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rebelspykatie · 9 months

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Robin convinces Steve that Eddie is interested in him, just based on how frequently he flirts with Steve. Uses the same logic that Steve deployed to convince her to give Vickie a shot. Except, there’s no doubt about who Eddie could be attracted to. He’s gay and doesn’t really flirt much with women, keeps it more surface level.

But with Steve, he’s all over him, getting in his personal space, tapping his chin, batting his eyelashes and draping himself over his lap during movie nights. Steve’s confident in his newly discovered attraction to men, and subtly tries to turn up the charm on his end. Flirting back, giving as good as he gets, but it never seems to affect Eddie.

Steve’s gotten used to striking out. Never really catching anyone’s attention these days, what with the lackluster attempts at being interested in the mundane things some of the girls drone on about, to being afraid to sleep over for fear of a nightmare tearing him from sleep, to the way no one makes his skin buzz. He’s given up the pursuit of anyone else, setting his sights on Eddie, pushing gently at the boundaries that barely exist between them.

Until the first time Steve and Robin are invited to see Corroded Coffin perform at the Hideout. He watches from afar as Eddie bounces across the room before the show. He hasn’t spotted them yet as he makes his way over to the bar. There’s a cute, older guy bartending, probably in his late twenties, buzz cut hair, ripped leather vest accentuating his arms.

Steve watches in what feels like slow motion as Eddie leans over the counter to get as close as possible to this guy. That mischievous smirk that Steve’s used to seeing pointed at him is out in full force. Eddie is saying something, looking up at this guy, reaching out to squeeze a bicep and getting playfully batted away. Eddie lets the guy tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, almost a caress along the side of Eddie’s face.

And there’s a moment where Steve feels like he’s floating on air, suspended in a moment in time before a catastrophic shift changes his trajectory. He’s careening to the ground at break neck speed and crash landing all in a matter of seconds. A vice-like grip squeezes his heart, reminding him that he’s not special. He’s dissecting every memory of Eddie flirting, finding nothing consequential there in the wake of this discovery.

How stupid could he have been to think that it meant anything? That must be why Eddie never reacted to his advances, they were just a blip on his radar. He’s got this guy wrapped around his finger, just like he’s had Steve. Except Eddie’s never blushed like that around him, or let Steve tuck his hair away.

As much as he wants to turn around and get the hell out of here, he promised he’d come to Eddie’s show, even if looking at Eddie right now feels like a shot straight through his heart. That inexplicable draw to Eddie doesn’t just disappear. He wants to cross the room and drag him away from this guy, but what right does he have to do that?

He feels Robin’s hand slip into his, turns to look at her, sees a mirror image of how she looked on the grimy bathroom floor of Starcourt, letting Steve down gently. Their friendship past the point of needing to verbally communicate anything. Robin gently tugs on his arm to convince him to sit at a table, clasping his hand underneath it tightly when Eddie finally spots them and Steve has to pretend like he’s fine. And he is fine.

But he’s also not. His heart is cracking open with each note Eddie sings, the fault line growing until it feels like he’s split in two, bleeding out on the floor of this disgusting bar. When is he going to get it right? When is it his turn to feel wanted? Nancy and Robin hurt, but he feels blindsided by this one. He was so confident he was right, that this time it was reciprocated.

But maybe he’ll always be the fool.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #katie writes #as always #cross posted on twitter #also i'm so sorry in advance #not a happy ending #i live for angst

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infin1ty-garden · 6 months

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HOT BLOODED

ೃ⁀➷ summary: figure skating au! after a falling out you and lando have to perform a routine together and old feelings start to come back ೃ⁀➷ pairing: lando norris x fem! reader ೃ⁀➷ warnings: none ೃ⁀➷ word count: 565 ೃ⁀➷ author note: a little rushed bc i had writers block in the middle of writing this

masterlist.

How could this have happened? For the exhibition gala of the European championship you and Lando have been scheduled to perform. It wasn't secret that you and Lando don't get along. The public is aware that there had been a falling out between the pair, as it's uncommon for pair's to split up, but what actually happened stayed behind closed doors. Even your coach isn't exactly sure what happened.

In 2019 is when the split happened, you also decided to change coaches and your new partner became Carlos Sainz, which you later found out was one of Lando's close friends. Carlos promised that whatever happened between you two, wouldn't affect his skating.

carlossainz55 has posted!

liked by y/n_l/n, charles_leclerc and 45,341 others

carlossainz55 It is an honour to announce that I'll be working with the amazing y/n l/n. I hope we see gold in the near future.

You two worked perfectly together like you'd been training since you'd been born but now you were being asked to skate with Lando for the first time in four years. It's for the fans. The choreographer showing you the elements to the dance.

His touches were overwhelming and brought back memories you would rather forget. But they were intoxicating. "I bet he doesn't make you feel the way I do." His face was inches away from yours. You could have kissed him.

Then the voice of your choreographer brought you back to this reality, a reality where you and him could never happen.

Lando shouldn't feel jealous of Carlos especially now. He fucked up and he had to live with the consequences even if that ment seen you with another partner. His body felt like it was on fire and an uncomfortable feeling in his chest wasn't going away.

It was like someone was punching him over and over again. Yet he couldn't look away. The way Carlos looked at you like he'd ravage you if he had the chance. He wanted to wipe that look off of his face. Once you got off the ice and your score was counted.

Placed second. The podium made everything feel like a nightmare. His hands around you. The crowd cheering you and him on. It didn't matter that he was one of the winners when he was touching you. This isn't healthy or sane to think about someone like that.

Lando felt like an obsessed psycho. That's why he pushed these emotions down. Everything is fine. He's just overreacting. These feelings don't exist. He tried to convince himself that Lando was on the ice with you. His hands around you as you waited for the music to start.

In wildly different costumes then the ones in the competition. The cheers of the crowd disappeared as the only thing he could focus on was you....and the music. His body is perfectly in sync with yours. The same affection he had for you started to come back. Warming his chest and setting his cheeks ablaze.

He has been telling himself for the longest time that they don't exist. It's been easier than facing the possibility of you not having the same love for him. Before he could ponder any longer the song ended. The world came back into focus as the crowd cheered.

Leaving the space illuminated by reflectors like a spell broken.

Thanks for reading!

#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one x you #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #figure skating #figure skating au #angst #not a happy ending #sorry #not sorry #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz

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autumnweeen · 2 months

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Hananaki Disease Dramione

Summary: Hermione Granger is dead, but that is not the story.

The tragedy is that she didn't have to be.

Fanart by @boopsy

#dramione #harry potter fandom #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #ao3fic #fanfiction #harry potter #hanahaki #unrequited love #major character death #not a happy ending

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toadstoolwriting · 8 months

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Star Crossed Masterlist

He appeared one night at your job. Something just drew you to him. You couldn't leave him there in the office. You should have called the cops. Not bring him home. Now he is in your living room, freaking out and, in turn, freaking you out. Unfortunately, you don't speak what you think is, at least, Russian. The thing you can make out is "Hydra" and that this man needs your help.

______________________________________________________________

Chapters:

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Status: Ongoing (unedited)

______________________________________________________________

Notes: This is an omegaverse, but it will only be partially focused on that, at least in this specific fic. This will not have a happy ending because I want to make this "book" canon-compliant. I plan on making two "books," and Bucky will get his happy ending in the second one. Also, this is written in the second person but has nothing like "Y/N" because I hate when fics have "Y/N." It won't be very descriptive to you, except you're female and an Omega; you're welcome.

#winter soldier #x reader #reader insert #no y/n #written in second person #bucky barnes #hydra #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #not a happy ending #omegaverse #major character death

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bechloeislegit · 6 days

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Trigger Warning: This is about domestic violence and is a bit heavy; it doesn’t have a happy ending.

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale Additional Tags: Sad Ending, Domestic Abuse mentioned, Major character death - Freeform Summary:

Beca Mitchell always kept her promises, and she expected others to keep theirs. That's why she would get so pissed at Chloe when she constantly broke promises to Beca.

#Domestic Abuse #Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Not a happy ending

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novankenn · 10 months

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I'm Sorry...

(Heroes make sacrifices... unwelcome ones.)

Pyrrha was spent and broken. She knelt on her knees, looking up at the wicked woman as she slowly drew back on the sting of her bow. So many regrets danced in Pyrrha's head, chiefly among them were all the wasted chances she had with Jaune. She was a coward, several times over. Unwilling to take the chance and now throwing it all away... but... but at least he would be safe. He could continue on and became the man she knew he would be.

Cinder smirked as she pulled the string of Midnight to full draw. This was it, everything was falling into place. With Nikos removed, Ozpin's plans would be gutted, even more so than they already were. More importantly, the shadow of Nikos, the girl who had everything that should have been hers, would forever be removed from Cinder's world.

Cinder felt like she had been hit with a sledgehammer as she was suddenly, and violently carried sideways, he well aimed arrow flying past Nikos' head harmlessly.

