#after almost a year that i joined the fandom i finally don't think about it all the time

[castelobyers]

I think my hyperfixation in st is dying

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[sailor-aviator]

Hey.

Go ahead and get settled because this will be...long, in true Liz fashion.

So, by now I'm sure most of you have heard what's happened. If not, you can search this blog for some answers or others for more.

I joined this fandom offiicially at the end of September after being a long time lurker. I had just lost my job and times were uncertain for me. I felt inspired to write, and as someone whose formative years were shaped by the fandom experience, I wanted to feel that sense of belonging again - to feel like a part of a community. I've talked about it on here before, but I started my fandom days in the original Hunger Games fandom when the first movie had just come out, and then I shifted gears towards the SuperWhoLock fandom. If you know anything about SuperWhoLock, then you know you had to have pretty tough fucking skin to be a part of any of it.

Of course, this was back in the day when fandom was an actual community and not authors having to beg for scraps of engagement and people thinking its a numbers game. I was a fairly large blog within the SuperWhoLock community (Waywardly-Carrying-On was the username), but I left fandom for a few years because life got hectic and I felt like I had outgrown the fandom itself as I was no longer watching any of the shows. As the years went on, I started to yearn for the fandom experience again, which is how I found myself dipping toes into several different ones.

I was so excited to publish my first fanfic. I had convinced myself that I wasn't a good writer (much to the chagrin of my irl friends), and I had put a pause on writing my original story. I wanted to write this idea about a cowboy and a girl using characters that I had grown to love like I did way back in my older days. So, I started posting, and I was so excited for the story, that I kept posting almost daily. MamaMay was one of the first people to embrace not only my story, but me as a person into the fandom. She made me feel welcomed and wanted.

Pretty much right off the bat I was already getting anons telling me that I was being too much and that I needed to calm down with all the posting. I was confused because...this is Tumblr. It's literally a blogging website? Why wouldn't I post? I decided to ignore the mean words (not before giving my opinion, of course) and kept on doing my thing. Well, the anons got continually worse and worse. I had a suspiscion as to who the anons could be, but I never had concrete proof. So, I experimented with blocking suspects until finally it worked. I'm not naming names because that's not my style, so don't even bother asking.

The fact of the matter is, some of you have entered fandom spaces for the first time, and you don't know how to act. You don't care to learn fandom etiquette as you've made abundantly clear by calling fandom olds every name under the sun while utilizing the anonymous feature. Newsflash, you're part of the problem. You're the reason why authors don't want to publish anymore. You are the reason that something that's supposed to be fun is starting to feel like a goddamn chore.

How many times can authors on here say that we aren't machines? We have lives outside of this website: family, friends, jobs, school, etc. Some of you really are just hellbent on making everyone around you miserable, and it's sad. You can't just leave well enough alone and let people enjoy something, no you feel like everyone has to enjoy it the same way as you.

Some of you go after authors on here because of some weird sense of jealousy too. I don't know why my shit blew up, babe, I really don't. But I started out with no followers and no support just like everyone else. I'll tell you what helped me though: following fandom etiquette and reaching out to other creators to build an actual community. None of this "I've reblogged three of your things and now I'm messaging you so that you return the favor." No, I reached out to make actual friendships which is what fandom is SUPPOSED to be. If someone was clearly not interested, it was fine!! I backed off and kept doing my own thing.

Some of you think being mean on the internet makes you big and bad. Guess what! It doesn't! It's loser mentality and I feel genuinely sorry for you. I'm sorry that people in your own life made you feel so small as to feel like you had to lash out at strangers on the internet who are just trying to have fun.

Anyway, this is my really long way of saying that I am taking a break for a little bit. I have no idea how long it will be - could be the weekend, could be a couple of weeks, could be forever. I need time to decide if this is something I want to keep persuing. If I come back, I don't know if I will remain a TGM blog or if I'll shift gears and hop into another fandom with a rebrand. Guess we'll just have to see.

To the people on here who have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and support: thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Your presence has meant everything to me, and I hope that my break sees me wanting to come back and giggle about the silly plane movie with you all again.

Nothing but love,

Liz 💛

[fallofcyber]

The Susan Foreman/Susan Twist Theory

So ever few years the Doctor Who fandom seeks to ask the question What about Susan, and Because of this new season the Theories have started back up again so lets look at the evidence.

Pre-Devil's Cord: It was speculated that Susan might return this season, the main evidence point is a woman we all have been calling "Susan Twist" based on the name of her actress.

Many people are speculating that based on this actress' name that there is a 'Twist' involving a 'Susan'. Now I wouldn't put it past RTD to create a season plotline purely based on an actress' name, but to state that this 'evidence' is a stretch is a massive understatement. So pre-Devil's Cord a crackpot theory that insists on speculating about the return of a Classic series Time-Lord, similar to the constant theories about The Rani, Omega, or even Morbius.

Post Devil's Cord: Now we finally have a solid piece of evidence, an explicit callout to Susan. In fact I believe the first time Susan is mentioned by name since the revival, when the Doctor is telling Ruby about his life on Totter's lane.

So we have two through-lines this theory hopes to connect. The Susan Twist mystery box, and an explicit call out to Susan Foreman. Now this callout to Susan seems incredibly deliberate, almost like it's attempting to introduce new audiences to the character. Plus the Doctor also speculates on her current status, whether she is alive or dead.

Also I'll bring up the 'Always a Twist at the End' song from the end of The Devil's Cord. Not only being a meta commentary on the nature of seasons of Doctor Who, but also a play on words referencing 'The Twist' a type of dance. There's always a twist, thus there is always a Susan Twist.

Post-Boom: We have a new Susan Twist cameo

and it's creepy ambulance lady. Currently the Susan Twist cameo hasn't added anything to the theory post Boom, but lets looks at something else for a second.

Varada Sethu

This is Varada Sethu who has been confirmed to be joining the TARDIS along with Ruby and the Doctor.

She shows up in Boom as the character Mundy Flynn. Now this could easily be another instance of an actor having a bit part in Doctor Who before Colin Baker, Freeman Agyeman, Peter Capaldi, Karen Gillan. However Russel has stated that the situation is more complicated than that. Specifically bringing up when Jenna Coleman showed up in Asylum of the Daleks before making her debut later in season 7.

Some speculation theorized that Varada Sethu's character was a regenerated Susan Foreman, but after Boom I believe something else is going on.

