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@gravedugs
here lies 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒔 — independent & private alison dilaurentis of abc family’s/freeform’s pretty little liars. reimagined by paris. strictly tv show based + headcanon based, highly canon divergent. themes include: girlhood vs godhood, a girl gulping a woman’s grief, dead girl walking.
information. pinterest. spotify.
“can you feel the weight of their eyes on your neck?”
this is how her old life culminates; a shallow grave, ire sought by the residents of rosewood who used the cover of night to protect themselves. the pyrrhous burning of a witch at the stake, clawing out the cancer of their tainted town & relieving themselves of the curse a teenage girl had rooted inside the town. in her dying moments, it’s easy to say she felt the most alive she’d ever felt in her life. every ounce of control being ripped from her body, even through the panic of paralysis & being disembodied by the ether, her flesh being swathed in the dirt: she could see clearly. she watched her mother bury her alive; she rose from the dirt & the grave was left empty, only for her mother to reside in it herself. [isn’t that ironic?] perhaps it’s part of the reason returning to rosewood is the hardest thing she’s done in years— not forming her life in gotham, not even necessarily abandoning said life either, but returning to the scene of the crime. she feels dead inside, more than she’s ever felt before.
alison died in rosewood, resurrected herself in gotham, & finalized her death in rosewood: THE DOUBLE-CROSS TO HER OWN DEMISE.
❛ i’ll put it this way: i’d rather be in gotham than here. ❜ every ounce of this town is a reminder that a girl died here. in the supermarkets, she still sees missing posters hung on bulletin boards, a picture of fourteen-year-old her smiling directly back at the viewer; it’s haunting. everyone still tip-toes around her like fragile glass & on the verge of breaking at any given moment. the truth was: she broke on august 31st, 2009. there were no more pieces of her left to break, only sharp edges to steer clear of. she can hear her brother’s words echoing through her head: things will be different this time, ali. nothing ever changes in rosewood, though. ❛ i’m rosewood’s living dead girl & now with my mom... it’s even worse. there are all these flowers & cards in the living from people who hated her, it’s ridiculous. ❜ she huffs, her left-hand running itself down her face. her right-hand keeps the telephone up to her ear, teeth clutching on the flesh of her inner-right cheek.
❛ there are these news vans parked down the street— jason nearly nailed one of them last night. he was pulling out of the driveway & since it was dark, he couldn’t see them; nearly rammed into it. they never leave. i thought by now it’d calm down, but... ❜ she’s explaining it mildly— her return to rosewood had been like a sucker punch to the gut. the presence of her previous self stands like a ghost in every corner of this town, lurking in the shadows & trying to grab onto the collar of her every shirt. there’s a seedling of fear beginning to blossom in the pit of her stomach; she’s no longer open to suggestions for her life.
❛ i think coming back here was a mistake & i want to come home. ❜
The point of all this is that she’s lost … She lost mom and dad. She never had this moment. And it took a bunch of people getting killed and a bunch of heads being cut off … a lot of an attempt to sort of fill the loss that she felt, and there’s just this now. This is non-negotiable.
–Writer-director Osgood Perkins on The Blackcoat’s Daughter commentary
“were you feeling left out?” 😈😈😈
listen to her wrath. birthed from the ground, blood spat in the back of her throat — anger is all that’s left of her. her refuge, her shield, her birthright. a result of anger, she’s the prophecy of hell being a teenage girl. feminine blessings & softened rage, the blonde can’t help but roll her eyes at violet’s words. her new roommate. alison & jenna marshall had a falling out— jenna kicked her out. the dog can bite back, alison will allow it for a moment, but don’t ever forget how fast joan of arc burnt. & don’t forget that even the invincible can become weeping wanderers. (alison has plans for jenna & she’ll make sure they’re executed, even if it ends with a snarling empress being escorted through the pearly white gates of this fucking boarding school.) ❛ left out? you do know who you’re talking to, right? ❜ the voice of a sinful monster, alison does a final twirl, eyes watching every inch of her slender visage & its movements in the wall-length mirror she’s standing in front of her. (as much as she hates this place, at least the uniforms make her look cute.) sparkles twinkle in her eyes, amusement flickering throughout her face. ❛ trust me, jenna marshall is a little bitch who’ll get what’s coming to her. ❜
decorated syllables, alison turns around, coming face-to-face with violet. her voice flourishes, words spoken like a snake in the garden of eden— the trick of her entire existence. she owns her now. alison will make sure of it; regardless of shelter vs. kill, she’ll tear just enough salvage for violet to bury herself inside this room & their newfound companionship. ❛ since we’re friends now, why don’t we go... take care of the issue at hand? we are friends— right? ❜ trust her, violet. you don’t want to be on alison’s bad side.
