - for example:

What type of website (static/dynamic/eCommerce)

How many pages do you need (Home, About, Services, Contact, etc.) Any design examples? Your brand colours, logo, etc. The clearer your plan is for your web developer the better the results.

4. Ignoring SEO Fundamentals

What does it matter if you have a beautiful site if nobody can find it? Many development companies don’t focus on basic SEO optimization until you ask. It could be that your site looks amazing but won’t appear anywhere on Google. 

Fix it: Ask your developer if they implement SEO-friendly practices such as:

Clean code

Mobile-first design

Fast loading speed

Meta tags & schema support

Image compression & alt texts

If they say “No idea” — that is a huge red flag.

5. Not Discussing Post-Launch Support

Most people usually do not ask: What happens after we launch the site?

What if your form stops working?

 Or your site is hacked?

 Or you want to update your content?

Remember this: Always ask about maintenance and support. Will they give a monthly maintenance package? Is it paid or free for the first few months?  Good support is like a insurance coverage to plan to have when things go wrong.

6. No Contract or Timeline

Please don’t go with a company that says “we’ll do it soon “ but give you no timeline. Also if your not signing a agreement, things can fall apart quickly.

Tip:  Get everything in writing —

Timeline with stages (design, development, testing) Payment milestones Deliverables Support

This protects both sides and avoids any confusion.

7. Hiring a Team That Doesn’t Understand Your Industry

All industries have different customer behaviour and expectations for their websites. A team that builds fashion websites may not fully understand what a real estate company needs.

Smart move: Hire a web development firm that has experience in your industry — or at least seriously tries to understand your business objectives.

8. Ignoring Communication Style

Trust me, this is super important. If a team is late to respond, ignores your input, and communicates only in language that you cannot understand the project will be annoying to manage. 

What to understand: A good team will explain things in plain words, be open to ideas, and make sure you're involved. Look for a team that understands your business as a partnership, not just a project you commission.

Final Thoughts

Choosing a web development company is not just about getting a website done — it’s about building your digital foundation. If you avoid the mistakes listed above, you’ll save money, time, and a lot of stress.

Take your time, ask the right questions, and go with a team that understands your business, values your time, and delivers real results. Suppose you’re looking for a reliable team that delivers what it promises, with the right mix of design, performance, SEO, and support. In that case, we are the best website development company in Coimbatore Xplore Intellects is here to help.

[nephytale]

The code ​☠️​

Interacting

SEND MEMES, it’s a quick and easy way to start interacting. It can even work as an ice breaker. Whether we never spoke, or we’re RP a while ago, please send memes, I find them very entertaining while working on longer plots!

You can turn any ask into a thread. I don't mind having multiple threads! In fact, I encourage it.

Feel free to bombard my muses with asks, they love when both you and your muses interact with them, so they will always be happy to receive attention

I love plotting! Please talk to me to plot something. I’m okay with almost all genres (Angst, fluff, fight, chill, romance, gore, smut, etc…). If you are shy to approach me to talk, send me an ask and I will land in your inbox

Few topics are blacklisted, but I’m not going to role-play anything related to pedophilia, rape, zoophilia, etc … but Gore is fine! (As long as mun and muse are 18+)

Don’t be intimidated by my length of writing! Quality is better than quantity! I always adapt to the way you write, just give me something that allows me to work! (For example: If you give me -hugs them- and nothing more of context, it is almost certain that I will not reply it, because it is not giving me the opportunity to work)

Please, if you are going to unfollowing me, soft block or hard block me. This way I don't follow you again or talk to you by mistake.

Romance / NSFW

For any romantic / sexual interaction there must be chemical (emotional or physical) first!

Shipping. LOVE SHIPPING. This blog is multiship, so consider each ship in a different AU! My muses isn’t here to play cheating games and stuff, unless we plot something about it, but it will be in the universe of that particular ship. Saying again, think each ship in a different timeline. I won’t ship anything underage or blood ties. Crush is fine!

Ryoko is flirtatious by nature, that doesn't mean I'm forcing a ship! Your muse will always have the chance to slap her or laugh in her face (or maybe flirt back, who says?)

NSFW. Mun is 25+, all nsfw interactions, both mun and muse must be 18+. I reserve the right to not respond or block if you try to generate nsfw content while are minors. Usually use “Read more”.

You can talk to me if you want our muses to have a pre-established relationship or want to make one.

Disclaimer

Drama-free zone. Please, this’ a hobby or an escape from the daily routine, bitter is life, so I take the liberty of ignoring anyone who approaches with bad intentions

Please have patience if I don’t reply quickly. Sometimes I don’t have time in my real life or I just feel stuck and don’t know how to advance the rp. You can ask me anything! Maybe simply by talking we can follow the course or plot something new.

Sometimes I just don't have time to sit down and reply to threads because real life is consuming me, but I can make quick interactions through memes. That doesn't mean I've thrown away our thread, I'm just waiting to have enough time and motivation to give you a good reply

No Godmodding, don’t take control of my character (unless it’s something basic like moving to a place, to make the rp a little more fluid)

[ovaryacted]

✧˖° ── RULES & GUIDELINES

This is an 18+ blog, crude language and mature topics will be a regular occurrence. Minors should not be interacting with anything NSFW that is uploaded on this page. Minors should also not be interacting with me personally, requesting anything, or talking to me about sex & kinks (unless it comes from an educational standpoint, then I can make an exception depending on what it is).

Anon hate and discourse have no place on my blog, and I ask that you have your age visible on your account. This is a safe space for all people (LGBTQ+, POC, neurodivergent people, etc.) If you are racist, homophobic, zionist, islamophobic, sexist, fatphobic, an incel, a pedophile, a kink shamer, or are ignorant and/or bigoted in any way, I will block you.

✩ ─ Requests are closed, as I already have set ideas I want to write for and generally don't take requests. However, I will allow thirst messages in my ask box and I am open to writing drabbles/smaller pieces for things that suit my interests.

✮ ─ I usually post whenever I can or want, I don’t have a set posting schedule. I have a life and a full time job outside of this blog, so usually if I am not consistent with posting or I am not as active, it simply means I am busy.

✩ ─ I am often loud in the tags and enjoy using memes and gifs as my reaction to things. I like being funny on the timeline, so be prepared to see me being silly on here since I don’t take shit seriously.

✮ ─ I am always open to meeting new people and my inbox and ask box are there for interactions. No pressure of course, but if you have any questions or want to know more about me and the stuff I write, feel free to shoot me a message!

✩ ─ Don't just like my work, reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated and help creators stay motivated to create more!