"Jaune?"

/=/ Moments earlier /=/

Just before the rocket locker could launch, Jaune drove the edge of his sheath into the side of the door, jamming it into the seal. Expanding the relic from the great War, the door screeched and the safety systems activated. The door was breached, causing the count-down to abort. Twisting his Heirloom weapon, using it like a pry bar, he forced the door open further. He was frantic, he knew what Pyrrha was planning to do. He couldn't let it happen like that.

He was just moments behind her, and while she used the ruined elevator shaft to rise up to meet her destiny, Jaune struggled to climb. Pushing his weary muscles past their limit. Making the top of the shaft, he took a minute to gather himself. He watched the one-sided battle between Pyrrha and the murderess, and he made his decision. Pulling out his scroll, he prepared to enact his plan.

/=/

"Jaune!" Pyrrha screamed as she watched her crush, crash bodily into the exposed side of Cinder. He was unarmed, using his very body as a weapon. "JAUNE!"

The breath was knocked out of Cinder's lungs at unanticipated impact, and it took a couple of seconds for her to understand that she was being bodily carried away from her target.

Jaune knew he didn't have the skills or abilities to help Pyrrha. If that wretched woman was so easily dealing with Pyrrha, someone who was leagues beyond him in skill, he had no chance in facing her... normally. But he quickly knew what he could do. What tools he had that she may not be able to counter... surprise and mass.

"NO! JAUNE!" Pyrrha screamed as she fought to rise to her feet, the searing pain of the arrow through her heel causing her to collapse and watch in horror as Jaune carried himself and Cinder over the edge of the tower.

Cinder flailed about, calling upon the Maiden's powers and her own semblance to free her. But it was too little too late as the extra weight carried her over the edge and pulled her towards the ground... far... far below.

/=/

"I found this, when I picked you and Ruby up." Qrow spoke softly as he held out his hand, an active scroll held gentle between his fingers.

With a shaking hand, Pyrrha reached out and took it. Nora and Ren closed about her. Qrow pressed his lips together and slowly walked off, giving the broken team some privacy. They all saw the icon indicating that there was an unsent message. Whimpering, Pyrrha shakily reached out and touched it.

"Hi." Jaune spoke, his trademark smile, weak and strained. "If you're watching this, then I guess it worked... or at least I hope it did."

"Jaune." Nora choked out as Ren squeezed her shoulder.

"I don't expect anyone to understand or be happy with what I've done, and I'm sorry, and I wish I was there for you to all yell at me like I deserve... but I guess this will have to do."

"Jaune..." Ren broke and sobbed.

"People always looked at me funny when I said I wanted to be a hero. They told me I didn't know what I was talking about, but I did." Jaune's image gave a broken half-hearted smile, "I know what a hero is... they give their all to help those around them make a better world. They do so without hesitation. They're willing to sacrifice themselves for the chance at a better future for those they care about."

"No... Jaune... you shouldn't" Pyrrha couldn't continue, her sorrow grabbing her heart and crushing it.

"To protect those I love, I will do what I can, and I do it willingly, because I know that if whatever Ozpin has gotten us involved in..." tears could be seen in Jaune's eyes, "If... if Remnant has a chance at a better future, it's with all of you..."

The trio could say nothing as they watched as Jaune looked up, his eyes obviously watching something they couldn't see. Pyrrha whimpered, as she could easily guess at what that was, by the pained look in her crush's eyes.

"I don't expect you to understand, or forgive me. Just know I did the only thing I could to make sure you guys could save everyone else." Jaune's eyes returned to look into the camera. Tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks, as his voice was getting choppy with emotion. "I love you all... I always will. I'm sorry."

"Jaune!" Pyrrha screamed in anguish as the video stopped. Ren and Nora wrapped their arms about the shattered spartan. Their own hearts torn with grief. "Jaune... Jaune... Jaune.... "

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #cinder fall #pyrrha lives #jaune dies #not a happy ending

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kyli-howard · 8 months

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The Woman and Her Garden of Statues [A Short Story]

There were many names for the woman in the town nearby.

They would be whispered between friends during coffee. Or shared between families at storytime. Or scribbled on the wall of a public bathroom.

The woman in the mansion. The lonely woman on the hill. The woman who hid from the world.

She had become a folktale for the town, but no one truly knew her name. Or maybe they just never said it.

No one ever saw her, but they all shared this understanding.

She was painfully beautiful. Long hair that was soft to the touch and flowed perfectly in the wind. Kind eyes that held small secrets. A perfect mix of mysterious and inviting. Her skin was flawless. It would feel like silk if touched.

She was everyone's fantasy.

The definition of perfection that could haunt the vision of men and women alike. So many had sworn that they had seen her in their dreams. That she reached out to them, looking for the company that she had been closed off from for so long.

Curiosity was a natural part of living in this small town.

Wondering what sat in the large house at the top of the hill. Behind the iron gate, what would be found? Why would one woman stay there alone by choice? What could one woman do to make such a large home feel less empty?

Lyla was much like the people around her.

She wondered about the woman on the hill.

However, she never wondered why the woman wanted to be alone. She only wondered about how that life has treated her. Was she happy? Was she miserable? Was it lonely?

The questions seemed to circle Lyla's mind whenever she was just on the verge of sleep, tempting her to stay up until the early hours of the morning and come up with theories about how living that way could feel.

One night, everything changed.

The questions had gone beyond the verge of Lyla's tired mind.

Lyla had fallen asleep on her couch, not getting the chance to entertain her thoughts of the woman on the hill.

Her dreams had to pay the price for that crime.

Lyla found herself walking through the doorway of a mansion. She was looking for something, she knew it. She could feel the pulling in her chest and the slight tingle at the end of her fingers. Her body knew better than her mind.

She looked around the room.

Beautiful building. Wood floors and light walls. A staircase reached up near the front door. Gorgeous art lined the walls. Plants and statues took up many of the empty spaces. The light fixtures alone probably cost more than Lyla's car. If this was just the entrance, the rest of the house must have looked like a museum.

Lyla let out a breath. What was she trying to find?

Like answering the question that Lyla had yet to ask, there was the sound of footsteps in the hall upstairs.

"There you are," Lyla looked at the staircase. The air was nearly knocked from her lungs.

She had never seen the woman on the hill before, but she knew in her heart that this was her. Or how Lyla's brain saw her.

Long brown hair and kind brown eyes. A lovely dress that looked like it had been designed for her. Absolutely beautiful.

"Come on," the woman grabbed Lyla's hand and started pulling her through the house.

Why was Lyla here?

"I have some more books for you."

Lyla looked down at the book that she hadn't noticed sitting in her hand.

Yeah, that was right. She had been here to pick up some books.

The pair had made it to the study soon after.

Lyla stood in the doorway to the room, taking a moment to admire it.

A desk was made of dark wood, designed to match the bookshelves that covered almost every part of the walls. The chair at that desk had an emerald cushion with gold details, much like the couch that sat on the free part of the wall and the window seat that was behind the desk. Two more similar chairs sat by a small round table. Perfectly comfortable. Lyla could imagine spending her afternoons here with a book.

The woman had walked ahead of Lyla. She instead grabbed the sliding ladder and climbed up to one of the top shelves. So much grace that if Lyla hadn't seen the ladder, she would think that the woman had floated up.

The woman's hand grasped around a leather-bound book. It had been worn, the silver lettering on the spine had since been mostly scraped off and you could see the marks in the leather from where the book had been dropped or scratched.

Lyla watched the woman come down to meet her with a smile.

"Here it is," she said happily, holding it out to Lyla. Lyla traded books with her.

She gently opened the cover of the new book as the woman moved the ladder so she could put away the book that Lyla had brought back.

Lyla's finger traced the edge of the page as she studied the aged paper.

"Would you like something to drink," the woman asked, going to walk past Lyla.

"Umm," Lyla's brain felt foggy immediately. "I... I'm okay."

"Are you sure," the woman's eyebrows furrowed as she stepped toward Lyla.

Lyla nodded.

There was a tense moment. The woman stood in the doorway. Her gaze at Lyla shifted slightly. Lyla nodded but stepped back.

The woman stepped forward so she could reach out and touch Lyla's hand. Lyla looked down at where their fingers brushed against each other.

As she looked back up, the woman moved closer. Lyla couldn't figure out why she hadn't stepped back. She just didn't want to. Something deep within her chest told her that standing here was the right thing to do.

The woman leaned forward a few more inches. Lyla allowed her eyes to flutter shut.

However, as soon as her eyes shut, Lyla shot up on the couch.

She looked around her living room. The same old couch and coffee table. No gorgeous study with an endless selection of books.

She looked at her clock. It was almost three in the morning.

Lyla reached up and gently touched her lips. She could still feel the woman's breath on them. The idea made a shiver run up Lyla's spine. It was haunting.