SOMETIMES, 𝙻𝙸𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷!ㅤㅤㅤㅤan independent & private blog for alison dilaurentis of pretty little liars. heavily canon divergent & headcanon based. reimagined by paris!
redvivd:
she’s a scared kid. don’t yell at her. and maybe right now, he hates @gravedugs just a little bit, ( stuck between selfish bitch & the poor not-quite dead girl! ). buried alive, he remembers how it felt. the crushing suffocation & the dirt in your nails, clawing out— it doesn’t go away overnight ( or in a month or a year— or ever. you still wake up in a cold sweat with grave dirt in your mouth ). but he had talia. someone who cared, someone who loved him. someone capable of nurturing him & guiding him, someone who loved him. alison however, was stuck with him. just above as unloving & unnurturing as it got. there isn’t adoption papers in his utility belt— bruce.
‘ yeah? you wanna go back to rosewood? pack your shit, i’ll drop you right now. ’ it’s an instinct. to bite back. he isn’t the doting & loving figure parent talia is. no endless patience for someone they cannot connect with. he’s angry. he wants whoever did this to her dead. he wants everyone in rosewood to know that their dearly beloved & oh so missed daughter is alive and eating his stash of cereal. ‘ oh right. you can’t. ’
it’s a mistake— he knows it even before it’s left his mouth ( they’re only a couple hundred miles away but news reports place with her face constantly, the radio blaring about her— he even saw a few missing posters for her on his last patrol: alison dilaurentis, 15, missing person ) but he’s tired. he’s tired of her, he’s tired in general, he’s tired of all this bullshit. he wants his space back. no more blonde hair left over his couch, no more moaning about how ugly the rugs in his place are. a housemate who actually does the dishes… someone who knows how to do the laundry would be tolerable. and he’s standing there saying to himself over & over again: you’re not bruce wayne, don’t traumatize some young kid you’ve basically kidnapped off the street. and then doing exactly that. ‘ i get you’re having a terrible fucking time right now— believe me, i’ve been there. but maybe be a little bit nicer to person who saved your ass. god knows even i was nicer to talia. everyone else might have put up with your shit back there but i’m not. you don’t get to take your crap out on me. you want out? i’ll drop you wherever you want. but if you’re going to be under my roof— you don’t get to be an ungrateful cunt. ’
she burns, she breathes, she burns again. try & tell a child how to begin / end a war, how to draw a sword & drive it through a monster’s chest, & willingly leave them there to die. [how do you tell them how sometimes death brings peace & restful sleep at night?] in this story, she’s the painted monster— the rosewood curse. it’s only a matter of time before she’s presumed dead; she has the option to change that narrative, though. she can rise from her grave & unmask mona, her mother, & even one else who has crossed her. she can bruise those like they’ve bruised her— a product of her environment. but that would hide the truth of this scenario; alison’s fate had been set in stone years the day was born. she was born bruised; the violence of this world had corrupted her mother’s soul & had been passed down through the brooding misery of her. no matter how hard the blonde tried, there was no way to dig herself from the grave she’d been born in. (the casket was ugly from the start.)
& his words are a reminder of that— ungrateful cunt vs. lying bitch; what’s the difference? rosewood had always wanted to burn her at the stake & finally, they had; the malison of her existence was washing away with every day after her disappearance. she’d made the water red & it was finally becoming cerulean once more, even just within the two weeks. (if it wasn’t, why hadn’t he returned her already? besides, the walls didn’t need to talk to her if she had the channel 6 news & facebook on the computer.) she scoffs, her head shaking— she doesn’t dare look at him. she can’t. it is a sort of fright, in truth, even now. for the arrhythmic child she’d been & the dead girl she is now. [how ironic— the damned prince of gotham vs. the damned princess of rosewood. like father, like daughter. do you see it yet, alison?]
❛ you know what, go to hell. i don’t need this, especially not right now & not by you. ❜ the words fit between her teeth but the tone doesn’t— the unsteadiness of a girl on the verge of tears. rising from the couch, she doesn’t dare look in his direction as she brings the sleeve of her sweatshirt up to her right eye, making her way to the small bathroom. ❛ fyi, you don’t understand crap. congratulations, you helped me out of a grave my mom dug for me— you want a medal? you have no idea what’s going on, you’ll never have an idea & guess what! i’ll pack my bags right now! get the fucking car ready! ❜
alison dilaurentis
“you show so much promise.”