So this is all linking back to my 'The Doctor is trapped in a television show' Theory

( https://www.tumblr.com/fallofcyber/750149486367621120/okay-absolutely-off-the-wall-doctor-who-theory?source=share )

I think I might have an idea that could solve both the Susan Twist and Verada Sethu mystery. What if they aren't just reused actors on the show Doctor Who, but are reused actors in the show within the show. As in the reason we are seeing this actor show up in multiple places is because they are literally being recast in universe.

So in conclusion I do believe Susan Foreman to have some sort of relevance to the story, but I don't think she is at all connected to Varada Sethu or Susan Twist. Maybe she has a connection to Susan Twist, but I don't think they are one in the same.

[navstuffs]

Tag, you are on it!

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Summary: Miguel finds you and Gabriella playing on the backyard. Based on the comic Tag - Pixie and Brutus by @pet_foolery

Warning tags: domestic bliss, fluff, happiness, feel good type, my bad attempt on writing comedy lol

Author's Notes: after being obsessed with this man over a year, i finally joined the fandom (its never too late i guess). hope you enjoy your reading!

Miguel arrives home exhausted from work, taking off his coat and loosening his tie. What an awful day! Between deadlines not being respected and useless meetings taking far too long, Miguel had to stay late to finish a sudden important project. He was fortunate enough to have you pick Gabriella up from school. 

You met Gabriella after five months of dating Miguel(and almost two years of knowing each other). "A friend," Miguel explained the first time you met, nervous about his little girl's reaction—a sentiment you also shared, way more desperate for her approval. 

Everything went so well; even Miguel felt a little jealous of you, watching his daughter gravitate in your personal space the entire night. Especially when, before you left, he noticed Gabriella waving so you could kneel on her level. She covered your ears with her small hands, whispering as you nodded. Miguel observed quite anxiously, his eyes focused on any reaction. You just opened an enigmatic smirk as if you were teasing him that you could win his daughter so quickly.

Three months after this, Gabriella suddenly asked on a Saturday morning why you hadn't moved in yet, almost causing Miguel to drop the breakfast plate with scrambled eggs he had prepared. You and Miguel tried to explain that you still haven't talked about it yet, and adults can be complicated sometimes. 

Besides being Gabriella's new favorite play partner, Miguel hadn't tried to insert you into their daily routine. Not because he didn't trust you, just...Miguel just had to take things slower. His main priority would always be Gabriella, her well-being and happiness. Inserting you into their routine would make it hard for both if you and him didn't work out. And you agreed, understanding as you always were: Gabriella should always be the top priority. 

As it happened on one of your previous dates when the nanny called, informing Gabriella had gotten a sudden fever and had puked once. You urged Miguel to leave, telling him you would solve everything at the restaurant. Miguel was so surprised when you appeared in the house thirty minutes late, still dressed in your date clothes, with anxious eyes on the little girl in his arms. You stayed that night, ensuring to leave only after Gabriella's fever got down as she slept in your arms - when she heard your voice, she opened her arms begging for you to hold her.

Gabriella was already too attached, and Miguel was too much in love. That's why he was still unsure when he asked you to pick her up. 

When Miguel hears Gabriella's giggle from the backyard, his heart instantly warms. Your capacity to make her laugh made him jealous before. Now, it only makes him fall in love with you even harder. To think there was ever a time Miguel was terrified of what would happen if Gabriella didn't like you. 

He follows his favorite sound in the world, his body relaxing. You two seem to be playing tag: Gabriella never seems to catch you, but she doesn't seem to mind just having fun as you run away in the middle of his vast backyard, both barefoot. Miguel slowly joins his daughter, kneeling on her side as she hugs him tightly, all sweaty. "Papi! We are playing a tag game." 

"I noticed." 

"I don't seem to be able to tag back, though," Gabriella replies, confused in her innocence. As if she could with her small legs. You are still turned around from them, probably catching your breath, unaware of Miguel's presence yet. An idea pops on his mind.

"Tag me." 

"What?" 

"Tag me." Miguel offers his hand, opening a smile. Gabriella opens a big grin, tagging him.

"So, have you given up, Gabi?" You, still in the middle of the backyard, turn around with a playful smile. It completely disappears from your face as you watch Gabriella tag Miguel instead, your boyfriend slowly raising. A dangerous smile on his lips warning you to run.  

You only have one second to react, too slow already, as Miguel starts sprinting in your direction as Gabriella encourages him, excited. Your lungs complain as you run away from him, feeling Miguel hot at your heels. It is the only time you will probably curse his long and strong legs.

You give a quick look over your shoulder, panicking. Miguel has that intense, wild look in his eyes, the one you see when he is determined to get what he wants: to get you. You ignore how your body feels and wonder if you shouldn't just jump in the pool (what a joke, Miguel was a great swimmer as well). 

"Behind you." It is the last thing you hear before Miguel pounces on you, managing to do it gently to a round of cheers from Gabriella. 

You both fall to the floor, and Miguel turns you around with a frown. "Were you going to jump in the pool?" 

"Who, me? Nooo. So you could swim and catch me?!" 

"Liar! You were about to jump in the pool!"

"As a distraction, only! You would have jumped straight after me anyway."

"Oh, I would have." He is serious, you know that.

With his body thoroughly pressed against yours, you hug him, "Missed you. How was work?" 

“Terrible. As always.”

"As always." You agree, watching his expression change. Miguel suddenly becomes aware of how your body is pressed against his, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. He tries to get away from you, but you don't let him, your arms locking him down, a malicious smile on your face.

"Don't…"

"I am not doing anything." 

"Not in front of-"

"Miguel, I am not doing anything!" You giggle, the sensation of a victory spreading against your chest. "You know, I wouldn't do anything in front of-"

You both look toward where Gabriela was standing before to find nothing there. Before you two can even untangle, Gabriella jumps on her father's back, startling you both. 

"Tag!" 

She immediately jumps away, giggling as she runs inside the house. Miguel sighs, not before your hand cups his cheek so you can look at him. "I will keep her company. It is fine."

"I don't want to impose-" 

"Miguel, it is not an imposition. She likes me better anyway."

Miguel gets up from the floor, helping you stand as you watch Gabriella hide behind the sofa, her messy hair and eyes peeking out.

"Are you going to…stay?" Miguel wonders, his tone soft. 

"Of course I will. Maybe we can repeat this tag game after Gabriella is asleep?" You offer, bluntly teasing him. "With much less clothes."

You smirk, watching Miguel's mouth drop open. Gabriella calls your name again and you give him a peck on the cheek, before running away to her direction. 