That was the day that Lyla knew she could just sit in her room with her running line of questions. She needed to find real answers.

She got out of bed and showered. She pulled on some dark jeans and a slightly faded white shirt. Finally, she pulled on her black boots and a black jacket.

Soon, Lyla found herself in her small, arguably beat-up car, driving up the road that led out of town and into a forest.

She was quick to realize why people very rarely visited the mansion. If she hadn't been looking for it, she would have missed the dirt road leading to it completely.

Each bump in the road made Lyla hold onto her steering wheel a little bit harder. All she could do was hope that she wouldn't end up crashing into a tree. She wasn't a bad driver, but this road was truly dangerous to drive on.

A sense of relief flooded Lyla as the road left the trees and found a clearing.

She could now see the mansion that she had heard so many stories about. It was gorgeous. White stone walls with dark details. An iron gate was part of the large wall surrounding the property.

Mansion didn't feel like a proper way to describe it. It was a few steps away from being a full-blown castle.

Lyla drove up to the gate. She put the car in park just a car's length or so away from the gate.

Her black boots did little to mask her steps as she hesitantly approached the gate. The dirt shifted under each step, sounding like thunder compared to the silence around her.

She reached out for the iron gate, hesitantly wrapping her hand around one of the bars. With a deep breath, Lyla pushed on the bar, shocked to find it unlocked.

The gate made a loud squeak as Lyla pushed it. She decided that anyone who was there was aware of her, so stopping now wouldn't help her in the long run.

Once both sides of the gate were open, Lyla returned to her car. She slowly rolled forward into the driveway. She looked up at the building.

"Wow," she muttered, pressing on the brakes before putting her car into park and taking the keys out of the ignition.

The driveway had changed from just dirt to a layer of gravel. Each rock sounded like a falling bolder as Lyla got out of her car.

She took a moment to look around and admire the garden that was between the house and the wall. She hadn't noticed how far she had truly parked from the house.

The lawn had a variety of statues throughout it.

One was a man with a rake, back hunched over slightly. There was a hat resting on his head and a small grin.

Another was a woman by a line of hedges. She had a bandana tying her hair back while she held the hedge clippers open. There were a few stray branches that had latched onto the statue's arms.

The centerpiece of the yard was more beautiful than anything else.

It was a party. A picnic with all sorts of guests. They were all by some gazebo.

Adults with drinks in their hands. All talking and being friendly.

Children on the ground playing with a ball or wrestling.

There was even a dog by the steps to the gazebo, posed mid-bark.

There was so much detail to all of the statues that it looked like a photograph. A moment that had just been frozen in time. Wrinkles on the faces, veins on some of the hands, and the clothes looked like they were paper thin.

The artist was probably renowned for their work. It was better than anything Lyla had ever seen.

She stared at all of the statues as she walked over to the house. Lyla never thought that she was going to find herself in a Disney fairytale, but now she was thinking that she had stumbled into the newest live-action remake.

Her gaze only left the garden and the statues when she had to walk up the stone steps to the large wooden door.

It felt familiar.

Just like her dream.

There was another pair of statues in front of the house. A man and a woman smiling at each other. The woman's hands were resting on the man's jacket. The man's hands were resting on the woman's back. It was so easy to see the love on both of their faces. So clear. So simple.

She took a moment to look at the door. Golden details on dark wood. It made her smile. So beautiful.

She reached a hand up and grabbed one of the golden knockers. It was heavy and as it hit the door, Lyla flinched slightly. It was so loud that it sounded like she threw a large rock at it.

She let out a sigh and stepped back.

There was a minute of silence.

Just as she went to take a step back and admit defeat, there was a loud creak from the door's hinges.

"Hello," a soft voice called out.

Lyla turned around to face whoever had spoken.

It was her. The woman. The one that people had told stories about. The one that haunted the dreams of many. The dreams of Lyla.

She was just as beautiful as Lyla had been told.

The woman was wearing a white dress that puffed out from her waist to her knees. The sleeves were long and slightly see-through. Her hair was long and dark brown. Her eyes were a dark brown; black holes falling into the pupils. Gorgeous.

"Hello," Lyla responded quietly, studying the woman in front of her.

"Can I help you," the woman asked, voice sweet and smooth like a gentle melody.

"Umm, I- uh," she forgot any reason she had for showing up. She had to come up with something. Quickly. "I'm writing an article about you."

"Oh?"

That was stupid, Lyla thought. Why the hell would you say that?

"Yeah," Lyla said, nodding once. "It would just be about your life. Your history and story. Why you love this house so much. That kind of thing. All kind. If you're comfortable with that?"

The woman leaned on the door and frowned, deep in thought. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she weighed the pros and cons of letting Lyla in.

"You wouldn't share anything that I ask you not to," she asked.

Lyla nodded, "Of course."

The woman let her face relax as a small grin returned to her lips.

Lyla mimicked the woman's smile.

"Come on," the woman stepped back, welcoming Lyla inside. "I'll make us some tea and we can talk."

Lyla nodded and followed the woman inside.

The inside of the house was almost more beautiful than the garden outside.

There were beautiful hardwood floors that matched the shelving. There were deep green walls with paintings all along them. There was a rug on the floor that was a similar green with golden details.

There were more statues too.

There was one right by the door. A man holding out a bouquet. He was dressed sharply. There was a look on his face that looked purely like puppy love. Lyla wondered how someone could show so much emotion in a cut of stone.

She followed the woman through the entrance toward the back of the house. The hardwood flooring turned into white tiles. There was a pair of statues just outside the doorway to the kitchen. They were two girls, excitedly chatting about something. Each detail was clearly defined in their faces. Their clothes looked soft, even though they were carved from stone.

The kitchen looked like a museum.

The white tiles met pale yellow walls and white cabinets. The counters were all marble. The seats were dark wood. The light above the dining table covered everything in a wave of golden light.

There was a statue in the corner of some kind of chef with a baking tray of cookies. Lyla could've sworn that the chocolate chips were melted.

She took a seat on the other side of the island as the woman walked to another counter.

Lyla took out her phone so she could pretend to be writing notes. She had made up a ridiculous story, and she would be damned if she didn't commit to it.

The woman placed the kettle on the stove before grabbing two mugs from one of the cabinets.

"I should start by asking your name," Lyla said as the woman placed two tea bags in their respective mugs.

"Ella," the woman replied, turning her attention to purely focus on Lyla.

Lyla typed the name down. It was a fitting name. Like royalty.

"Do I get to know yours?"

Lyla nodded. There was this pause where her brain didn't seem to catch up with what her body had done.

Once she realized that she had nodded and not answered, she quickly stammered out an answer, "Lyla."

"Nice to meet you, Lyla," Ella grinned.

Something about how she said Lyla's name made Lyla's heart jump a bit. Like she was suddenly realizing that she was actually in the house and this interaction was in fact real.

"What questions do you have," she asked, pulling Lyla from her thoughts yet again.

"Right, right, my questions," Lyla muttered, looking down at her phone like she had them written down somewhere. By the time she had collected her thoughts, Ella was pouring water into the mugs. "Who else lives here? Or are you on your own?"

"Oh, it's just me," Ella replied. "But I have company."

Ella's hand motioned to the statue in the corner.

"I'm never lonely."

"They're beautiful," Lyla complimented. "Almost life-like."

Ella simply hummed, placing a mug in front of Lyla. "I didn't ask how you like your tea-"

"This is fine, thank you," Lyla waved it off.

In all honesty, she had never had tea before. It had simply never appealed to her. She was much happier with her too-sweet coffee and occasional energy drink. And now, as she sipped the tea and fought the urge to scrunch her face up at the taste, she assumes her disinterest was the universe protecting her.

"How long have you been here," Lyla asked.

"As long as I can remember," Ella shrugged.

"So, you inherited it?"

"Something like that."

Lyla paused for a moment. She wondered if she should push more at that answer. She decided against it. She had no desire to pick at a scab that wasn't her own.

Ella tilted her head at Lyla's pause. She took the moment to scan Lyla's features and grin to herself. The chances of someone as intriguing as Lyla showing up on her doorstep were so low that Ella felt the need to study her.

"How do you keep yourself busy," Lyla finally spoke up again. "I know you said you're never lonely, but you must have things that keep you occupied. Hobbies and such."

Ella nodded along with Lyla's statement. "I do a lot of art. A lot of dancing. Mostly reading. I will sometimes spend a whole day curled up in a chair with a good book. We all need an escape."

"What do you like to read?"

"Oh, anything that's interesting," Ella chuckled. "Actually, I just got done with something- let me go get it, I'm sure you'll love it."

Lyla tried to speak up as Ella left the room, "No, no, you don't have to- and she's gone."

Lyla sighed and laughed a little to herself. There was something comforting about seeing someone who had long been a mystery doing something that was so... regular.

When Ella came back, there was a book in her hands. She dragged a finger along the edge of a page she was reading. The smile on her face could stop the heart of any great artist. Nothing they could make would ever compare to the beauty of that smile.