I WILL WRITE:

CONTENT: smut, fluff, angst, etc. I focus on afab fem reader & gender neutral reader. When I write anything NSFW, especially BDSM, it comes from a place of knowledge and experience, and I value and support kink exploration. I make an effort to show healthy/accurate/inclusive sex practices and I am always open to criticism, recommendations, and additions so long as it's respectful.

I will write things that include dark content, gore, violence & things that are considered "taboo" like age gaps & abuse of authority. When I do, I will always have warnings and disclaimers so please do read them beforehand. You are responsible for the content you consume.

MOST KINKS: Dom/sub dynamics / femdom / impact play / Daddy & Mommy Kinks / PinV / Anal & anal play / DDLG & MDLB / knife & gun play / blood play / period sex / sex toys / squirting / cum play / spit play / foot fetish / breeding kink / cockwarming / breath play / degradation & praise / threesomes / somnophilia / overstimulation / dumbification / dacryphilia / orgasm control & edging / marking / voyeurism / exhibitionism / bondage / pet-play / age-play (with exception) / monster-fucking / bodily fluids (piss & vomit with exception) / CNC & free use (with exception) / more that I may be missing

DARK CONTENT EXCEPTIONS: Dub-con & Non-con / Psuedo-incest (depends) / yandere & stalker / some DDNE content / I don't mind exploring the taboo or other dynamics, just depends on what it is.

I WILL NOT WRITE:

Incest / pedophilia / hardcore rape or non-con / child & animal abuse / underage scenarios or aged up characters / bimbo! reader / domestic abuse & hardcore violence (unless it’s part of the plot) / race play / scat / necrophilia / limbless / intense bodily torture / beastiality (this doesn't include the omegaverse or monsters, I'm open to that with exception).

I won't write for male gay or trans characters. This is out of respect for people who live that experience and want to see a proper representation of those identity/relationship dynamics. I feel that I will do a disservice in properly depicting those very real experiences as a cis woman, and I advise readers to find writers who cater to their wants & needs.

©️ ovaryacted 2023-2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed ito any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

today’s drabble goes out to @spookyshrimpemotions​ and her autumn celebration 🍁 happy autumn and soon-to-be birthday, liza! you’re a joy and a delight :)

“C’mon, let’s make this quick,” Dean says, dragging Cas into the supermarket by one of his trenchcoat sleeves. “Can’t believe Sam forgot the fucking salt.” 

“We did leave in a hurry, Dean--”

“And you don’t know the first thing about hunting, you could just pull that smiting trick, but that’s not very--”

“Dean, the salt is on the other side of the store--”

“And it’s colder than a witch’s tit out there, who does this in mid-October? Have I mentioned that I hate Sam?” “Yes, Dean,” Cas says patiently. He’s being awful patient, Dean thinks, for someone who doesn’t even have to be here. He’d just showed up while he and Sam were heading to a salt-n-burn, because goddamned ghosts don’t stop for the apocalypse, and said he wanted to “help.” 

Not that--not that Dean minds. It’s nice to have company, especially company that's Cas, because the last time they’d hung out, just the two of them, Dean’d tried to get Cas with a girl and it had gone real bad, although it had also been real funny. He didn’t get to laugh that much very often. 

Or at all.

Dean pulls Cas past displays of random flavors of Oreos and pork rinds and Natty Light to the salt, which is exactly where Cas said it would be. On the way to the register, they pass all the autumnal shit, pumpkins and apple cider and cookies shaped like ghosts. Part of Dean wants to teach his angel about Halloween, but he himself hasn’t celebrated the holiday in a long enough time--

And there’s Sam and the whole deal with Stanford and the fire a few years ago. So no Halloween, not quite yet. 

“Dean, you can’t just walk out of the store.” Cas is the one to lead him this time. Dean wordlessly hands a wad of bills to the cashier, who doesn’t seem at all worried about two guys who look like they just spent an hour doing something like digging up a grave buying five canisters of kosher salt. 

“You’re thinking about something,” Cas notes as they emerge back out into the parking lot, holding the bag with the salt, and Dean rolls his eyes, adopting annoyance.

“And what’s that, Cas? You gonna read my mind?”

“You feel nostalgic. You want to have people to do something with and not have to worry about the apocalypse. You--”

“Shit, Cas. I didn’t mean literally read my mind.” Dean stops right in front of the Impala. “Wait. You can read my mind?”

“On occasion.”

Dean wonders, as he meets Cas’s gaze, if Cas could read his mind when he took him to that brothel. Something to the effect of wish it was me instead of that girl. 

Dean blinks, snaps himself out of it. “Well, don’t. Let’s go, Sam’s probably fallen into the grave or something.”

“Your brother is not that clumsy--”

“Can it, Cas.” 

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - Part 19 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: References to sex. Continued ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: Thank you for your patience, my beautiful lil mamas, Part 19 is finally here! We are back in Reader's headspace, and lordy, oh lordy, it's A LOT...just remember, I DID warn and promise y'all pain before a happy ending. And the end is coming soon. 😭 I know, babies, I know. 💖

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

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

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

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Silence.

For the first time in over a week, you aren’t bombarded with images of the past or worries for the future as your subconscious desperately tries to guide you places you are not ready to go to yet. As you stir awake, you feel somewhat rested, peaceful almost. Your eyes flutter open and even though the room is dim, you still squint and hiss at the light that pierces through your eyes and seems to rocket through your head like a spear. You can’t help but groan a little at the pain behind your eyes.

The room is not familiar, however, which sets you on edge, that peacefulness of good sleep draining from you quickly. Frantically, you try to puzzle out where you are and how you got here but thinking sends a wave of nausea through you that you can’t ignore. You groan again at the feeling and crack your eyes open the slightest bit.

A man, first crouched in the uncomfortable looking chair he’s perched in, sits up ramrod straight at your movements. Despite the dark circles around his eyes, he’s a vision to behold. You know without a doubt he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on, what with his high cheekbones, lusciously pouty lips, and chiseled jaw covered in what looks to be a day’s worth of dark stubble. Raven hair frames his face, thick sideburns curling at his ears and locks haphazard on his forehead. And those eyes, dear lord, those impossibly long, dark lashes rim his eyes. His eyes, which feel as deep and dark blue as the ocean itself, cut through the fog in your head, widening and looking over you with care and concern.

You know those soulful, familiar eyes anywhere.

Elvis.

You blink and the world starts to snap into focus. Through the pain and nausea, you take in your surroundings. The uncomfortable bed you’re in. The IV in your arm. The dreary paint on the walls. The smell of antiseptic.