[captainsophiestark]

The Perfect, Fail-Proof Plan

Caroline Forbes x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my Year of Olympians and part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023​! It features a ton of other awesome creators and runs all year, so go check it out!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Prompt: Hephaestus; fire

Summary: Caroline and her girlfriend celebrate the last bonfire of their high school career, sending the tradition off right.

Word Count: 1,104

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I smiled as I made my way through the crowd of my drunken peers, two beers in hand. Everyone had gathered for the last bonfire of our last year of high school, and every single one of us was having the time of our lives. It was only right to go all out for a tradition that had carried us through from our freshman years.

A moment later I found my girlfriend, Caroline Forbes, leaning against a tree and chatting with Elena and Matt. I grinned as I reached them, holding out one of the two beers I'd retrieved to Caroline.

"Sorry, I didn't realize I'd need two more," I said, shooting a smile in Matt and Elena's direction as I sidled up next to Caroline.

"That's okay," Elena said, waving me off. "We were just about to go make a trip ourselves."

She shot me and Caroline a meaningful look, then dragged Matt after her and back into the rest of the party. Caroline turned to me with a grin.

"So, how are you enjoying our last ever bonfire?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Last ever bonfire feels a little dramatic. Last high school bonfire, sure, but I plan to go out and drink in the woods around a fire far into my twenties."

Caroline shook her head and smacked my arm, but she was still smiling.

"You know what I meant! This is a big moment for us. The end of an era."

"As far as I'm concerned, it's just the start," I said, leaning in a little. "The start of an amazing future with you."

Caroline giggled, a smile as bright and warm as the sun shining in my direction, her eyes crinkling at the corners. My heart leapt a little in my chest.

"A future of drunk fire parties?" she asked, her voice teasing. I just grinned and leaned in further.

"Yes. Drunk fire parties and idiotic activities and just being unreasonably, ridiculously happy, together."

Caroline bit her lip and glance down before looking back at me, a slight blush on her cheeks. Or maybe it was from the cold.

"Do you want to go down and look at the falls with me?"

I beamed. "Absolutely I do."

She took my hand, and I followed after her through the woods, the noise and light of the party fading behind us as we went. I sped up to walk next to Caroline, dropping her hand and linking our arms instead. I leaned into her, and she shot me a little smile.

"You know, I used to want to get a guy down to the falls with me so badly," she said. "I had this perfect plan that just never quite worked out. I've gotta say... I'm glad I'm coming down here with you instead."

I beamed. "It almost killed me to watch you try your moves on Stefan and Matt and every other guy you had a thing for. I never thought... I don't know. If you'd told junior-year me that I would've had a chance with you, I don't think I would've believed it."

"Well, I can tell you right now that I'm much happier to be here with you than if I'd ever had success with any of those guys."

I stopped as we finally reached the falls, an immovable smile plastered on my face. My heart hammered in my chest. I'd been in love with Caroline since the seventh grade, and the fact that we'd been happily dating for the past few months still didn't totally feel real to me.

"What?" she asked, giggling a little as she noticed my stare. I let out a long, happy breath.

"Nothing. Just... happy. Happy to be here with you."

"Me too," she said, moving a little bit closer to me. I mirrored her movements until we were close enough for me to put my arms around her waist, pulling her into me. She smiled, lazily draping her arms around my neck, then leaned in and kissed me.

No matter how many times I got to kiss my girlfriend, I don't think the magical, sparkly feeling in my chest I always got would ever fade. The water of the falls crashed onto the rocks next to us, creating a natural ambiance as I deepened the kiss. I reached up to cup Caroline's cheek as she tangled a hand in my hair, and when we finally pulled apart, I couldn't keep a smile off my face.

"I love you, Care," I said. She blushed, but smiled right back.

"I love you too."

I leaned back in and gave her another soft kiss, then finally pulled away with a sigh.

"We should probably get back," I said. "It is our last bonfire, after all."

"Last bonfire might be a little dramatic," Caroline parroted in a bad imitation of my own voice. She made a face and put her hands on her hips, and I tried and failed to hold back a laugh. "Last bonfire of high school, I guess, but-"

"Alright, alright, your impression of me is truly unmatched," I said, holding out a hand to Caroline. She took it, lacing our fingers together, and I swung our hands back and forth as we headed through the woods together. "So tell me, my favorite person on planet earth: what would make our last high school bonfire the best one for you? What would give it a worthy sendoff and celebration for the end of this four year era?"

Caroline pulled me to a stop in the trees just beyond the firelight, the sounds of the party beckoning to us from a little ways away. She turned me to face her, smiling at me as she took my other hand.

"This has already been the perfect night, because I got to spend it with you."

"Aw," I said, leaning in to give Caroline one more quick peck before we headed the rest of the way into the bonfire clearing. "Is it also because your 'do you want to go to the falls with me' master plan finally worked?"

"Maybe. Although, since I was clearly meant to go down there with you at the perfect moment on our last bonfire night... I think it's fair to say my fail-proof plan never actually failed at all. I just wasn't meant to go down there with any of the boys."

I laughed, enjoying the lightness in my heart with the warmth of the fire in front of me and the warmth of Caroline's smile beside me. Maybe she had a point.

"Yeah, Caroline. I think I'd agree that your plan ended up working perfectly."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals Taglist: @elenavampire21

[tenthcrowley]

BINDER

Bucky Barnes x Trans!Reader (he/they)

Request: None.

Fandom: MCU.

Genre: Little angst but fluff at the end.

Words: 1370

Summary: You haven't been feeling great lately, you haven't been feeling any positive at all. After a rough day at work someone finally notice your mood.

TW: Faking happiness, intense crying (just the noise of throwing things and groans), old binder not binding enough now, reader's looks like a MESS, and just fluff? idk

This was just awful. Since you woke up you knew the day will suck. You didn't have motivation for anything and you were just sick of feeling like this. You sighed now laying down on the couch of the living room in the Avengers building. You remember the first time you entered hhere, it was like a kid with a bunch of brand new toys. Just that the kid didn't had to fight constantly.

"You okay?" You didn't realize when you had closed your eyes, wow you must be really exhausted. You open them and look up at Steve who had a concerning look in his face.

"Yeah, yeah, just... very tired." You try to smile at him but it's most like a disgusted face. He chuckled. He knows you, he knows you're stubborn and never admit you're dying to have some rest. You remind him of his younger self. Younger in like before he was frozen, but technically he hasn't changed because, again, technically he's still a young man. Never mind, he thinks you look like him when he was trying to join the war, strong, insistent, brave and a little (much) stubborn.

"Go on. Get a shower and sleep. Some rest will do you well."

You roll your eyes as you got up from the couch.