She placed the book on the counter in front of Lyla. "Take it with you when you go."

Lyla was quick to refuse. "I... I can't do that-"

"Nonsense," Ella replied.

"It's your book. You just met me. I am not going to just steal it."

"I'll make you a deal," Ella offered. "Bring me back a book from your shelf. A fair trade."

Lyla paused for a moment, trying to force her mind to comprehend that she had just been invited back to the house after this visit. This woman knew nothing about Lyla. Well, the same could be said about Lyla not knowing Ella.

With a deep breath, she reached out and grabbed the book.

"You have a deal," Lyla decided.

"Good," Ella grinned.

The rest of the interview could be seen in two ways.

There was Lyla's point of view. The point of view that saw the entire visit as the equivalent of a dumpster fire. She stuttered over almost every word. Any time she made eye contact with Ella, all sense left her. She was left looking like a stunned fish until she come back to her senses and rambled out another question that she would make up on the spot.

Then, there was Ella's point of view. The point of view that saw nothing wrong with the event. She hadn't felt nervous around a person for a long time before Lyla found her doorstep. It was almost refreshing to know that such butterflies could still swarm her stomach. If the questions were fake, she never would have guessed. And that wasn't because Lyla was some great actress. It was just because Ella was entirely too distracted.

It felt like an eternity before Lyla finally put herself out of her misery for the day. "I should really get going."

"You'll be back, right," Ella asked, watching the other woman stand from her seat.

"Yes, absolutely," Lyla replied, probably too quickly. "I- I still owe you that book."

Ella nodded. "Maybe tomorrow?"

Lyla decided that she could get away with calling in sick the next day. "Sure."

Ella's smile warmed a part of Lyla's heart that she didn't even know existed.

Ella led the way back to the front door, wishing Lyla safe travels before closing the front door.

Lyla held in all signs of emotion until she made it to her car. She didn't want to risk being spotted acting like anything short of somewhat normal.

When she sat in her driver's seat, a heavy breath escaped her. As if the back of the seat had hit her with enough force to shove the sigh out.

Her eyes fell to the large house again. "Holy shit."

Lyla did come back the next day, a book under her arm.

And she would continue coming back for ages after that. Day after day. Short trips began to span hours of time. There were some days when it felt like she never left.

The two began trading books and stories, just like Lyla's dream had foretold. Lyla would often bring newer books. More modern stories. Ella had a deep love for the classics, often pulling books from her father's collection to offer to Lyla. They had formed a perfect two-person book club.

Lyla was learning more about the woman on the hill than she ever began to imagine. Instead of just history, she knew her favorite foods and drinks and books. She knew about some of the friends that Ella had watched come and go from her life. She knew what Ella had dreamed about when she was little. She knew about Ella's habit to wish on the first star of the evening, which she always seemed able to spot.

It was the best period of Lyla's life. This connection that never once felt forced. It all was so genuine and lovely. Nothing short of perfect in her eyes. After seeing so many friends and family go from her life, she expected to be more hesitant when it came to trusting that people wouldn't leave. With Ella, that trust felt like no question. No major task.

She wasn't alone in this perspective.

Ella's mind had long since decided that she was living her version of a fairytale. Lyla was her knight in shining armor of sorts. Instead of saving her from a dragon or an evil stepmother, she was saving her from her own loneliness. After all, how could one person find true happiness when their only company was that of statues surrounding the house?

Ella knew that she needed to hold onto Lyla. To what Lyla offered her. She couldn't risk losing something that had become as essential to her as breathing.

Her mind was made up while sharing a morning with Lyla in her father's old study.

She had gone far out of her way to keep the area from gathering any dust. She wanted it to be perfect for Lyla and her to enjoy. The deep green fabric was carefully cleaned, the book perfectly organized, the windows were made spotless. It was like the room of a dollhouse. Perfectly preserved to the point that it almost seemed fact. Plastic.

Lyla wouldn't have noticed the mess if there had been one. She was too focused on Ella walking around the room as if she were floating just above the floor.

On that day, Ella had gone out of her way to look especially nice. It was an important day. It required one to dress the part.

Lyla wished that she had tried harder to match Ella's carefully constructed outfit. Ella's fancy dress was facing Lyla's ripped jeans and old shirt that she had placed a jacket over to cover up the garment's age.

Lyla was in the middle of trying to silence her self-conscious thoughts while Ella was running her finger along the spine of the books on one of the shelves. She wanted to choose the perfect story for Lyla to have.

Lyla had never seen her so deep in thought. Her eyebrows furrowed together, almost looking like she was accusing each book of something as she considered them.

It felt like ages before Ella finally pulled herself away from the books, one with a dark cover held in her hand. She flicked through the pages, trying to spark memories of how she had felt while reading that very book.

She nodded before holding it out to Lyla. "I think you'll adore this one."

Lyla accepted it, flicking it through the pages. She caught the sight of a few names. A few lines that stuck out before even knowing their context. She nodded back. It wasn't as if Ella had ever steered her wrong before.

"I'm sure it will be amazing," Lyla smiled a little wider as she complimented it.

Her book had already been offered. It was sitting on her father's desk.

"Thank you," she added.

Ella smiled. There was comfort in seeing Lyla's smile as she looked at a new book. She needed to hold onto this feeling for the rest of her life. The warmth spreading through her chest. The nervous butterflies that twirled around her stomach. The way her face would heat up whenever they spoke.

She took a deep breath, her decision getting locked in her mind.

A truly unstoppable force.

"I feel like I should thank you," Ella said softly. "You've been so kind to me. Spending time with me, listening to me."

Lyla looked down for a moment. "Everyone deserves to be listened to. We all have a story to tell."

Ella nodded. "You have made me feel more accepted and cared about than I have been in a long time."

A silence fell over the pair. Both of them silently studied the other. How each of them stood, the beautiful parts of each of them, the flaws that have taken on such a perfect experience. Eyes and lips and hair were all perfectly arranged. Like they were each studying a piece of art in a gallery.

Ella slowly stepped forward. When Lyla didn't step away, Ella let her smile grow and continued moving forward. The two of them were now close enough to feel the heat and nervous energy radiating off of each other.

Ella reached out and took the book from Lyla's fingertips, tossing it to one of the armchairs so it didn't hinder the moment.

Lyla felt her breath pick up as Ella's lips barely brush against hers. Her eyes fluttered shut, fully letting Ella take the lead.

Ella did.

She pressed her lips to Lyla's gently. Each movement calculated. Each moment falling perfectly into place. Lyla was entranced at the feeling of their lips brushing together. Everything that she could've ever wanted.

Ella's lips were intoxicating, Lyla decided. Soft and careful. Better than coffee in the morning or the sunrise or the sunset. No brilliant view, no good thing could be better than the feeling of Ella kissing her.

Lyla decided that she could spend her entire life like this. She would do so happily if Ella asked. As long as it meant that Ella never stopped kissing her. That's all she would require.

She mumbled out Ella's name, though she didn't know what she had been asking for.

Ella didn't respond or pull away. Instead, she grabbed Lyla's hands and guided them up to hold the sides of Ella's face. Lyla was happy to listen to her. To listen to her beautiful woman in the house on the hill. The girl with her garden of statues.

Ella pulled away slowly, taking a step away from Lyla. Lyla's lips were sitting open, trying to catch her breath through her dazed state. She had never imagined that a kiss could be that way. But she liked it. She really, really liked it.

She tried to voice something. Her feelings, asking her for another kiss, anything. But no words came out.

And her arms wouldn't move.

And her mouth wouldn't close.

And she couldn't blink.

Lyla felt something on her leg. Something slowly crawling up. Not just crawling up her skin, but actually moving in her blood. In her bones.

"Perfect," Ella said. "Don't worry, my dear. It'll all be okay. You won't have to worry about anything."

A small noise escaped Lyla's mouth. But that was it. Ella reached forward and touched her cheek.

"I love you," she continued. "Just like I loved everyone here. I had to preserve them. Keep them safe. I couldn't let the world take you away from me."

Another kiss touched Lyla's palm. But Lyla couldn't feel it. She finally could see what was happening. Gray was crawling down the length of her arm. In her heart, she knew what it was. Stone. She was turning to stone.

"My beautiful girl," Ella smiled. She truly thought this was an act of kindness. Protection. "You'll be so happy here. And I'll get to see you every day. My girl. Now, you can't leave me."

Lyla wanted to cry, but her eyes wouldn't produce any tears.

"I love you," Ella repeated, touching the side of Lyla's face. "I'll come back to see you soon. I'll read you a lovely story."

She walked out of the room a few moments later. At that point, the stone had reached every part of Lyla's body. A perfect, permanent fixture created out of skin and bone.

Ella ran through the house, down the hall, down the stairs, and out to the entrance of the house. Her smile only grew at the sight of her favorite statues. The man and the woman adjusting his jacket.