The hospital. You are in the hospital.

This must be why Elvis looks positively distraught, his large hand now frantically grasping at yours on the bed. You swear he is shaking, steadied only once he touches you and a wave of relief falls over his handsome yet worried features.

“Y/n. Oh thank God, y/n,” he murmurs. “Are you okay? How do you feel? What do you remember?” he barrages you with questions that you aren’t sure you have the answers to yet, especially with the way your head is pounding so distractingly. For some reason, the whole scene suddenly strikes you as silly, what with the most famous man in the world looking at you so damn seriously. You can’t help yourself.

“Who…who are you?” you croak out quietly, your unused voice cracking.

The look on his face is priceless as he rolls through shock, terror, and dismay all at once. His face falls dramatically then and there is no way you can keep up the pretense because the little boy look that comes over him is just too much.

“Gotcha,” you chuckle, cracking a smile that suddenly makes your face feel like it’s on fire and making you regret your smile instantly.

“You little minx,” he growls, a relieved grin spreading over his face before he sees the pain on your face. “You’re hurtin’. Goddammit, I should’ve killed him…” he mutters heatedly under his breath.

It takes more than a moment to process what he is saying and connect that with the burning tightness of the left side of your face. You bring your hand up slowly, gingerly touching the unfamiliar swollen, hot flesh of your cheek. You can’t help but hiss at the painful sensation that runs over you when you do so.

You close your eyes, feeling Elvis’ heavy but comforting hand squeeze yours.

What in the hell happened?

Reaching back in your memory, you attempt to piece together why you are here, why you are in so much pain. Dread fills your heart as flashes of memory come at you:

Jack accosting you in the bathroom.

Losing his mind at seeing the hickies on your breast.

Him dragging you out and humiliating you in front of everyone.

Then…then…

Oh, god.

Jack did this. He hit you.

Your head falls back, and you cover your eyes with your free hand. A wave of shock, then a wave of deep sadness overcomes you. Hot tears spring to your eyes and spill down your cheeks and you don’t attempt to stop them. The salt of them stings the abrasions on your face.

How could he? How could he?

Sobs wrack your body, each one a pulse of pain through your head, shooting red-hot through you. You knew, you knew deep down it was over, but you never expected it to come to this. You never thought Jack had it in him to truly hurt you. But you are lying in a hospital bed, living proof that the man you once loved was truly gone.

And it feels devastating, yet also strangely relieving, in a way you could’ve never imagined.

“Oh, Satnin, baby. Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” Elvis whispers at you, clutching your hand, his concern evident but unsure.

The wave of devastation crashes over you, both the physical and psychic pain nearly unbearable as it throbs in your head. You feel utterly raw. Humiliated. Gutted. Guilty. Relieved. Furious.

The sudden image of slapping Jack’s face as he knelt bloody on the floor resonates through you, the sting still evident in your palm.

Elvis had almost killed Jack, blinded by a protective rage, you now remember. You’d stopped him.

Part of you wishes you hadn’t.

It all feels quite unreal yet simultaneously overwhelming, all these flashes of memory hitting you in rapid succession. And you know there are more troubling memories waiting in the wings, ready to knock you off your feet once again. You can sense them lingering at the edges of your mind, somehow closer than they have ever been but still just out of reach.

All at once you don’t feel strong enough to bear them.

Everybody knows, you suddenly realize. Your affair with Elvis was now out there for everyone to see, for everyone to judge. You open your tear-filled eyes to look at the beautiful man before you, the one you love so much it feels as though it might destroy you, because god knows you haven’t forgotten that. You cannot bring yourself to regret being with him, no matter if it led you to be here, broken and battered in a hospital bed in Las Vegas.

But something is not right. Something besides the obvious. And it’s right there, just out of view.

Your head hurts too much to dwell on it, however.

“I’m gonna take care of you baby,” Elvis finally says after what you realize is too many moments of silence. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”

The way he says it so softly and with such righteous conviction strikes something within you. The clasp of his hand on yours is almost too tight, the look on his face both filled with remorse and determination. You know what he says is true—he will not leave you to face this alone.

Despite this, the uncomfortable elephant in the room lingers: you would not be here if not for Elvis, and you both know it.

But with the pain in your body and the ache in your heart, that is not a mountain you can begin to climb yet. There are too many unanswered questions that you need to figure out and this is not the time or place. So, you let Elvis hold your hand with that mournful look in his churning eyes and you try to heal.

*

“Watch your step, watch your step!” Elvis supports you gingerly, his strong arm holding you at the waist, as if just walking will shatter you into a thousand pieces.

“E, I’m okay. I promise I can walk on my own. It’s just one step,” you say, trying to keep the annoyance out of your tone. He’s been hovering as much as possible for the past two days you’ve been under observation at the hospital, only leaving when absolutely necessary to do his two shows a night. He sent the hospital staff into a tizzy with demands for your care while still managing to be charming and effusive to all the employees in a way that only he could get away with.

You’re not sure that he’s slept in the past few days, as he seems obsessed with making sure you are alright. Your pleas for him to go back to the hotel and get some rest fell on deaf ears. Hopefully, now that you’ll be in the hotel, he will relax a little.

While your face is healing, it is still covered in a nasty bruise, which you are reminded of every time Elvis looks at you because the wince that passes over his features, while nearly imperceptible to others, is quite evident to you. It serves to remind you how you got here and how he seemingly thinks him controlling everything about your recovery is going to somehow put you back together and make everything how it was before.

But it’s not like it was before.

Not with the looks that the Mafia are giving you. You can sense their pity, their judgement, their fear. Because Elvis having a known affair with you threatens them all. What if it was their wife or girlfriend? What if Elvis turns on them the way he turned on Jack? Jack was their friend, too. It’s written all over their faces. And you can tell they’ve been put on best behavior because more than usual they defer to Elvis, and they are suddenly wildly uncomfortable around you, even though you’ve been part of the group for years.

You can’t help but feel like the king’s consort. The mistress. The usurper.

The only exceptions are Jerry and Sandy, of course. And Charlie, in his usual Charlie way, has been kind and endearing. But the rest are quiet. Too quiet.

You don’t know what’s happened to Jack. You also haven’t seen Red, though you can’t say you’re upset about it. The few times you tried to ask Elvis, he brushed you off, saying you didn’t need to worry about such things while you’re trying to recover.

All of it has you unsettled. You knew there would be consequences, of course you did, but you didn’t expect it to be this strange.