"Yes, dad." He laughs while you're leaving to your room.

You were really good at faking, lying. Everyone would think you're living the best moment of your life while you're internally dying. You're so good to put a fake smile on your face and hide all of your pain. Pain. God, when will you stop feeling pain? When will you feel free, happy.

Steve looked at your way still when you had left. Bucky placed a hand on his shoulder to get him off of his trance.

"You okay?"

Rogers nod. "I am. He's not. They say they're okay but it's just not true. I don't know why he cannot trust me yet." He's sad. Because he really loves you, you're like kind of a little brother to take care of and seeing you this way, seeing you in pain but not telling, faking, hiding it, not trusting him. It hurt his heart a lot. "They will tell you, tho." That's true. (Y/N) is always honest to Bucky. When (Y/N) opens to him, they ask him to remain silence about it. He does. But Steve wasn't born yesterday, he knew they tell each other almost everything. Didn't know what exactly but that's not of his business and he gets it.

"Uh, I can't try." The black haired man left his friend alone in the living and made his way to your room. He wasn't gonna show it, but he was very worried about you. You are really important to him, you take a big place in his heart and viceversa.

Before he can knock, he hears groans and sobs with violently punches to things, not things that can break tho. Bucky sighs and finally knocks, instantly the noise stops.

"It's me."

The door immediately opens and (Y/N)'s hand reaches him to pull him inside the room and closing the door again. When Bucky turns, your eyes are red and swollen from crying, dried tears on your cheeks being replaced by new ones, your hair is all messed up like you just got out of a street fight, but what caught his attention the most was that you were shirtless, scratching your arms without causing any injuries but leaving your skin red and burning, you were in just your binder, in your old and worn binder. Now he knows why you were all shut the entire day, you were having dysphoria the whole fucking day. He understood, being around cisgender men all day could be tough for you, he didn't know you feel, but he understood. Plus you haven't bought a binder in like a year so it's stretched out and old, which means it doesn't tightness like it used to.

No words needed for when he opens his arms and you ran to hug him. He squeezes you and puts his nose on the top of your head. You love that. His hugs are different than the rest. Despite his metal arm, his hugs are comfy and warm, it brings you back to Earth instantly, they make you feel safe and like home. Minutes passed and you just hug. He never let you go making you the one to break the wrap when you feel it's been enough. So he just stays, smelling your hair knowing you just showered and maybe that's another reason why you're like this, since your binder it's not wet you didn't wore it to get showered. Finally you pull out the hug now calmed.

"Do you want to explain it me? If not, that's okay, I understand." He smiles at you, looking directly at your eyes.

You feel your heart warm and you sigh. You've been in the Avengers for like a year now and it's been impossible to not fall for Bucky. You avoided him, all the time! But that bastard always found a way to come back to your life. Until one day you stopped fighting and just gave up to the idea of having him around almost all the time, making you fall really hard. And stuff like this, this situation right now, everytime he comes and calms you down, he gives you a kiss on the forehead, when he hugs you, when you compliments you, stuff like this makes you confuse and it's like playing with your emotions. You know Bucky doesn't realize that so at least you can be obvious about your feelings for him and he will just never know.

"I need a new binder." Being honest? That's the only thing you could say right now. You wanted to explain to him but... you couldn't. It's like if you say how you feel, all the calmness he gave you would fly away like a feather in a rough wind. Simple as that.

"Okay. We can get you one." He smiled again and you felt melting. You adore the way he smiles. He stepped closer and gave you a kiss on your forehead but staying inches from your face.

You looked at him. You wanted to kiss him so bad. So so bad. So you did, excepting that could say all your words can't. For your surprise he responded the kiss with the same sweetness and caring. You both blushed because you understood each other. This kiss speaks more than a million words and you get it. It feels like you both needed it, you both needed to let out all the sentiment you've been keeping and couldn't express. Your hands were at the sides of your body and so his. You didn't want to touch each other, at least not yet. The kiss finally broke and you could look at each other's eyes, another thing you understood.

"So you...?" He said.

"Yes." You answered fast. "You?"

"Yeah." You both giggled and finally looked at each other. You saw his blue eyes that were like a sky in a plenty summer, clear, shining and beautiful. There was love in his eyes you could tell. You smiled for real for the first time in days. You felt happy after so long. You wanted to cry of happiness, not just because Bucky feels the same way about you but because you're finally feeling good, at least for a moment.

"Go on, put a shirt on and we will go out to buy you a new binder." He said giving you a kiss on the forehead and then walking to your bedroom door.

"Really?" You said trying to hide your excitement.

He looked at you and nod smiling before leaving.

You smile got even bigger as you grabbed any t-shirt you liked to put it on then fix your hair to finally come out. You're being happy. Even if Bucky was already there for you before, somehow, now it feels even better, have him by your side like more than a friend it felt different. You felt different. Different good.

[gayautisticraccoon]

Five Questions for Five Mutuals - TDJ Edition! Thank you for the tag @queenbeyondthejudge !!! I love stuff like this <3 1. Who is your favourite character (s) from TDJ

Kang Yohan 100%, not even close. I love him sm. He's gorgeous and an amazing character. Also I relate to him more than I probably should but we don't have time to unpack all that xD 2. Who is your favourite character (s) from TDJ?

This one's hard for me, there are so many moments in this show that I absolutely adore but if I have to pick it'll be Episode 12 for the Scene after Yohans Run with the iconic "I don't care if mankind goes extinct as long as I have you two" quote

3. Where do you see your favourite character in 10 years?

God I hope he's happy. That's all I care about. Happy, feeling safe and finally able to relax and be himself. Preferably with Gaon by his side as his husband and maybe even a little daughter of their own that he can pamper and treat like a princess.

4. Why do you think The Devil Judge fandom continues to this day?

There's a lot of reasons for this I think but most important is probably how unique the show is and how amazing the community is. Like, I don't think there is a single show out there that I'd compare to TDJ. The story, the characters, the writing, it all comes together so well. It's obviously not perfect but I love it and haven't found anything that comes close. And then there's the community. I've never felt more safe and welcome when joining any other fandom. You guys are so sweet and I love that sm.

5. How did you find The Devil Judge? (What made you watch?)

This part cracks me up because it was pure coincidence for me. I have hundreds of shows and movies on my Watchlist on Netflix but decided to browse the main page instead. A few rows down in between a bunch of other shows was TDJ and I even almost scrolled past it but decided to read the description and gave it a go. Was hooked from episode 1

This turned out longer than expected but oh well lmao

Tagging @kang-yo-han @clawbehavior @ladykyrin @kmilipede @fr-wiwiw

[pjohoo-reclists]

Percy Jackson Criminal AU Fic Recs

Request: Looking for Percy Jackson fanfiction with criminal AU and preferably Percabeth.