Ella almost bounced over to them.

"Mom, Dad, I found someone," she explained quickly, a wide smile taking up most of her face. "Oh, you would love her. She's so sweet and smart. She'll fit in perfectly here. And I get to keep her safe. Just like I kept you safe."

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to the cheek of each statue.

"I love you both," she said before standing up and running out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Ella spent her day twirling and dancing with her friends and family, perfectly at peace within the safety of her garden's gates.

A small little world that was perfect for the woman and her garden of statues.

#romance #magic #love #wlw #lgbtq #art #writing #writer #short story #story #original story #writers #aspiring writer #not a happy ending #wlw story #wlw post #sapphic stories

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myfeetrcolddd · 3 months

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We used to love each other... now it's only me.

Imagine you and the love of your life are together. From the starts its always been the both of you, you've always loved each other and neither of you thought you could love anyone else, you were sure that even if you had the choice you would both choose each other.

Life was good, you were planning to propose, maybe you were already engaged. Their the love of your life and you theirs.

But then tragedy strikes. They get into a terrible accident, sending them to the emergency room and into a week long comma.

You spend every waking moment with them, you barely even sleep, not wanting them to be alone when they wake up. When they do wake up you're over joyed. You rush to them, hug them and start talking about how happy you are that they're finally awake, how you love them and asking them if they need anything, are they okay?

When you finally pull away, giving them space to breathe you see the look on their face. Your smile falters at their confused frown, you call their name but they don't respond and there's no recognition, not to their name and not to you.

"W-who are you?" Is the first thing they say, sounding unsure about their voice and you're struck with horror. Your heart plummets.

No, you think, no this can't be happening. "Baby, it's me..." You say slowly, on the verge of tears, because this wasn't happening, this kind of thing wasn't something that happened to them, this only happened in movies and tv shows and books. Not real life.

"I-I don't know you." Their voice trembles and tears gather in their eyes, you heart cracks at the sight, "I-I, I'm sorry, but, I d-don't know you." Your heart cracks even more because even without their memories they were doing something they would constantly do.

Not knowing what else you can do and panicking you call for the doctor, or a nurse, anyone.

Then it all happened so quickly, they all rushed in, rushed to your lover, helping them out and they stared at the nurses and doctors in wide eyes panic, a panic you had been accustomed to over the years, one that you had learned how to calm and it took everything in you not to go over there, barge back into the room the doctors and nurses had forced you out of, and help them.

It went against everything you knew. It felt wrong, illegal that you had to be out here while they were in there, not knowing what was going on, that you wanted to help but you knew there was no way you could. Not without freaking out your lover more than they probably are.

Over the course of weeks they were integrated back into society, they got basic memories back, after about a month and a half they were able to go back into the real world, back to their job, they just couldn't seem to remember anyone. They knew things about their life, going to school, experiences they had, but everyone in those memories were muted.

The people in their memories had no faces, no voices, no names, only a silhouette, they could remember their family though, only a few of them, their mother, a cousin, a grandmother.

You tried to get them to remember, you refused to give up because you loved them, they were the love of your life and all you wanted to do was to help them remember they loved you too.

But then, over time, you realized they weren't going to remember you, it hurt like hell but you wanted them happy and they only seemed to be uncomfortable whenever you tried to get them to remember you, and guilty, and you hated making them feel that way.

When you didn't bring up the past that only you and others seemed to remember the both of you got along well, and if you let yourself forget it felt like the old times.

You two would banter and tease and joke, you would laugh and just talk about anything and everything. Because before you two started dating you were friends first, and even when you did start dating, it was like you two only got closer, a new layer of intimacy added to your friendship.

This realization only made the reality of things much worse, because it made you hope, that maybe with time things would go the same way it did in the past, but then you force yourself to come to terms with the fact that that kind of thing only happens in fiction.

But was there any harm in hoping?

There was harm.

While you had been pining and hoping for something that wouldn't happen they were out meeting new people, making new friends and meeting someone.

They were hesitant to tell you, to introduce you to them, but they did. And it was horrible, you felt horrible, it was like someone took out your heart, stomped on it, put it through an incinerator, mixed it into some water, froze it shattered it and tried shoving the sharp pieces of ice back into you.

But you tried, you pretended to be happy for the both of them, and you were, not for the fact that they were dating someone else, you were to selfish to do that, but you were at least happy that they were happy.

Slowly you drew away from them. Watching from afar as the person you were sure would be the only person you would ever love fell in love with someone else. As someone else fell in love with them for the same things you did.

In the end, they were still the same person you fell in love with, they still acted the same, those quirky little things that only they did were still there, they were still the person you loved and would always love, and you were someone they would only ever know as a friend.

You tried to keep the friendship, and so did they, but it was too painful, for them to be so inherently them, and for you to not be able to pull them into your arms, to not hold them the way you used, to be held by them, for you two to talk about the future, but not the future where the two of you were married with three children and a dog, in a quiet town with a big yard. Instead separate futures instead they were with their new lover and you were talking about a future with someone who you could only imagine as them.

It hurt even more to know that they still seemed to want the same thing, that they would get those things with someone else, someone who wasn't you and you wouldn't get them at all.

Because you didn't want anyone if it wasn't them.

You knew it was over, but it felt wrong.

Your family and theirs had tried to set you up with someone else but even the thought felt like you were cheating.

Even though they didn't love you, even though they loved someone else and were in a relationship with someone else, in your mind, in your dreams, in your heart, you were still together.

Sometimes you'd get dreams about the life you two could've had, though you didn't know if they were dreams or nightmares, because when you woke up, you were in tears and it felt as though there was a weight on your chest and there was a longing for something that was never real, and never could be real.

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asirensrage · 1 year

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So....I am way behind on things (to no ones surprise lol) but I did finish this one so far. I hope you enjoy it. I went with choice #3 from the Scary Story Prompts. Thanks for participating! FYI not edited by anyone but me. No physical characteristics given.

Rating: M Fandom: The Lost Boys Pairing: None... Warnings: Stalking. Talk about dead animals being left on a doorstep. Murder. Arson. Useless cops. Dark fic.

Heed the warnings.

Prompt: #3 “There's nothing the cops will do about your stalker, nothing they can do against your monsterish pursuer.”

“Listen, kid,” the officer says. “People go missing here every week.”

Your jaw clenches, unimpressed by the answer. There’s no interest there, no help. It sounds like an excuse. One they use for everything. “You don’t understand,” you say, tone hardening. “They bang on the doors at night. They drive by, howling at me and calling me outside. Dead animals are left on my doorstep!”

The cop sighs but there’s still no sign of actual life in his eyes. He looks resigned, burnt out in this tourist trap of death. “Did you save the animals?”

“SAVE THEM? They’re buried! You can find them in my backyard!”

“So you tampered with evidence,” he sighs. “Next time call us.”

You try not to snap. Honestly, you do but the complete disregard for your case is pissing you off. You get that there are people missing but they don’t seem to get the concept that maybe this is going to lead you to be one of them! “Next time? Next time it might be my body you find instead of a dead cat! Fucking useless! ‘Serve and protect’, my ass!” you snarl before turning and storming off. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but help would have been nice. Hell, even some advice would have been useful instead of being told to call them when the next animal shows up dead. Like you haven’t been calling them every night the terrors show up and harass you. Last time the cops actually arrived, the voices were gone and you were the one told off for wasting their time.

“No wonder everyone is dead or missing in this town,” you mutter as you leave.

Arms crossed over your chest, you walk away from the police station. You barely slept anymore. The noises outside could last all night but the fact that there was never a sign of them when you opened the door to confront them was beginning to make you feel like you were insane. If it wasn’t for the dead animals, you’d believe it. Still, you didn’t know what to do.

“Can’t you like…set up a video camera at your window or something? See if you can record it?”

“There’s only like a couple hours on a tape,” you say. “And there’s probably not a lot of light. All it would make out is the fact that someone’s passing by. Not like…actual details which is what I need.” You rest your head on your arms that are resting on the counter. You’re just so tired. If you could get a couple hours of sleep, uninterrupted sleep, maybe you’d be able to actually think properly.

“Why don’t you come to my place?” Your friend offers. “Or we could go out of town!”

“We tried that,” you remind her. “Remember? They just…they followed.” You don’t even know how they knew where you were. The two of you had made plans at her place and left the same day. It was like the Terminator was after you.

You don’t even know how many there are or if it’s one person with some high-powered flashlights running around. If it was one person, that would make sense why they kept somehow disappearing when you opened the door. They managed to hide every time.

“I know, I just…I wish I could help.”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes, not really willing to continue this conversation. It was just sad. You were beginning to think that it was inevitable that your face was going to end up on that missing board. You let your head fall against the counter.

“What if you laid traps?”

“Like what? Nails on the doormat?”

“Or like tar on your walkway. Can you buy tar?”

“I think so. I’d have to subject myself to going to the hardware store.”