what happened to the girl you used to be? what happened to the hbic— the girl with undying rage, the girl who walked with a purpose, the girl who was hell in high heels? her ghost haunts rosewood; her corpse resides in gotham now, sleeping on a couch in an apartment she’s growing more familiar with, eating cereal she told herself years ago she’d never indulge in. (have to watch the calories, right?) she’s beginning to memorize the cracks in the ceiling, the stains on the carpet— alison begged for a lifeline that night; the night she died; the night her mother buried her alive. the lifeline has been granted to her, even while vulnerose & still picking the dirt from under her fingernails. she should be happy while petal lips unfurl into a smile, but how can you smile when you’re caught in an equilibrium of destruction & sorrow? she aches for familiarity / a sense of belonging & of her home, but she’s beginning to learn by now — there’s no place for her anymore. her home has been stolen, her fleeting life out of her reach. there’s no coming back from this & it’s a taunt in her face.
agony has taken residence inside her ribcage — the rubble of her previous life still crushing her. ❛ i don’t care about whatever promise you can see, i care about going the fuck home. ❜ she doesn’t want to hide, but she can see the reality of her situation through the mist: she has no home. gotham is her home now, whether she wants to accept it or not. (alison can’t accept it; there has to be a way she can return to rosewood. alison dilaurentis isn’t dead, not yet— she’s still here, she has to be.) scoffing, she shakes her head, turning her head away from jason; he should be her hero. a hand reaching out from a grave & he grabbed it— she should be grateful. but she’s not; how can you be grateful when you’re better off dead?
❛ don’t you have a job to do or something? that’s code for: leave me alone. ❜
𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙱𝙻𝚈 𝙶𝙾 𝚆𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂. feel free to change pronouns/tenses to suit scenarios, etc.
“baby, come here.”
“i get so lonely at night.”
“why can’t you tell that i’m desperate?”
“why can’t you tell that i’m bad for you?”
“i wish i was you.”
“so, why can’t you tell me what you think i should?”
“if you were here for the other night, you’d be terrified.”
“you know, i think the lines you’re afraid of are all made up.”
“last night, it was bad.”
“i wanna slow it down, but nobody would’ve let me.”
“maybe if you feel out of place, maybe it’s because you are.”
“i hope they crucify me.”
“no more parties in los angeles.”
“as of right now, my job is to lie down.”
“i hope they cancel me.”
“i pretend i’m ten times stronger for you.”
“you show so much promise.”
“it’s okay to be unhappy with all this.”
“what’s it like to be you?”
“do you see me that way?”
“do you remember my name?”
“i want her.”
“i want her to be just like you.”
“you know you’re my favorite.”
“just like me in my day, but you got all your priorities mixed up.”
“what’s it like being famous?”
“do you see a stranger when you look at my face?”
“sometimes, i wanna save you from everything.”
“it’s impossible to say what you’re gonna be.”
“it’s no business of mine how you waste your time.”
“i bet you miss what you had.”
“do you ever wonder why everyone is out to get you every day?”
“do you question anything?”
“how many warning signs until it hits you?”
“gravity’s your friend.”
“too many factors to be sure.”
“so many reasons to think twice.”
“you fall out of touch sometimes.”
“simple things make a difference in your day.”
“when you cry, i get fucking anxiety.”
“take the time to tell me how it ended up this way.”
“your love is cheap; it doesn’t cost anything.”
“what happens when you can’t keep doing it?”
“am i just scared for you?”
“can you feel the weight of their eyes on your neck?”
“i know you didn’t make any plans.”
“are we dead?”
“were you feeling left out?”
“they can tell that your mind is a mess.”
“these days don’t end.”
“you lost the things that brought us closer.”
“forgot how good it feels to be alone.”
“is this how i’m supposed to feel?”
“make it easy for me.”
“take it easy on me.”
“i still don’t know how you felt.”
“you can’t blame me.”
“why switch like different seasons?”
“you won’t find heaven, not in these hills.”
“you shouldn’t be here.”
“you can still make your mind.”
“i can’t save your life.”
“you can’t carry me through this.”
“i got your back sometime.”
“you’ll still be my favorite.”
“i wish i could save you.”
“i guess you got what you wanted.”
“you got your answer.”
“i’m in a dark place.”
“just know i’m not proud of everything i did so far.”
“i do it all for you.”
“can you follow my lead for once?”
“i can never make up for the time.”
“this is not love, i’m a glorified doorstop.”
“you wonder why we fell into a standstill.”
“we don’t need long.”
“still in the same boat.”
“please don’t ask to stay with me.”
“yeah, i’m still the same.”
“i feel insane.”
“don’t take this shit too serious.”
“look at what we accomplished.”
“i can tell you what it means.”
Sheryl Lee | Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me
get to know me meme: (12/100) female tv characters - alison dilaurentis (pretty little liars)
Why does every girl think she can change a guy?