Here's a few. They're all crossovers, but I don't think you have to know the other fandom to enjoy and understand the fics. At least, I haven't seen Brooklyn Nine Nine TV but I still really enjoyed reading those crossovers. Posted 14/8/23. Enjoy!

act natural by maverickk

G | 900 words | Complete

Percy Jackson & Tony Stark

Crossover (Marvel), Interrogation, Percy Jackson is a little shit

Percy and Tony might be in a little bit of trouble.

i'm an atheist by maverickk

T | 1.6k | Complete

Percy Jackson, Nick Fury

Crossover (Marvel), Interrogation, Sarcastic Percy Jackson, Nick Fury just wants to do his job

Percy finds himself in an interrogation room, and his best bet is to talk his way out of trouble.

Missing, Presumed Dead by Deerlie_03

T | 5.7k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace

Crossover (Brooklyn Nine-Nine TV), Conspiracy Theories, Humor

Jake Peralta brings the teenager to the precinct on a day that should be like any other. Then he spends the next few years trying to unravel the mystery that is Perseus Jackson. Why exactly does the kid know so many missing people?

Now and Then by Deerlie_03

T | 9.8k+ | Ongoing as of 14/8/23

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Crossover (Criminal Minds TV), POV Outsider, Aged Up Percy Jackson Characters, Future Fic

“Are we finally finding out about the new recruit?” Prentiss opened her mouth with every intent to continue but was suddenly cut short by a new voice. “Finally? Prentiss, have you been keeping me a secret?” “Nice to see you again, agent Jackson,” Ten years after "Lykaion" (part 1 of this series) Percy reunites with the BAU, this time as a new recruit to the team. This is the story of some of his first cases alongside them as well as the more important moments in-between.

Lykaion by Deerlie_03

T | 20k | Complete

Percy Jackson, Criminal Minds characters

Crossover (Criminal Minds TV), Outsider POV, Case fic

They were used to catching killers in the act, not listening to audiobooks and making strangely coloured cookies wearing gingham aprons but that hardly exonerated the kid. After all, there was a lot about him that just didn't sit right, that seemed far too close to the case to be a coincidence. In which Percy Jackson really isn't a serial killer, he just has terrible luck.

Long Forgotten Enemies by littlebear62007

Not Rated | 52k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Crossover (Criminal Minds TV), Murder Mystery, Police Officer Percy Jackson

The BAU is called in when teenagers across New York City are found dead and tortured. Joining the investigation late, after being held up by another case, the team is immediately overwhelmed by the unusual nature of the case. Both the families of the victims and the lead Detective Jackson seem to be hiding something. Why would these families keep critical information from federal agents just trying to find and rescue their children? Percy Jackson has been working for the NYPD, happy to live a normal life after years of war. When demigod children begin turning up dead throughout the city, Percy is torn between two worlds. How will he find the person responsible for killing his family while keeping their world a secret for both his fellow officers as well as government agents?

Heroes of the 99 by Dusana

G | 62k | Complete

Annabeth Chase & Jake Peralta, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Crossover (Brooklyn Nine-Nine TV), POV Outsider, Magic Revealed

After working with the squad of the 99 for almost a year, her colleagues start finding out that Annabeth Chase is more than an ultimate Detective (/Genius). One by one, they come face to face with the supernatural world their co-worker and friend grew up in. And just in time, because a new threat is looming in the distance...

The Wise Detective by Dusana

G | 79k | Complete

Annabeth Chase & Jake Peralta, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Crossover (Brooklyn Nine-Nine TV), Season/Series 07 Spoilers

A new Detective joins the squad of the 99th precinct. Her name is Annabeth Chase.

[bloodywolfwings]

Murder Drones Week 2024

Prompt: Free day

Reflection Time

It's odd to know Murder Drones is ending soon, especially because I joined the fandom on the 29th of this month last year.

So to know it will be ending is strange, I don't know how I feel about it ending, maybe I will after it comes out, but for now I just know its a strange feeling

This is my first Murder Drones drawing, it's N as a cheetah

I remember how I got into the show, it was because of Sarcastic Chorus, he covered the first 4 episodes and then the 5th then 6th.

But what made me finally watch it was basically a "fuck it" moment at 2 in the morning. I watched the first half right there and watched the rest after I woke up, then I did it again.

Immediately afterwards I started to get fed fan content (unfortunately the way that originally happened was through a certain VA channel, yes, I do regret it). Then ond day I searched up MD on the Tumblr and found a whole thriving community.

I remember being so excited because I wasn't used to this because as the other fandom I'm in (Slendytubbies) is small, way more so on Tumblr. It's odd remember the way it back then.

I remember seeing some big people in the community leaving, one left because of how bad the harassment was for them and another left because of controversy that started with a ship.

I also remember seeing new blogs come up like @/kkolg, @/thecosmiccrow and @/bluginkgo (hey mate :3)

I remember joining when the 7 month wait between ep 6 and 7 had just begun and I don't know when the fandom was at its craziest, at the end of the 7 month wait for the wait between ep 7 and 8 lol.

I also remember joining a particular server and making new friends as a result (cough cough @bluginkgo, @electronix-arts, @noridoorman cough cough (it's also funny because I look up to two of these people))

It's also hard to think that it's almost been a year now, it somehow does and doesn't at the same time.

I don't know what I will happen in future, but I'm both scared and excited to see

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

A song came up on my shuffle that reminded me of Subject 16 and now I'm thinking about Clay Kaczmarek again.

I have played a LOT of Assassin's Creed and to this day, Clay is one of my all time favorite characters. I actually might like him even more than Desmond (don't kill me please). Everything about him is just so utterly tragic and I don't think the AC fandom (however tiny it is) appreciates him enough.

Like just think about this for a second and put yourself into his situation:

(TW for self harm and suicide. Honestly Clay should just be a TW in general)

Now for the sake of time, let's just breeze past the whole desperately searching for parental approval from someone who won't give it to you to the point that you give up on your dreams. Clay's childhood is lesser known since all of that is in The Lost Archive DLC, but regardless it's still pretty depressing.

So you're in college for something you don't want to do to appease a man that just makes you feel horrible. Then out of nowhere this guy comes up to you and says you can do something greater with your life, serve a good cause with bigger purpose. You join the Assassin Brotherhood and things are going good, great even! For once you're finally happy with your life.