“Well, what’s worse? The hardware store where you have to deal with men thinking you’re incapable of doing anything or your stalker?”

You’re actually tempted to think about it but you already know the answer. If only to save the pets of the neighbourhood. “The stalker.”

You listen to the advice from the owner of the hardware store and the old men who frequent it while you ward off the attempts to wrangle an invite to help you apply the tar to fix your driveway. Multiple people offered to either help or give you the number of someone they knew who did that kind of work. You refused them all. If you were actually fixing the driveway, you might have taken the information for one of the service places but seeing as you were going to try to lay it out to catch your stalker, you didn’t want to have to try to explain it. The last thing you ended up with was someone offering to help. With your luck, there would be a dead body on your doorstep next time, not an animal. Though, that might actually get the police’s attention…though they’d probably arrest you for the murder. God forbid they do some actual investigating.

It takes hours. You’ve never been so thankful and so resentful that you live alone until now. The work would have been easier with help but at the same time, the only one you have to worry about walking on it is you.

You manage to pass out on the couch with the tv on before the sun sets. It’s not long but the exhaustion overrides the anxious fear that tends to creep up as darkness falls. They only ever show up at night. It’s enough to make you question getting a night shift but the idea of walking home in the dark, knowing they’re out there, is enough to keep you from finding one.

Something crashes against your door. You jolt up, suddenly wide awake. Heart pounding, you get up and move toward the door. You don’t know what you’re going to do but you need…You grab a knife. Just in case.

There are noises coming from the door. It doesn’t sound like the usual laughter and thumps that are meant to scare you.

“--the fuck is this?”

Someone is laughing hysterically. It doesn’t sound like the malicious laughter that has haunted you since this started. It sounds like they’re enjoying themselves.

“Shut up!” the voice snarls. “I’m fucking stuck!”

It was more than one person. Your heart climbs into your throat and despite knowing that you should call the cops, you just…you want to see who it is. You want to know if you know them.

You don’t open the door though. You can’t bring yourself to do it. You feel like you can barely move, especially when you hear more voices.

“Shouldn’t have landed,” a deeper voice says.

“Fuck you!” the first voice shouts back.

“She–” they continue to laugh, wheezing slightly. “She can hear us–”

“You going to open the door?” A different voice calls out. That’s four so far. “Since you caught a mouse.”

You don’t move, even as part of you wants to. Desperately. Fear overrides everything else though and you find yourself frozen in response.

“Open the door,” the trapped voice tells you.

“Yeah, come on. Come outside!” The voices echo slightly as if there are more of them and they seem louder than possible. As if they’re inside next to you.

There’s a burst of laughter that rings through you and you jump slightly, realizing that you’ve somehow moved forward, your hand on the doorknob. You don’t remember moving. How often has that happened in the night? That you found yourself somewhere you didn’t choose to go.

“Come out pretty girl,” one of the voices calls again.

“We want to play!” says another. Laughter echos again and you can’t help but shudder at the sound.

“Leave me alone!” You mean to sound stern, threatening even. It comes out pleading.

“And miss all the fun? Invite us in and we’ll talk.”

“I’m calling the cops!”

That just makes them laugh again. “Do it,” one of them says. “We haven’t eaten yet.”

“Yeah, we can have you for dessert.”

“Think she’s sweet enough?” You hear one of them ask.

“We’ll find out.”

“Come on out, sweet thing. Let us taste you.”

You jolt back, your hand somehow suddenly on the doorknob. When did you unlock the door? You wouldn’t. You move back but the door opens even as you try to retreat. For once there’s someone standing there. Multiple people, staring at you.

“You coming to join us?” one of them asks. The most striking thing about him is the bleach white hair and the intensity of his stare.

“No,” you shake your head, trying not to give in to the urge to run. Something tells you they’ll follow. They always follow.

“You will,” the dark haired one behind him says. You don’t even question how they’re not stuck. Only one of them looks like he’s struggling, the other blonde in the back. The rest just seem highly amused. But they’re standing there. Aren’t they?

You reach forward and slam the door before they can stop you. You shove your body against the door, terrified you won’t be able to lock it before they shove their way in.

They don’t need to. It’s silent outside and that scares you more than their laughter. You don’t know what they’re planning if you can’t hear them but you’re not stupid enough to think that you’re safe. You call the cops regardless. At least so it’s on record. They make a promise to come check it out, but you know it won’t happen. They never come by unless it’s daylight.

The window breaks with a crash, smothering the sound of the bottle that shatters as it hits your floor. Fire erupts in the room. You move before you can think, running out the door and away from the heat.

You slam into a body. Hands grab your arms, keeping you from falling back.

“There you are.”

You look up in horror at the face staring down at you. All you register are fangs and ridges that don’t look human.

“I win!” the thing calls out. A riot of curls form a mullet but it’s not…it looks like a monster. Some kind of special effects.

“Well, you know what that means,” a voice calls out. You glance around, looking at the men who suddenly surround you. They were men before, weren’t they? When they were at your door, they were human. But now..

The blond from before, the one who wasn’t stuck grins at the thing holding you. “You get first bite.”

“Aww man!” someone calls out but it doesn’t matter. All you see are teeth before something is biting you. You struggle, but he is like a vice holding you. As your sight goes dark, you hear that laughter again.

taglist: @burnincrown @raith-way @chrissymunson @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

lost boys tag: @phantomenby @avengers-fixation @artaxerxesthegreat @henhouse-horrors @charlizekkelly @makepastanotwar13

#dark fic #the lost boys #the lost boys fanfic #vampire fic #not a happy ending #least not for you #ridea's 1k follower celebration

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gravitywonagain · 11 months

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rounding out my depressing little triptych with lwj's pov

[dialog only] [wwx's pov]

[M, 4k, 1/1, Wangxian]

Tags: Major Character Death, suicide, suicide by zhiji (but, like, softly?), time travel, hurt/comfort but mostly hurt, I’m not going to lie this is all angst, not a happy ending (i’ve added a tiny consolation ending but it’s not really enough here)

There is a cave. Lan Wangji spotted it as he flew to Yiling once, so long ago. Too long ago. Maybe if he’d returned earlier, maybe if he’d stayed--

There is a cave.

Lan Wangji knows his core is spinning low; he feels the pulse of it struggling through his meridians, qi sluggish and dwindling. His body droops, too heavy for his bones to carry. Bichen’s tip wavers where he points it. The descent, when he makes it, is fast.

In his arms, Wei Ying is light as feathers.

The cave is easy enough to find. Too easy, probably, to be safe for very long. But it’s his only option now.

They cannot go back to Yiling. They cannot seek refuge among any of the sects, even his own. They cannot hide within a town, among people who could be hurt by the black, curling resentment leaking out of Wei Ying’s skin. And he could not leave Wei Ying where he was to die.

The cave is deeper than Lan Wangji had anticipated, which is good. He carries Wei Ying inside, steps light and as even as he can make them.

Darkness swallows them whole.

He lays Wei Ying gently down upon the rough stone floor. Considers pillowing Wei Ying’s head in his lap -- like the last time they were in a dark cave together, qi and confessions flowing between them. But he doesn’t have the qi to spare this time. Depleted. He’ll have to settle for confessions alone.

Somewhere deeper in, water drips into a pool. The sound of it bounces off the stone, echoing along the tunnels.

Lan Wangji folds himself into a meditative pose and times his breath with the rhythm of it. If he can rebuild some of his spent qi, he can pass some to Wei Ying. He can protect Wei Ying if others find them here. He can get Wei Ying out, hide him somewhere--

“Did you see them, Lan Zhan? Did you see?”

He hadn’t noticed Wei Ying waking. Hadn’t heard the change in his breath, or pulse. Both are still so slow. So deathly slow.

“Wei Ying--”

“United in their hate.”

Wei Ying sounds so tired. So fed up with the world, and who would blame him for it?

Well…

Lan Wangji feels anger and remorse thick in his throat. He says, “Let me--” But Wei Ying cuts him off again.

“But they were united.”

He sighs with something that sounds like… hope. Relief, perhaps. Which makes little sense.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying shifts, turning to look at Lan Wangji, his smile barely visible through the blood and bruises in the low light of the cave. It is still the most beautiful expression Lan Wangji has ever seen.

His voice is softer when he says, “It doesn’t work if there’s no villain, Lan Zhan. This world doesn’t work if there’s no one to hate.”

United, he’d said.

But it still doesn’t make sense. With no other recourse, Lan Wangji says as much, “I don’t understand.”

But Wei Ying doesn’t answer him this time. He doesn’t explain. He rolls his head so his eyes are pointed up at the cave ceiling.

“You should go,” he says, as if that was something Lan Wangji could do. “Leave me. They’ll only hurt you if they find you here.” As if that was some unexpected outcome, a deterrent to staying by Wei Ying’s side.

“I won’t leave you.”