Thankfully, your headaches are becoming less frequent, but when they do come, they are intense and debilitating, and weirdly, each one brings a host of images and fractured memories that you must try to make sense of. The doctor said this should hopefully get better as your brain heals from the concussion. A full recovery, he said, but it might take some time. Elvis takes this to mean you need constant care, and honestly you don’t have the energy to argue with the man about it right now, so you let him escort you into his bedroom suite as though you are frail and fragile.

“There you go, Satnin, all set,” he says, fluffing the mountain of pillows behind you, and then he gently takes off each of your shoes. You lean back with a sigh, suddenly grateful for the comfort of his huge bed in his penthouse suite because that hospital bed was truly terrible.

“Maybe you wanna to get into your pajamas?” he suggests. “I had all your things brought up, but I also went ahead and bought you some things, since I know you hadn’t planned on being here this long, and—” he rambles. The look on his face is almost childlike in his need to please you, to take care of you. It is quite the adjustment after spending a week basking in his masculine sexual dominance.  You aren’t complaining at this change in him; in fact, it reminds you of when you first met, of those early years. It’s just giving you a bit of whiplash.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m fine for now,” you interrupt, trying to keep your tone light. Bringing your hand up, you pinch the bridge of your nose as another headache threatens. Overly attuned to you, Elvis grabs one of your feet and starts rubbing, using his strong hands to knead deep into the sole of your foot.

The hurts-so-good feeling has you groaning and your head falling back onto the pillows.

“That feel good, mama?” he drawls quietly.

All you can do is nod and hum in response. You’re certain if this had happened a few days ago, that statement, this action, would be laced with a fierce sexual energy. You imagine that it would last only a minute before he pounced and worked you into a state of pleasurable bliss. That latent desire is still there—you can sense it—but with everything that has happened, it takes a backseat to your pain.

This both saddens you and makes you feel grateful. You covet your sexual relationship with him, as it is the definitive thing you know he wants and needs from you. You know this for sure, and with your ever-present uncertainty about the rest of your relationship, it makes you feel off-kilter to not be able to share that with him. However, his commitment to being by your side despite the lack of sex, has been somewhat reassuring. You desperately hope it’s not just a sense of guilt that keeps him here with you.

You sigh, your eyes falling shut, and relish in the feel of his hands on you in such a comforting way as he treats one foot, then the other, to this intimate treatment. But he is uncharacteristically quiet.

He practically has you in a stupor by the time he finishes with the second foot, managing to stave off your impending headache. Opening your eyes, you catch him looking at you, those deep blues of his taking on a darker hue in the dim lighting. You can see the wheels turning, the way his hand flexes and releases over his tailored pants, how he worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

“What is it, E?” you ask gently, almost afraid it might spook him.

“I-I-I…can I hold you?” he stutters, changing tactics midway to get the sentence out, betraying his nerves.

“Of course, baby,” you respond quietly.

“I-I just don’t want to hurt you,” he says, crawling up the comforter to lie next to you. “Are ya sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” you say, as he curls into you, his arm coming over you.

All at once, you are flooded with memory. Your teenage bedroom. Your single bed. Elvis nestling close into your side, his cheeks still salty with tears. The way your heart races at his proximity and the way his touch, though innocent, burns through you like wildfire. His breath warm on your neck, tickling your bare skin.

He shows up on your doorstep such a mess, coming to you, of all people. You don’t quite understand it. (You’re still not sure you understand it—why it’s you, of all people, at that point in his life, that he’d chosen to come to.)

You fall into caring for him so easily, like it is second nature to run your fingers through his hair and massage his back as he cries in your lap, even though you’ve never touched him like this, so intimately, before. When he asks to stay, those bedroom eyes of his begging, your heart leaps in a way you are ashamed of. Your entire body feels on fire, flustering you as you consider the implications, consider just how badly you do want him to stay, and if it’s worth it to see where this might go.

It only gets worse when you find him stripped down to his underwear, waiting for you innocently in your bedroom, a place no man has stayed before. Your heart stops in your chest at the sight of him sitting there, exhausted and emotionally spent. Before you take him into your bed, he’s so good in reassuring you he would never hurt you, that he won’t touch you like that. Of course, he wouldn’t; you know this. But your trepidation isn’t because you are afraid he’ll take advantage of you—it is because part of you wants him to.

The memory makes you blush furiously. Yet another important moment you had buried so deep that remembering it now makes it feel like it just happened.

After the initial tension of him being curled so close into you wanes, you relax and let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. Oh, how you relish in the softness of his skin against yours, the musky scent and heat of him surrounding you as he holds on to you through the night. You wake up multiple times, thinking you must be dreaming that Elvis is in your bed, but are pleasantly surprised to really find him there, his warm, lean, young body pressing into yours in various ways. The moonlight through the window lets you see just how innocently beautiful and vulnerable he is like this, like some kind of angel not of this world, his long lashes falling over his cheeks. You feel grateful to see him this way, tucking the moment away in your mind. Despite the rollercoaster of hormones coursing through you, you’ve never felt so safe before, not with Ted, not with any man.

Or felt so aroused. That terrified you, you think, as the wave of feeling crashes over you in the present. You want him with an intensity that shocks you to your core. But he is your friend, for god’s sake, and he’d come to you upset and trusted you to help him, and here you are, suddenly lusting after him like every other girl on the planet. Oh, yes, you are so very ashamed of yourself, for the dirty thoughts you’re thinking.

But, oh, how you imagine him waking to kiss you passionately, willing him to touch you everywhere, wanting him to run his long, calloused fingers up under your nightgown and into your panties. Thinking that, in an instant, he could easily slide between your legs, and you would let him. You’ll gladly give yourself to him right this minute if he wants you. You screw your eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to block out the image of him slowly entering you, joining with you, rocking you into submission, into ecstasy.

Back then, those thoughts were more dangerous than anything, especially when the man in question was in your bed already, holding you close. It was a different time, and at nineteen, you were young and bound by propriety, and yet, in that moment, you hadn’t cared about that part.

But it is Elvis. Your dear friend. He doesn’t think of you that way. He’s on the brink of stardom and already has half the country fawning over him, with girlfriends in every town. You know this, logically. You know this, but for the first time, you allow yourself to think that maybe there is more to the two of you than just friendship. That maybe there is a reason he’d come to you in his hour of need.

A wave of heartache rolls through you as you recall that next morning. You blearily wake up from your fitfully aroused but somehow comforting slumber to him pulling you close, pressing the front of his body into the back of yours. The heat of him permeates through the thin cotton of your nightgown, which is quite a pleasing sensation in the cold of this late-winter morning. You sigh and wiggle back into him instinctually, before you can think too much on it, just needing to be closer to him. But then he jumps out of the bed in a flash, as if you were on fire, scurrying to clothe himself, and then he practically leaps out the window to get away from you.