But now you have to do the biggest, most important mission you've ever been sent on. You have to infiltrate the enemy in deep cover for an extended period of time. It will be fine. You've done infiltration missions before. There's already a mole planted. She will get you out. It will be fine. Lucy will get you out.

You allow yourself to be captured. Your kidnappers strap you into a machine that forces you to relive your ancestors memories for hours at a time. There will be long term effects. Your captors don't care. You aren't a person to them, just a number. Just 16. They put you back into the machine.

One day after being removed from the machine something feels off. Like you're not where you're supposed to be. You're supposed to be taller aren't you? Or are you supposed to be shorter? The buildings outside the window look wrong. It doesn't matter. You're out of the machine. You can finally be you instead of someone else, if not for just a little while.

But it gets worse.

Even outside of the machine you still aren't you. You experience memories that aren't yours even when you aren't strapped in. You can't remember the year. You catch yourself thinking its 1480 instead of 2012. You swear a horse almost ran you over but you're in a skyscraper forty stories up.

You're scared.

But it's okay. You have what you came for. Lucy will get you out.

Except she won't. She defected to the enemy side. No one knows to come for you. You're trapped, doomed to be forced into a machine that destroys your mind. You're alone with dead people who feel like they're you. But there is someone... something? A being calling herself Juno.

She might not be real.

She says the end of the world is coming.

She says you are going to die.

You believe her, when you're lucid enough to listen.

You are trapped. If not in the memories of someone else then in this infernal room. There's no point in fighting any more. You won't escape. You can't warn the brotherhood. But you could give whoever comes next a fighting chance. Lucy won't help Subject 17, but you can make sure they aren't alone like you. You can do it. You can stave off the bleeding effect and cling to your remaining sanity long enough to do this one thing. Juno says the world depends on it.

You code an AI of yourself into the machine, split it into encrypted glyphs for 17 to find. You aren't sure how coherent your messages are. Especially not the last ones. You barely remember your own name. It will be okay, though. All 17 has to do is unite the glyphs. You won't be here to help 17, exactly, but your digital memory will. Now you just need to make sure they know to look for them.

There isn't a quick way to do it. They want to keep you alive, even if they don't care about your wellbeing beyond that. You managed to steal a pen. The pen will have to do. Cutting your wrists with the ballpoint hurts, but it's a necessary sacrifice. You'll write your message on the walls and floors. Even after they clean it up 17 will be able to see it. 17 will have the eyes.

"She sees me... raise the knife..."

[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.

*

Taglist:

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

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

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

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

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

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[house-of-dadneto]

The final week has concluded for the House of Dadneto 2024! ✨

After a month of absolutely wonderful Dadneto creations being shared across all different mediums, the House of Dadneto event has officially drawn to a close. It's been so much fun seeing the range of talent in this fandom, and we hope you've all enjoyed the event as much as we have! So as we compile the complete masterlist, join us for one last weekly recap while you wait!

In the final week, the House of Dadneto had 17 unique works posted for the event!! (It seems that everyone wanted to go out with bang! 🎉)

Like previous weeks, we have created a list below with links to all the fics, edits and animatics that were posted in this past week! Be sure to give these creators some love as they've all done an amazing job bringing these prompts to life, and we look forward to see what will come out next time!

✨ Don't forget to check out the House of Dadneto official AO3 Collection for more awesome fics created for the event! Information on posting to the collection can be found in this post! ✨

Also, important note for event winners (those who completed more than 15 prompts throughout the event): If you can, please create a masterlist of your works and the prompts they included and tag this blog so we can link readers to your creations with ease. We will also be in contact with you shortly regarding your prizes!!

Final Week of the House of Dadneto!

In the End by @sunsetuniverse

Dadneto Edit: MCU/WandaVision + Long Edit + Remake of an Old Edit

Read to Me by @dick-helmet-magneto

If there was one downside Erik had discovered, to having a speedster as a son it was the boy’s energy levels. It seemed like he never ran out of energy. It was 8 pm, a completely respectable time for any 4-year-old to be in bed. At least, Erik thought so. Pietro clearly had other ideas in mind. 

More Than You Know by @nathanbellamy

From the Pentagon break-in to life at the Xavier Mansion after the battle with Apocalypse, Erik finds himself intrigued by the mystery that is Peter. At first glance, Peter and Erik appear to be polar opposites, but the more Erik learns about the young man, the more he begins to realize that their differences might not be so insurmountable after all. And then he learns who Peter's father is. Or: Five Times Erik Thinks Peter Is Childish, and One Time Erik Realizes Peter Is His Child

when you're around I see rainbows and stars by @sunsetuniverse

Post-X-Men Legends 2 — Pietro recovers from his ordeal. He felt Erik tense behind him, could feel his heartbeat speed up. “You…” Pietro couldn’t stop the tears welling up in his eyes. All these years of being so unsure of where he stood when it came to Magneto. Yet, here he was, holding his son close to his heart, fingers in Pietro’s hair, his chin resting on his head. Erik had changed, he realised, after facing yet another genocide in his life, and then almost losing his child. “You really love us, don’t you?” He managed to choke out.

Pros and Cons by @dick-helmet-magneto

There were pros and cons to staying at Charles’s school, Erik had discovered. For starters, there always seemed to be some kind of virus or cold going around, sick little kids running everywhere. It didn’t bother Erik too much but he did think they could do a little more to keep from getting sick and spreading their germs. On the plus side though, when his son inevitably caught whatever was going around that week, Erik got to be there for him and care for him the way a father should. Even when the thing going around is a stomach virus. - Peter catches the stomach virus going around the school and Erik takes care of his son.

Flowers by @superherotiger

Dadneto Animatic: Reunited

How to Parent and Lead a Mutant Rebellion by @dick-helmet-magneto

Okay so maybe Erik had made a mistake somewhere in his life. The problem was, that he had made many more than just one mistake that had led him here. He could’ve simply not left Charles on the beach, for starters, he could’ve not sent a bullet into his spine. If he had done that, then he wouldn’t be trying to lead a mutant rebellion as a single father of a three-year-old boy. - Moments of Erik parenting Peter and leading him into his first "battle"

running away (but never towards you) by @callie-caje

As he picked up his bags and prepared to run off, Peter heard the crash of the elaborate metal gates from the end of the driveway. It appeared Charles had brought his fugitive of a father with him. “I have nothing to say to either of you,” Peter said. “I’ve not yet spoken and when I do,” Erik said, “You will sure as hell listen.” OR Peter has just found out that Erik is his father and the only emotion he can feel is betrayal.