A harsh, rasping breath breaks in Wei Ying’s throat -- not unlike a laugh, yet so unlike the laugh that lives in Lan Wangji’s dreams. “So stubborn, Lan Zhan. So good. Always so good.”

Lan Wangji feels his blood beat in the tips of his ears. It is Wei Ying, not Lan Wangji, who is good. But to hear him say it…

“Wei Ying, I--”

Again, Wei Ying interrupts him.

“At least Shijie is alive this time.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase that catches Lan Wangji’s attention.

“This time?”

In the darkness, Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying’s eyes fall closed. It’s not unlike the way Brother shuts out the world when it is too much, too harsh, too fast.

The silence between them stretches, broken only by the steady dripping of water that continues to echo, like a clock that counts down the dwindling moments they have left. Like this, time flows too fast, trickling away between breaths and heart beats. Still, Lan Wangji waits. He does not push Wei Ying to answer him. He’s not even really sure what his question is.

“Yes,” Wei Ying says, at last.

Another rasping rattle of a laugh.

That weary exhaustion hangs heavy in his voice as he turns his head to regard Lan Wangji once more. “Oh, Lan Zhan, I’ve done this so many times. I’m so tired.”

The first… Lan Wangji has no idea how to decipher. It sounds confused, mad, nonsensical. Yet Wei Ying says it with perfect lucidity. Whatever it means, he seems to believe it enough to be weary of it in a way that pierces bone.

But the second: This, at least, Lan Wangji can help assuage.

“Rest. I will be here.”

Wei Ying squirms against the stone where he lays. Contrary, as ever.

Lan Wangji aches to take him into his arms, to hold him close and keep him safe. His old desire, his avarice, gnaws at the base of his breastbone. But he knows now that Wei Ying will not come to him willingly, and Lan Wangji will never cage him, even for his own safety.

“They’re coming,” Wei Ying’s throat sounds full of gravel. But his words are timely -- a reminder that any cage Lan Wangji might offer is no longer an option anyway. They both know who they are. And Wei Ying is right. Still right as he continues, “They’ll be here soon. They’ll take you.” But then, “You should let them take you.”

Something like fury rises in Lan Wangji’s blood. Growling and thrashing in his gut. “I will not le--”

“A'Yuan needs you, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji’s blood freezes. “Let them take you.”

Wei Ying doesn’t plead with him, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know whether he should feel grateful for that or not. He would not be capable of refusing him if he pleaded.

He may not be capable of refusing him anyway.

“Wei Ying?”

“It’s okay. I– Like I said,” Wei Ying smiles, small but sincere, “it doesn’t work if there’s no villain.”

Lan Wangji thinks he’s beginning to understand. But, “Why you?”

“If not me, then who?”

Tears burn behind Lan Wangji’s eyes. Because of course Wei Ying would offer himself up for this. For this, for the Wen remnants, for any cause deemed worthy and right. He is still that beautiful boy who painted a rabbit on a lantern and pledged his life to protecting the weak and standing with justice.

Lan Wangji holds the tears at bay with clenched fists. “Not you.”

It works, if only just. If only simply delaying the inevitable. But then, all of this is simply delaying the inevitable, isn’t it. A brief respite. The world will not change while Wei Ying and Lan Wangji are hiding away in this cave.

Wei Ying inhales -- a ghastly sound, wet and ragged and rattling.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. I know.” Lan Wangji’s heart leaps into his throat, and Wei Ying says, again, gently, soothing, “I know. You’ve stayed with me before.”

“Before?”

It’s that strange tense again. Does he mean the cave with the false xuanwu?

“Yes. You’re always so good. Too good. They hurt you when you fight. Don’t-- Don’t let them hurt you. A'Yuan needs you.”

“A'Yuan?”

It’s the second time Wei Ying has mentioned him. The boy who brought a smile to Wei Ying’s eyes. Who wrapped himself around Lan Wangji’s leg, full-bodied with trust and wide-eyed with wonder.

“He needs you to raise him,” Wei Ying says, latching on to whatever it is he hears in Lan Wangji’s voice. “I know you’ll take such good care of him, Lan Zhan. You always do.”

This time. Before. Always.

“Wei Ying, I don’t understand.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s nothing, meaningless, but it soothes him all the same.

This man. This beautiful, brave, brilliant man. The light is low, but Lan Wangji can still see the radiance shining out of this man he loves.

The time continues to drip away from him, from them both. He made a confession once, in a cave like this. But whether Wei Ying heard it, grasped it, understood it… Remembers it. Lan Wangji doesn’t believe he’ll have many more chances after this.

“Please,” he says, “Wei Ying, I--”

“Don’t say it.” It’s almost a sob. As much of a sob as Wei Ying’s broken body can manage, Lan Wangji would guess. “Don’t say it, Lan Zhan. It only hurts more if you say it. If I-- Don’t say it.”

Of course. He already said he knows, after all.

The ache is less than he imagined it would be. He swallows it down.

“Okay. Okay, Wei Ying.”

“Let them take you. When they come, just go with them. Don’t fight.”

Obstinance returns, a welcome distraction.

“They will kill you.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t--”

“You must.” Lan Wangji wants to throttle him, just so he stops interrupting.

“They need a villain,” Wei Ying repeats. “They don’t need two. But if you stay with me, if you fight them for me, that is what you become. A'Yuan needs you.”

His voice breaks over A’Yuan’s name, and Lan Wangji breaks for him again.

“Okay. Okay, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying moves slowly. His sleeve drags against the stone, a strangely soft sound for the roughness of the materials making it.

He reaches toward Lan Wangji and asks, “Hold my hand?”

“But--”

“I only said not to say it. Not that it’s unwelcome.”

His touch is surprisingly warm. Lan Wangji laces their fingers together and traces the lines of Wei Ying’s veins with his other hand.

“Wei Ying--” he tries again, but Wei Ying shushes him.

“Hush now, Lan Zhan. Just hold me. They’ll be here soon.”

It’s cold, in the cave. With his core depleted, Lan Wangji feels it seeping in through the many layers of his robes. He hurts -- everywhere. His heart, certainly, but there’s the ache of overtaxed muscles as well, and the nettle-bite of a hundred tiny cuts, partially healed and stinging for it.

He thinks he will hurt much more before the night is through.

Wei Ying’s breath is shallow and murky, but it’s even. His pulse is weak beneath his pale, thin skin. Resentment bleeds from somewhere under his robes, spilling sluggishly and sapping whatever remains of Wei Ying’s warmth.

He’s dying, Lan Wangji knows. He’s dying, and there’s nothing Lan Wangji can do to save him.

So Lan Wangji turns his mind to other problems. The other thing, the tenses that seem out of place, but possibly are not.

Wei Ying is ingenious. He has created things -- terrible, powerful things -- that no one had imagined, that now everyone clamors for. If anyone could… what? Reverse the flow of time? Step in and out of the stream, perhaps? It would be him.

“If you’ve done this before,” Lan Wangji asks, “why not fix it? Why not live?”

Wei Ying does not seem surprised by the question. But, if he’s done this before, perhaps he answered it before. Perhaps none of this is new to him.

“It doesn’t work,” Wei Ying sighs. “It all falls apart. The clans fall to each other if not to Wen Ruohan. They need--”

“A villain. So you’ve said.” Lan Wangji can’t stand to hear the easy acceptance in Wei Ying’s voice as he repeats the brand again.

“Ah, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s lungs fail to contain his excitement, and he coughs wetly around what might have been a laugh. He says, “Interrupting me, so bold!”

Which is truly--

“I am trying to understand.”

“I know. I know. There’s no time. Which will be very funny to you later. Nothing but time. Maybe I will see you again, Lan Zhan.”

And maybe he will, but will Lan Wangji see Wei Ying again? If they’ve done this all before, what happens to Lan Wangji when Wei Ying starts over? He certainly has no memory of this. Where does Wei Ying begin again? Is it even the same stream in time, or simply another branch in the watershed?

These questions and more pile up in Lan Wangji’s throat, too thick to speak through.

In the end, they don’t matter because, “They will kill you.”

“Yes. Yes, and you should let them. So you can save A'Yuan.” A’Yuan, again.

Wei Ying turns away from him, then. He doesn’t pull his hand back, and Lan Wangji finds he is pathetically grateful for this small comfort allowed to him.

“Maybe,” Wei Ying says, “maybe you can make them all see. Make them open their eyes in the Burial Mounds. Make them see who it is they’re running through.”

The Burial Mounds. The Wens. The tiny village of broken men and women who have drawn life from a mountain made of death.

Lan Wangji cannot fathom why the sects would besiege such a place, yet he knows that they must. That they’ve been threatening it for months. And now that Wei Ying is injured, now that his general has burned, now that his power source has shattered to pieces and the Burial Mounds are left defenseless… Now, he supposes, they must. Or else allow themselves to be called cowards by those who desire power more than justice.

And Wei Ying has done this before.