He didn’t want you. Of course, he didn’t want you. He probably regrets the whole thing, with the way he leaves you lying there. He is Elvis Presley, after all. Your friend, but nothing more. You’d been foolish to think it anything more.

His abrupt absence leaves you cold, tears welling in your eyes, yearning for something you know you could never have from him (or so you’d thought, at the time). You pull the covers over your head, the scent of him on your sheets enveloping you. The grease he used in his hair left a stain on your pillow, but you don’t care in the slightest because it is something tangible, something that lets you know him holding you through the night had been real and not a dream.

Now it hits you suddenly that—oh, god—that was the day Jack had asked you out for the first time. You’d been sad all day, trying to push Elvis out of your mind and Jack had shown up at the diner, suddenly quite brazen in his attraction to you. While you weren’t entirely surprised, as the two of you had been dancing around each other for some time, the timing of it helped bring you out of your funk, reminding you that in the real world, a good man like Jack wanted you.

You’d quickly accepted because you liked Jack and there was no reason not to.

Elvis Presley was just your friend, after all.

Now you realize that in that short 24-hour period, the trajectory of your entire life changed. Maybe you’d fallen into Jack’s arms so quickly because Elvis’ rejection had upset you more than you wanted to admit. It had been easier and more realistic to date Jack, and it had taken your mind off the unwanted thoughts you had for Elvis.

Oh, no.

The intense discovery of this long-hidden memory and the emotions to go with it rocket through your skull with a shooting pain, causing you to hiss. Tears flood your eyes, from both the ache in your heart and the pain in your head.

“Baby, you okay? What can I do?” Elvis shoots his head up, noticing your distress, looking you over carefully.

You can’t explain, not now. “Bad headache,” you breathe out instead. “Can you get my medicine?” You didn’t want to take pain meds if you could help it, but in this moment, everything, pain and otherwise, is too overwhelming and you think maybe you just need some sleep.

So, you take the pill he gives you gratefully. You try not to think about how the way he looks at you now has that same boyish quality it had all those years ago when you’d taken him into your bed and into your arms, and he’d left you cold.

It’s okay, you think. He’s here now, taking care of me. He wants me now, even if he didn’t then.

And with that, you drift aimlessly away into welcome darkness.

*

Everything is fuzzy, the dull ache in your head muddling the flashes that are floating to the surface in your dreams.

You kiss Elvis’ forehead, the tears on his baby-faced cheeks, his pouting, full lips. You can taste the salt of his tears on your tongue.

Not Elvis now, you think, Elvis a long, long time ago.

But that doesn’t make sense. You didn’t kiss Elvis until two weeks ago.

He’s so sad, though, so alone. He needs you, he needs you, he needs you…

And you need him.

But it’s wrong, all wrong. And so right, all at once. Your body tingles through the ache in your head as you ever-so-gently press your lips to his. You’ve wondered for so long what he tastes like.

Soft and sweet, like marshmallows.

His bright blue eyes widen with shock.

“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this…” he whispers. The words echo and swirl around you.

He’s right, isn’t he? You can’t want this. You shouldn’t. Of course not…

You’re so angry, so sad, and he’s so beautiful.

Elvis. Your Elvis.

No, he’s not, he’s not, he’s not.

He belongs to no one. He belongs to the world.

Need pulses through you, a need so deep it brings you to your knees. It cuts through the pain in your head. It singes through your heart.

It’s unbearable.

It burns through you, from the inside out.

Those eyes, deep as the ocean, rimmed in black, plunder your soul. You ride the swell of the waves in them as they rise higher and higher and higher until they shatter underneath you.

The fall is blissful and terrifying, all at once, but Elvis is with you the whole way.

Free falling through the abyss, you are scared. It’s never-ending. You don’t know when you’ll hit bottom, and the anticipation of it runs like ice through your veins.

Guilt. Shame. That ache in your chest.

And then you hit bottom.

*

Your eyes pop open with a shuddering gasp. Gripping the sheets for dear life, you frantically try to piece out where you are, that you are not falling anymore.

Just a dream. Just a crazy, medication induced dream, you pray, seeing that you are in the darkened suite in Elvis’ penthouse.

But the unease remains, lurking more visibly now in the corners of your mind, trying to tell you something you don’t want to hear. Something you don’t want to see.

The door to the bedroom slowly opens and you jump, a hand flying over your chest in surprise. Elvis strides in quietly, clad in his white gi jumpsuit, sweat pouring over him. He must have just finished a show.

You had been asleep a while.

You are still amazed at how his presence fills a room, even when it’s just you here, even when there is no one to impress. He looks gorgeous and you know he’s riding the post-show high by the way his eyes sparkle and by the flush of his cheeks.

“You’re awake, baby. How’re ya feeling?” he asks, gliding over to you on those long legs of his.

You are still reeling from the dream. You shake your head, trying to clear that feeling of dread, of falling, and as he sits on the bed next to you, you are sucked into those oceanic eyes once again.

Your heart races.

“Are you okay?” He looks concerned, brushing your sweaty locks off your forehead, thumb grazing your cheek.

“Are you okay? he whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek. You sit still in his lap, saying nothing and can feel him begin to soften inside of you, the wetness of spent arousal leaking down your thighs under your dress…

The flash of memory hits you hard, because it was then, not now. Triggered by the same gesture, the same man, but it was a different time. He looked so young…

But that’s impossible. Impossible. The first time you had sex with Elvis was less than two weeks ago.

Your heart thunders in your chest because suddenly you don’t think that’s true.

You kiss Elvis’ forehead, kiss the tears on his baby-faced cheeks, and then, with a strange boldness, you kiss his pouting, full lips. You can taste the salt of his tears on your tongue.

His pants scratch at your bare thighs as you straddle his narrow hips. His tongue explores your mouth, sending searing heat through you. Boldly, you rock in his lap, feeling him grow underneath you.

You need him, oh, god, how you need him.

The flashes aren’t complete, but they are real. You are suddenly so sure that they are, and you don’t understand, not at all. You look at Elvis now, wild-eyed, silently seeking answers. How? How?

His long fingers are cold as they part your wet folds, and he pushes one, then another deep into your heat while his thumb massages that ever-sensitive bundle of nerves at the front. It stings at first, this surprising intrusion, but he’s gentle, letting you adjust around him, letting you decide when to move.