The Best Possible Life by @theaterpug-writes

Erik and Madelyne discuss giving up Nathan, and Erik visits his daughter while he still has the chance.

The stars shone bright that night by Whiplaaash123

Erik smiled warmly at Peter, before asking him softly, “What’s this little one doing still up? It’s very late.” Peter smiled, “Well, she was asleep at a reasonable time but then she decided to wake up again, so here we are.” “Really?” Erik said, tutting in mock disapproval, causing the little girl to hide her head against her father’s chest, although both men could see the smile tugging at her lips. Luna can't sleep and Peter and Erik try to get her to do just that. They also find that even though he may be a grown-up, Peter still needs his dad (just like Luna needs hers).

cut off by @creaturejaskier

Seeing his son in an inhibitor collar breaks something within Erik. He just hopes Pietro isn't broken too.

captivate me with your incredible self by @sunsetuniverse

Post-DOFP — Peter seeks out the Brotherhood to face Magneto. Magneto turned slowly, his piercing gaze assessing Peter with a critical intensity. Recognition flickered across his face, a faint furrow appearing between his brows. “...Peter?” Peter swallowed hard, his hands twisting nervously. He managed a hesitant nod, uncertain of what to say next in the presence of the man who had both terrified and fascinated him for so long. Magneto raised a single eyebrow, observing Peter with a mixture of curiosity and something akin to paternal concern. Not that Peter was delusional enough to actually think that's what it was. Nope. "You can relax," he said gently, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "I do owe you a debt."

beneath the stars by @xxqueenofdragonsxx

Three years after traveling back to 1971, Erik wakes up from a nightmare. It leads to a nice night of stargazing with his daughter.

Half of it was true by @iroukem

Ten days into their acquaintance Magneto gave her a very special gift. He presented it to her in a dark blue, velvety box with a small nod of encouragement. The lid lifted by itself, revealing a thin band of gold that twinkled in the sunlight as if it were alive, its color a vibrant yellow like the sunrise through the fog. --- Another fanfic set during the early days of The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants; a look at the developing relationship between Wanda and Magneto and what they have in common.

Ten Years by @theaterpug-writes

Sequel to "Dear Dad", After the fiasco at the Whitehouse, Charles Xavier allows Erik to stay at the mansion, where the man attempts to reunite with his children and build their relationship after ten years of solitary confinement and a lifetime of pain.

If I Had Known by @theaterpug-writes

Pietro and Erik discuss their relationship at a café in New Orleans.

A Father's Pain by @theaterpug-writes

In which Peter breaks his ankle on a mission and Erik goes full dad-mode.

If there are any details missing or mistakes in this list please let us know and we will amend it as soon as possible!

Thanks again to everyone who participated in the event! Stay tuned for the final masterlist coming out within the week! ✨

Announcement// Prompts // Event Info

[ericaportfolio]

TW: For references/mentions of abuse. You all are going to hate this character.

After some of the last crazy few weeks, I finally finished another character sheet based on the art from the Hello Puppets games with another OC I created if the show did not get canceled, no fire, and no possessed murder puppets ever happened. This character was created when the Lackadaisy Pilot came out, but I added some Helluva Boss (don't watch the show if you are under 18 kids, please wait) mafia episode influences.

On the outside, Francis Nack, Father of Nick Nack, runs an Arcade Casino in one of the cities near the town the Handeemen lives. But in reality, Francis is the French Mob Boss and uses his Arcade Casino as a coverup for a money racketeering scheme. Sadly, after years of emotional and physical abuse, when Nick was about to turn 18 in a month, he was secretly approached by a banker who was hired by his missing mother, Jancis, years ago to give Nick his inheritance from her to use if he wanted to get away from the crime family and use that money for anything he wants to pursue. Obviously, Nick took the money, went to an art college, and years later joined the newly formed Handeemen group that later became a show. Blessing or a curse, on the premiere episode of Season 3, when the Handeemen accepted an offer to help a kid win a pinball tournament, they are suddenly picked up by a mysterious luxurious travel escort transportation. To Nick's (even Virginia's) dismay, it turned out that the pinball tournament was taking place at the same Arcade Casino with Francis waiting for them. As Francis's premiere episode progresses, his intentions are made clear becoming the main antagonist for Season 3. Yep, Season 3 became a French parody of The Godfather.

Historically, the law chased the Mafia out of Las Vegas during the Mid-1980s. Whoever got the character approved by the censors must have been the many therapists at the time when PSA episodes really started to kick in the late 1980s/early 1990s to spread awareness of child abuse because the Handeemen fandom was theorizing if Nick came from an abusive home, but nobody was expecting The Godfather route. So what better way to bring awareness than by making the abuser the main antagonist for the season. Francis is literally the French version of The Godfather. Along with Lackadaisy and Helluva Boss, his biggest inspiration came from the 2003 French animated comedy, The Triplets of Belleville, which is a CLASSIC!!! Though be warned of mature content in the film since the movie is for audiences thirteen and up. The mafia in that film is similar to the Nack Mob in this AU. Like father like son, they are almost alike, except for height and Francis is commonly nicknamed Scarface for his scar. Francis originally had Brown Hair that faded over time. To get the season approved by the producers and the censors, instead of having a regular Casino as a backdrop, they instead went with an Arcade Casino with arcade games, pinballs, and fair games in a classic Las Vegas-like setting.

Nick's mom, Jancis Nack, was a mixture of Riley and Daisy with Audrey Hepburn influences. Speaking of Daisy, Jancis's hair was inspired by Daisy's blueprints from the Hello Puppets games. Nick's mom's disappearance becomes one of the biggest mysteries in the show, some thinking Francis had something to do with it. So yeah, Nick has 🎵 parent/daddy issues🎵 everybody!