Your breath is coming fast now, and Elvis looks more than concerned.

“Satnin, what’s happenin’? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, eyes searching you.

You screw your eyes shut. This can’t be real. It can’t be.

You sink down on him slowly, the tightness of your canal stretching around his considerable size as you try to take him all in. It’s easier now, after he prepped you with his fingers, and the discomfort wanes quickly as you bottom out. He’s hitting places inside you that you didn’t know existed until this very moment.

Elvis looks utterly ethereal as you begin to ride him, his mouth open and pink, his freshly dyed raven hair falling in his eyes. Everything about him looks carved out by the gods, and his eyes drink you in in a way that strips you bare, right to the heart of you. He looks at you as though you hung the moon and the stars.

Those eyes are now looking at you in a panic.

He brings you to the brink easily and you crest the wave hard, your orgasm fracturing you into a thousand pieces as you fall. You’d never felt this way before, not with Ted, not with Jack, not even with yourself. The pleasure of it rips through you and he follows quickly, a warm, sticky heat pulsing deep as you cling to each other for dear life.

Oh. Oh god…

It was real. You know it now. You are more sure of it now than you’ve ever been.

Graceland, you realize suddenly, when he took you to see Graceland for the first time. That’s where it happened. Nineteen-fucking-fifty-seven.

Elvis and you had sex, a long, long time ago. And he kept it from you. Pretended it never even happened.

You push away from him and stagger off the bed in daze, flooded with so many emotions and sensations at once that you don’t know how to react. Dizzy, you sway a bit on your feet.

Flashes keep hitting you as you move. Waking in the hospital, not knowing how you’d gotten there. Elvis, worried at your bedside. The pills. The accidental overdose.

You think you might be sick.

“What the hell is happenin’? You’re scarin’ me. Talk to me, baby,” Elvis says from behind you. He feels so far away, but that deep seeded need to flee him is rolling through you and you walk unsteadily forward, though you aren’t sure exactly where you are trying to go.

Oh, he must have been so relieved when you didn’t remember anything about that night. That he didn’t have to take back what he’d—you’d—done. That it didn’t completely derail his friendship with you or Jack. That he got to keep being Elvis without any repercussions.

Twelve years. Over a decade built on lies and half-truths and pretending.

Tears are streaming down your burning cheeks now. You feel humiliated. Shocked at both yourself and at him. You’d cheated on Jack, with Elvis. It didn’t matter that Jack had cheated first. You’d had feelings for Elvis all the way back then, feelings you acted on in a moment of vulnerability for both of you. He’d been devastated about June, scared about his fame. You’d wanted to comfort him, but you had also wanted to prove to yourself that if a man like Elvis Presley could want you, then of course Jack should.

You’d thrown yourself at him. He didn’t stop you. And then he lied to you about it all.

If you’d have remembered…Christ, the repercussions would’ve been life altering.

Elvis grabs you then, in the present, his hot, long, ring-clad fingers circling your arm, pulling you back towards him.

And it is then that your anguish fully turns to anger. After everything that has happened these past two weeks, these past fourteen years…Suddenly, that sense of betrayal, your seeming lack of control of anything in your life, all the fear of the past, present, and future, pushes you to the brink. You feel done being at the mercy of the universe, done at being at the mercy of the lies and whims of men.

“Take your fucking hand off me, Elvis,” you hiss, venom in your glare.

You watch as his brilliant blue eyes widen in surprise, and with that, he releases you.

“Is this all a game to you?” you ask pointedly, voice shaking under the weight of your simmering fury.

“W-what?” he says, shaking his head. “Baby, I can’t emphasize enough that I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me for years,” you throw at him. A fueled rage clouds your judgement. You are quickly becoming unhinged and near irrational, but you are unable to stop it, almost like you are possessed, out of your mind, and watching your unusual behavior from afar. It’s as though a part of you wants to blow all of this up and you are powerless to stop this destructive side of yourself.

Elvis throws his hands up in surrender and begins to turn away. “That concussion has you bein’ all crazy, honey. I don’t even know—”

“That day at Graceland, right before you bought it. When I accidentally took too many pills for my headache. You know the one, don’t you?” you interrupt scathingly.

He stops and looks back at you, that pretty brow furrowing, and you think you can sense his panic truly brewing now. “I-I-I thought ya didn’t remember nothin’ about that afternoon.”

“Oh, I didn’t.” You think now you do, but you have to be sure. “You were awfully upset that day because of June, weren’t you? Going on and on about how you’d never know if a women would truly love you. And, come to think of it, you never did tell me how it was that I fell asleep,” you add, turning the knife with both curiosity and fervor, glaring at him.

His eyes truly widen now, his pouty mouth popping open and then shuttering closed again, his pallor turning pale.

And there you have your answer. You are not supposed to know this. He’d told you about June all over again after you’d left the hospital because you hadn’t remembered him telling you at Graceland. But he definitely hadn’t told you again about his insecurity of not knowing if a woman would love him for who he really is.

It’s all true.

That realization is horrible and vindicating and almost relieving all at once. You weren’t wrong when that voice in your head was telling you he was keeping something important from you. You weren’t crazy. And you even think this isn’t all he’s been hiding, but you can’t go there now. It’s too heavy a punch to the gut, and all you see is red.

A frantic, small voice in your head tries to remind you that you should consider Elvis’ feelings about that day, how he was vulnerable and frightened when he couldn’t wake you, and that your concussion has you not in your right mind and missing pieces of all this, but your rage kicks those thoughts aside and you plow forward anyway. You have too many unanswered questions.

“We had sex, Elvis. In 1957! How could you…how dare you then pretend it never happened! How could you not tell me?!” you scream at him, in a way that is utterly unlike the passive and quiet woman you’d become over the years. The woman who had learned to cower instead of speaking up for herself. The stubbornness and fire from your youth flares, driving you forward recklessly. It hurts your head to do it, but you can’t help it.

Elvis just stands there, staring, silent, using that well-honed talent of his to make his beautiful, godlike face an unreadable mask. It kills you inside, but you wait, unwilling to let him off the hook. But he still does not speak.

“Did it even mean anything to you?” you then ask quietly, tears prickling your eyes again, “Or was I just another notch on your bedpost?”

He blinks slowly and presses his lips together, and your heart sinks because you can’t tell if being with him so intimately meant anything to him at all. You should be able to tell, but you can’t, not when he’s shutting you out like this. And that deepest fear being realized both destroys you and pisses you off even more.

Finally, Elvis breaks his silence, voice low and measured and too careful for him, like he’s reciting lines in a movie, “It wasn’t…You were high. Your judgement was impaired. I was mortified...” He trails off, looking away. Then he pauses, taking a deep breath before challenging you with his intense eyes, “And would tellin’ you have changed anythin’?”

You choke at that and shake your head as you turn away from him. The words linger in the air, and you are irate at them, at him. They whirl within you, stabbing you in their coldness. He was mortified by being with you. Good god. The wound of that cracks through you like ice shattering.

You know deep down you didn’t sleep with him because you were accidentally high. You are certain of it. It wasn’t just about getting back at Jack, or just about feeling attractive and desired. No, it was so much more than that. After remembering what you have, you know you’d given yourself to Elvis willingly, medication or no, doing something you’d sworn after Ted that you wouldn’t do again until marriage.

He presses you on this, this thing you can’t believe he’s asking. “Would it’ve? You were with Jack, you loved Jack. And I’d just gotten home and was leavin’ again just as fast. What would’ve it changed, y/n, other than to make things awkward between us and ruin our friendship? Other than to ruin what you had with Jack?” Elvis asks from behind you, his gravelly voice strained.

You’re shaking now, your whole being quaking with physical and emotional toil, another headache slamming down upon you. Yes, you’d loved Jack, you truly had. And you know you’ve fallen in love with Elvis these past few weeks. But all of this craziness—these revelations, these secrets, these memories—are finally confirming something your mind has been trying to tell you lately about all those years ago, something you suspected and feared, but didn’t want to admit:

You have been in love with Elvis since the beginning. You had loved him then just as you love him now. And if you had remembered that, if he’d wanted it, if he had asked you, at any point, you think would’ve dropped everything for him.

Even if it would’ve ruined you both.

A bile of panic rises in your throat because, besides the times you truly can’t remember because you’d literally been dying, there had been all those other moments throughout the years where you’d pushed down your love for him. Important pieces of your life that you’d just forgotten, sometimes right away, in order to spare yourself the pain of this realization, the pain of Elvis’ rejection.

Maybe it started in the diner when he comforted you after Ted broke your heart, or maybe it began even earlier because god knows you can’t trust yourself or your memory. In fact, you are quite sure that there are still things he’s keeping from you, pivotal things you still don’t remember and it’s maddening. But after the diner, it feels like every moment you repressed is a missing piece to the puzzle of your life and reminder of how everything has gone so completely wrong.

Oh, and isn’t it rich that you are laying into him about keeping this naughty little tryst from you when you’ve been conveniently forgetting all these crucial moments of your relationship over your lifetime, a logical voice in the back of your head hurls at you.

Fuck you, you throw back, dread seeping through you.

And now your deepest fears are confirmed—Elvis hadn’t wanted you, not like that. He was mortified by it, in fact. He had a taste of you in a moment of weakness, because he’s just a man after all, and got lucky when you didn’t remember. Thinking better of it, he kept it all to himself. All these years, he’d lied by omission. And for some goddamned reason, he’d swung back around to you after all this time, destroying your life as you knew it in the process.

You spin back around to face him. Nausea rolls in your stomach because, suddenly, you’re not sure you know the man in front of you at all.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything,” you say vehemently, honestly, leveling him with your stare.

And it looks like you just slapped him by the way he recoils.

You can’t stop yourself from digging deeper, too angry to care, “But I’m sure that’s not what you wanted, since you were so quick to decide that I didn’t need to know, so fucking cocksure that you didn’t even deem to ask what I wanted. No, you just got laid and got lucky and moved right on to the next girl.”

“Th-that’s not—“ he sputters, those azure eyes a little frantic.

“Isn’t it, though, Elvis? Isn’t that exactly what happened? We fucked and you decided it was a bad idea, so you didn’t bother to tell me when I couldn’t remember myself. Who cares what I thought, right?! Then you went on with your life as though nothing happened.”

As if it hadn’t mattered at all, as though you hadn’t mattered enough to bother. You can’t bring yourself to say that part, though, as the icy pain of saying the rest out loud like this sends more tears pouring down your cheeks, despite your anger wanting to keep them at bay.

As if the rest isn’t bad enough, another thought hits you sideways, “My god, you even pushed Jack to marry me, didn’t you?” You look at him incredulously, remembering how Jack had joked about it after he’d proposed. The words ache through you as you say them, as you realize the implications of that. Yet another one of your deepest fears confirmed.

Elvis looks stricken as he backs up to the bed and sinks down on the edge, putting his head in his hands.

“I-I-I w-was no good for you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t get to decide that, Elvis! You took those choices away from me!” you cry at him.

You watch as he holds his tongue, as his body stiffens at your words. His jaw clenches and his breathing changes. You know the signs by now, but you don’t care. You don’t care that he’s getting ready to explode and that it’s you pushing him over the edge. You want him over the edge. You want him to care enough to be mad about it.

“And what? Did you finally decide after twelve years that maybe you did like my pussy after all, so you decided to come back for more?” you spit at him nastily, driving him right over the threshold.

“I was protecting you!” Elvis bellows, leaping to his feet, face red with anger. His eyes darken and flash in a way that might have caused you to pause before, but not today, not after this.

You don’t let up. “Protecting me from what exactly? A bad marriage? A man that doesn’t love me?” you laugh haughtily at the irony.

He doesn’t elaborate, just bites his tongue in frustration and glowers at you, pulling himself back.

Then, another sinking realization drags you under. “Good lord—you had your hands in my relationship with Jack every step of the way. From day fucking one. You pushed us onto each other, a-a-and then you took him away from me, over and over again. The women Jack ‘dated’…Jesus, that was when he went to Vegas to see you that first time, wasn’t it? Of course. I should’ve known that’s when he started fucking other women. Because of you,” you point at him, more fury boiling in your stomach as you ramble.

God, was it all lies and subterfuge? Every fucking thing in your life related to these men?

Elvis stands there, jaw gritted so hard he might crack his veneers, his hands fisted at his sides, his leg going a million miles an hour. But you don’t stop.

“And then you came back home to find me upset, pretended like you didn’t know why, and then you fucked me?” The memories come to you too quickly, too painfully, fractured moments flashing in your aching head, weaving back together what you’d lost for so long, fueling your pain, fueling you forward. “And that was just the beginning. You sucked Jack and me both into your world, then played with our lives because…why? Why, E?” you demand.

Still, he says nothing, eyes fierce and his body vibrating with energy, letting you continue your verbal assault.