[outtoshatter]

20 Questions for fic Writers!

finally getting to the tag games i've been forgetting! thanks for the tag @sugareey-makes-stuff this looks so cute and fun!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Just 93....for now! I have a secret little goal to hit 100 before the end of the year but realistically that probably won't happen.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,864,258! I'd like to hit 2mil eventually :D

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Teen Wolf for now! Although I've been trying to get myself to be inspired by others, it's just not happening. Although i finally finished watching Superstore the other day and intensely plotted out a fic that would fill in some missing stuff that was bugging me. but I likely won't do that lmao

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Haaa Son of the Sheriff [Teen Wolf, G, 3k words] Nature of the Beast [Teen Wolf, M, 56k] No Mercy [Teen Wolf, M, 64k] Love Don't Lie [Teen Wolf, T, 2k] Ride with me [Teen Wolf, T, 4k]

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! almost always. sometimes I don't know what to say but I try to respond anyway. I didn't before, at first because when I joined ao3 the authors' whose works I commented on didn't respond so I just thought that was the culture, and then occasionally now because I'm just...very drained from pulling the story out of my head. MOSTLY though I genuinely love talking about my stories with people, especially when they have questions about my worlds; I put a ton of thought and care into my worlds and LOVE when people are interested!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ah...hmm. I don't know! i always aim for happy endings, they bring me the most joy in writing. Uhhh maybe Pulling Strings? It's more open than angsty, buuuut it is less outright happy than my other fics!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

HAPPIEST. That's so hard!! Because see above, all happy endings. I'll say an even tie between The Next Chapter and Fractured Starlight, just going by most recently picked fics!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

klfjsalkfslka I don't know that i'd call it outright hate. but i've gotten some WILD comments before. That were unquestionably FUCKING rude. But i don't know if it counts as hate. I have an entire folder i have named Hall of Shame of some of the worst offenders. It's gotten less bad now that I've archive locked all my fics, which made it so much more fun to post. I think the worst was either the several-paragraphs long, two part comment about how the reader was disappointed in me (??) and just a bunch of other rudeness, OR the person who, after I deleted their comment that pissed me off, pasted their comment back in with a bitchy little addition to let me know they felt entitled to leaving rude stuff on my fic. so i deleted it again c:

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write a lot of it! Definitely not PWP. Just emotion-focused sex scenes if it happens and works for the rest of my plot! it's just not as fun as action scenes for me most of the time c:

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I'm hesitant to call it stolen but someone did ask me permission to translate my fic, and I granted it, but they did not link me to it, or even post it on ao3, which bothered me. but i found it. and. they had translated it, sure, but they'd also changed it from a sterek fic....to a Derek x Peter fic. which was. a weird thing to do. that was not what we had agreed upon so i just messaged them mainly asking like. for why.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

LOL. Yes! 4 on ao3, and two out there...on other sites. that was annoying D< I am flattered people wanted to translate my fics! I now have a blanket statement on my profile for this sort of thing, including that I want translations only on ao3, and not posted elsewhere because of...well. #11 lol

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No :c I'd like to try! But i have so many to-write fics!! I have some vague plans for a fic with @dappledawndrawn but like. my list. it's so long. (Also add in my fears that I'd be overbearing or something and i will procrastinate this forever.)

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

I'd have to say sterek lmaooo. I have others I like and even love a whole lot I just haven't become obsessed with finding out how to fit those other ships in a whole bunch of other worlds like I have with sterek. Maybe one day! Mostly they're book ships hahaha

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh man. ;-; the third of my fairy tale series. I started it like 3 times but could never get it right! i had it all planned out and everything it just would not work. So annoying.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding for sure. Plotting, foreshadowing. Building the tale itself i guess? And action oh man am I obsessed with writing action and I am good at it. I love building worlds, blowing things up, and telling the tale of why, taking the reader on the twisty, interesting, exciting journey to the satisfying conclusion.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Personally, I think I need to work on my descriptions of characters, and tbh I have trouble writing emotional scenes! I'm working on it though.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it before! Looking back, I was annoyed at myself xD I mostly now stick to just writing it as regular dialogue, then "-in [x language]" afterward. I don't have anything against it I suppose, but usually it's not really important to the plot to have a single line in a different language than the rest of the fic (special cases happen) so I just don't hahaha

19. First fandom you wrote for?

e.e This question always happens on these things lkfdsalkfjdskaf SIIIGH it was Maximum Ride. c,:

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I am ever proud of Are You Ready? it's my baby, my love, I am so so proud of it and how my writing improved just trying to do justice to that story. So.

Thanks for the tag! Tagging @raisesomehale @rosieposiepuddingnpie @2dents @cephalog0d @halevetica @tkwritesdumbassassins @evanesdust and anyone else who might want to play who i didn't tag lfkjdslakjfs sorry

[my-elder-scrolls-shit]

I've been replaying skyrim and- "Uh oh, Aph! Are you getting philosophical about a mid game that you've played 80 billion times now?" Yes, of course I am. Now, my take of the day is Astrid gets a bad rap in the fandom

If you have personal qualms for whatever reason with her (Cicero fan, upset she got everyone killed, her voice, whatever it may be), that's totally fine! However! I just finished the dbh quest line again, and she's honestly not as terrible as we've been painting her, I feel.

When you first join, she's pretty attentive - clearly keeping an eye on you because you're new, but as you prove yourself and she can worry less, she seems to almost losen up. I do think she asks you to do things that she wouldn't ask anyone else because she's testing you or because you're new and she's not as attached yet, but its clear she has some kind if concern for you and your safety. Especially when the Nightmother incident happens, and she thinks Cicero might have attempted to hurt you. Then shit hits the fan (in her eyes)

Now, here's something that might sound strange - I don't think she decides to sell you out until the last possible minute. Why would she ask you to find her husband otherwise? Why would she keep sending you out to further the plot against the emperor and keep rewarding you? These are shows of trust- and while maybe some could be seen as implicating you further as the sole thorn in the side of the emperor, again, why send you to kill Cicero- to help Abjorn? Someone she loves and cares for deeply? Why not send someone more experienced?

I think maybe her paranoia ramps up after the Cicero incident for sure- she gets more flighty and decides right around when you are going to kill the emperor, when things are seriously about to change, does she panic. I mean, imagine you've led a group for years and some stranger you brought into your family like last week, and a jester who brought a sacred corpse with him is claiming the stranger is supposed to be the faction leader and the only one who can hear the dead lady's voice! That's a shit deal! What the fuck!

If something goes wrong, everything will go wrong. She's probably not had a lot of control in her life previously (note: her story about her uncle making "unwanted advances" makes me think maybe it's something that had been happening and she finally decided to kill him after snapping but she definitely glosses over it very quickly in favor of being murder happy which is understandable) and now that control is once again slipping and everyone else can see she's paranoid (multiple members comment on it if you talk to them before hopping in the Nightmothers coffin the first time) so it's not a big surprise that you, the threat to her status quo and control, seem like the one to take out

And it all goes to shit! And she seems so desperately and genuinely sorry on her death bed - everyone she loved and cared for is dead, mind you. This is a woman who has lost everything and is now begging to die for a greater good and a desperate apology to you and to the people she's hurt. The game clearly doesn't want you to forgive her (based on the dialog options it presents), but i wish we could at least say something kind. But I that might just be me