Your heart is going so fast you fear it’s going to explode, but you continue anyway, knowing that this isn’t like you, that perhaps this isn’t truly what you want. I love him, don’t I? But you are so mad, so exhausted from feeling like a plaything in the lives of the men around you, that you can’t stop. They’ve treated you as if you have no agency of your own. As if you were nothing without them. And you are done.

You shake your head. “You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit. Nobody can be happy unless the King is happy, right? What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hiss, beside yourself with anger at him, on what he’d done to your life. In this moment, your love for him is entirely consumed by your rage, as your addled and bruised brain tries to piece together just how screwed up this entire situation is.

Elvis roars then and sweeps everything off the nightstand, sending things shattering and flying to the floor. You do your best not to wince at the outburst, unwilling to let him shake you. Then, he looks at you, like a caught, caged beast, his chest heaving and eyes dangerous. But he isn’t blacked out, and you know it because you can see the gears working in his head. You can see that the emotion in his face is not anger alone. There is a deep pain there and it confuses you.

Dread settles into a knot in your stomach because suddenly you can’t shake that terrible feeling that you are still missing something vital here, something both Elvis and your traitorous brain are keeping from you, but your head is pounding and your blood is up and you can’t think straight.

You stand toe-to-toe, staring at each other, chests heaving in the heavy silence.

He breaks first, but with an almost frightening level of clarity that you don’t expect after his outburst. “Fine. Y-you w-w-wanna make me th-the-the villain in this story, then fine, I-I’m th-the fucking villain, honey. I-I-I always w-was,” he stutters wildly, cutting, his stormy eyes narrowing like a crocodile as he levels you with them.

He doesn’t deny any of it. He doesn’t even defend himself anymore.

You don’t know what to do with that.

All you know is you hurt. Everything aches, inside and out. You feel like an absolute fool. You are infuriated with him and maybe even more furious at yourself. Then, your heart breaks, sending a wave of sorrow flooding through your chest and down your limbs.

Everything with Jack was bad.

Somehow, this is worse.

It feels like your entire world has been pulled from underneath your feet. The devastation you felt about Jack feels like nothing now compared to Elvis’ betrayal, and the weight of both together is crushing you from all angles.

There is no escape. You can’t breathe.

Somehow, you’ve lost them both. Or maybe you never really had either of them to begin with.

You silly, stupid girl. I tried to warn you.

You manage to hold back the sob that threatens to break you.

Wordlessly, you nod, clench your fists, then turn and walk out.

Elvis doesn’t stop you.

*

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[krikeymate]

Hello lovely person :) I’m not sure if someone asked this before but I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it. I was wondering about what if we’ve gotten a younger Tara while everything else stayed the same? So similar to your 5 years late AU, but it’s not quite 5 years because that might be a bit much to keep things like they play out in canon.

Let’s say Tara is 16 when the first attack happens. Sam still used to babysit Mindy, Chad, Wes etc. even if they’re a bit older than Tara and that’s why she’s friends with them. They’re not in the same grade but the friendship stuck.

So everything still plays out like it did in 5, with maybe a bit more of a focus on why Christina isn’t showing up as Tara’s still a minor here.

How do you think things would continue after the movie? Would Sam stay in Woodsboro with Tara for years, until she finishes school? Would she try to gain custody for Tara so she can take her out of that town earlier, or maybe even just to get her away from Christina’s obvious neglect? Would she manage to get custody? Would Tara even want that?

I’ve been playing around with this idea in my head for a while now and I might actually start writing a fiction in this setting one day (probably not, I still have too many unfinished (Wednesday) stories on ao3 -.-), but you’re my favorite „scream fandom person“ so I’m curious to see if you have any thoughts on this. If you don’t, that’s fine, too :) Please don’t feel pressured to reply!

Hope you had or are having a good day! <3

Man I had the hardest time working out a timeline for this, so the friend group are born in 2004 which makes them 18 when the attack happens. I had to decide whether to make Tara 16 nearly 17, or 15 nearly 16. I decided to keep 16 nearly 17 even though I felt a year younger would be more appropriate, because baby. Tara's born late 2005. God, me and my compulsive need to be very specific about timelines.

In the five years late AU, Tara is 14 when their version of 5 happens, but there's a lot of focus on explaining why Sam wouldn't leave.

So let's look at why she still would. Christina's not the absolute worst to Tara here. She's not the best, and she's got her problems, but she's not actively awful. Sam's 8 when Tara is born. She's 5 when Sam finds the diary at 13. She's 10 when Sam leaves at 18. Sam loves her little sister so much, but she can't get her mother's words out of her head. The fear that she'll hurt her baby sister is too much, she has to get out of there. Tara's still so young, she'll forget about her, she tells herself. In a few years, she won't ever remember she had a sister. That would be for the best, Sam tells herself.

The twins + Wes start babysitting Tara instead, after all, Sam was younger than them when she babysat them. Despite the couple of years age difference between them, they stay friends and they all look out for Tara once she starts high school. (You'd think having cool senior friends would make her more popular, it doesn't.)

Sam's pretty horrified when she comes back and finds out that their mother isn't even here, doesn't intend to be here, and that she disappears frequently. It's ok, Tara tells her, I stay with my friends a lot. Sam's screaming that's not okay!!! in her head, but maintains a straight face and just leaves a lingering kiss on her sister's head.

Sam tries to get custody over Tara, she fights for it - she wants to take her away, get her out of this place - but the courts say no. They declare that Tara was old enough to be left alone at the time of the incident, that there's no evidence of neglect or abuse, they ignore the testimony of the Meeks-Martins that it's been going on for years (well why didn't you report it years ago, they chime back). She's almost 18 anyway, they say, then she'll be free to go where she pleases.

The twins go off to college. They wanted to stay local, to keep an eye on Tara, she convinces them to go, that she'll be fine. Sam promises them that she's not going anywhere, never again. Sam stays.

Her mother won't let her into her home, but her mother is rarely there. Sam rents somewhere dirt cheap and barely stays there.

Tara has a hard time knowing how to be around her sister again. She still remembers her so clearly, unlike her father who she doesn't remember at all. Sam's a little harder, she doesn't smile or laugh as freely, but she still feels the same. Tara doesn't feel the same at all. There's a part of her that's scared that Sam will leave again once she realises her sister is just a stranger to her now. She doesn't know how to bridge that gap.

But that's ok, because Sam keeps trying to anyway. She holds her through her breakdowns, and tells her she loves her, and apologises at night when she thinks Tara's asleep.

You should totally work on this idea, it's a really cool one!! And hey, you don't have to upload anything until you're ready to upload it. Work on things in your own time, the people who want to read it (me) will still be there ready and waiting for when you do.