He brings their entwined hands to his mouth, but stops before he can touch his lips to Wei Ying’s skin. Not unwelcome, but not welcome, either.

“Why can’t we show them together, Wei Ying? Why?”

“It doesn’t work. It’s too late for me. You saw what I did to them. You saw the monster I’ve become.”

The monster they made him into. It was their own hunger for the Yin Tiger Seal that drove Wei Ying to destroy it. The chaos that rained down, a disaster brought about by their greed, their prejudice, their failure to see Wei Ying and all that he was and cherish him as he deserved.

Lan Wangji’s own failure.

“Wei Ying--”

“I asked you to kill me once. If I was too far gone. Do you remember that?”

Lan Wangji freezes, his blood thickens and slows like ice in his veins.

Of course he remembers. That night haunts him, will forever haunt him, now. The night he should have pulled himself up onto a horse and rode with them. The night he should have trusted Wei Ying. Should have protected him.

His jaw barely moves, “I do.”

“Would you do it now?”

“Wei Ying?!” Lan Wangji jumps to his feet, dropping Wei Ying’s hand and immediately missing the touch. But he cannot-- He cannot.

“I know,” Wei Ying says, a rueful edge to his tone. “You’re too good, Lan Zhan. You never agree to that.”

This time. Before. Always. Never.

“Wei Ying, please.” Lan Wangji cannot hold the whine in his throat.

“I could make you.”

There’s something in Wei Ying’s voice when he says it. Something malicious.

No. Venomous.

It is not evil. Wei Ying is not evil. He is good, sunlight, righteousness.

Even the black and white banded snake strikes only in defense, or in hunger. Which is this, Lan Wangji wonders. Defense, or hunger?

“Wei Ying?”

“I could make you kill me,” he says, the venom thick on his tongue. “I haven’t tried that before. You would be the hero, then maybe you could stop the slaughter.”

“You are not a villain, Wei Ying!” His voice sounds harsh to his own ears. It ricochets off the stone walls like a rock slide in a canyon. Loud, crashing, and trembling.

“I am,” Wei Ying presses. “I’m a monster, haven’t you heard? A demon. You would be venerated for putting me down.”

Wei Ying’s eyes -- clever and cruel -- begin to take on that eerie red hue, and Lan Wangji can’t stand it. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what else he can do. He has tried listening, he has tried confessing, he has tried arguing. None of it makes a difference.

The tears he’s held back begin to burn once more. Insistent. Desperate.

His body moves for him, seeking comfort in penance as it has over and over again. He spreads his skirts and kneels on the uneven stone.

The stone is colder now, like the cold of snow over gentian blooms. It is rough and rugged like gravel.

But he remembers that kneeling alone has never worked before. Kneeling alone has brought him nothing but absolution -- a release from the punishment, but not release from longing, not release from his own ruthless hunger.

His mouth moves for him, “Please…”

He watches his tears fall, the curve of them catching whatever light is left in this cave. They shine like diamonds.

“Please, Wei Ying…”

They are as useless to him as diamonds.

“It would crush you to do it, I know.”

The ice in Wei Ying’s voice thaws a little. But Lan Wangji can see determination still flickering in his eyes. The red has faded, at least. The silver seems dulled with exhaustion.

“We could do it together,” Wei Ying offers, “you and I. Draw your sword, Lan Zhan.”

“No.”

Lan Wangji tucks his fingers into fists and squeezes tight. It’s all he can do not to scream. Not to rage. Not to flee.

“Lan Zhan, they’ll kill me either way. Let me die like this: in your arms, with you by my side.”

“I can’t--”

“A quick slide, right through my ribs. It will be almost peaceful this way.”

Almost peaceful --

“No!”

“You can hold me.”

Lan Wangji feels the offer like a slap. He closes his eyes against it, against the want that curls in him even now. Even like this.

“They’ll praise you for it.” Wei Ying knows him well enough to sound sorry about it. “You’ll hate that, but then the spoils will be yours. You can claim them. It could work, Lan Zhan.”

The spoils. The Wens. A’Yuan. As if anyone would allow him this. As if he wouldn’t have to wrench it from their greedy, grasping hands.

“Wei Ying, please do not ask this of me.”

“It’s too much. I know. I know, Zhiji.”

Zhiji. I still am.

Lan Wangji knows he’s being placated, but he doesn’t care. He grasps at the word -- the acknowledgment -- with both hands. He clutches them into Wei Ying’s bloody robes.

“Zhiji. Zhiyin. Wei Ying.”

It still feels exhilarating to say. To speak into existence. Into memory.

“You would do it if I asked you to. I know you would.”

He would. It’s true.

What does that make him? A monster? A fool?

Tears stream down Lan Wangji’s face. He can feel their tracks on his cheeks. A deluge, unstoppable. Unimportant.

Wei Ying bites his lip, turning it even paler around the dull edges of his teeth.

“But is that something I can let myself ask of you? Is it too cruel? To make you bear this with me? To make you take some of the weight.”

He isn’t asking Lan Wangji. Not really. He’s thinking through a problem. Lan Wangji’s input is neither required nor requested. His opinion, his desire, is known.

Lan Wangji begs anyway.

“Please, don’t… Please, Wei Ying.”

Even as he does, he knows. He knows how this will end and he hates himself for it. He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be like his father. That he could say, No. You’re coming with me. I will keep you safe, whether you like it or not.

But he can’t.

Wei Ying is right. There are only so many ways forward. This one… This one could save lives. Possibly. Potentially.

It’s excruciating. Like tilling soil on a mountain of bones.

“Draw your sword, Lan Zhan.”

Bichen comes easy to his hands, once he’s untwisted them from Wei Ying’s robes. The white of the scabbard is too clean, too bright, for this place. The blade, too pure.

“Wei Ying.”

“Good. Good. It’ll be quick. So quick.”

Lan Wangji knows well the speed at which life can drain from a body.

He helps Wei Ying sit up as he slides himself down. Wei Ying is still far too thin, but the weight of him as he settles back against Lan Wangji’s chest is grounding. Lan Wangji tries to focus on that. On the places he and Wei Ying are pressed together. An embrace. A last comfort for Lan Wangji to hold onto.

“Don’t worry,”Wei Ying says, “they’ll be here soon. They’ll see. They’ll help you. Your brother will help you.”

Bichen’s tip settles easily -- too easily -- between the ladder-rungs of Wei Ying’s ribs. The blue light lends a sickly hue to Wei Ying’s pallor, but catches in his eyes like cold, crisp winter mornings.

“Yes, right there.”

The angle -- the angle that will kill Wei Ying with the least pain, the least suffering, the-- the fastest… It strains at Lan Wangji’s shoulder and elbow. He doesn’t have the qi to spend to hold Bichen with only his core. He has to use his hand.

He has to use his hand. For this.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. It’s okay. It’s okay if it’s you.”

“This is not--”

“I know. I know. Just hold me.”

This is not what they meant when they said this in the rain. Either of them. This is not what they wanted when they came to this cave. Either of them.

But Wei Ying believes it will work, and Lan Wangji trusts Wei Ying.

He wishes--

No. The time for wishes has passed. But there is, perhaps, time left one thing.

“Wei Ying?”

“Yes, Lan Zhan?”

“May I say it.”

“Ha. Yes, Lan Zhan. I think. I think I’d like to hear it.”

“I love you, Wei Ying.”

“I know. I love you, too, Lan Zhan.”

“I know.”

And he finds he does know. Because as much as he trusts Wei Ying, Wei Ying is trusting him, too. He is here. In Lan Wangji’s arms. Ready to die. Ready for Lan Wangji to kill him. Because it is right. This time.

Lan Wangji’s tears spill onto Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. Deep breath. That’s it. It’s okay. It will be okay.”

“What’s that?”

But he knows.

“Footsteps. They’re almost here.”

Lan Wangji nods.

Wei Ying starts to beg.

“Lan Zhan, please. You can do it. Please. Lan Zh--”

A short slide.

“Wei Ying.”

The only light in the world goes out.

“Wei Ying.”

“I love you.”

“I’m here.”

When his family enters the cavern, they bring with them talismans of light. Dozens of elders follow behind Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, but Lan Wangji only really sees his brother.

“Wangji?”

A sob cracks its way out of Lan Wangji’s chest.

“Xiongzhang. He’s gone.”

Lan Xichen is gracious. His eyes don’t stray from Lan Wangji’s. Not to Wei Ying’s body, or the way Lan Wangji is clutching at it. Not to Bichen, dropped numbly to the ground, blood, red and glistening, wetting several inches at the tip.

Not even to Lan Wangji’s bare forehead. Or to the ribbon wrapped -- too hastily, too late -- around Wei Ying’s wrist.

He lets their uncle, their elders, witness those things.

Lan Xichen simply kneels down before his brother and whispers, “Oh, Wangji.”

(Lan Wangji's love is kept secret. His vanquishing of the evil Yiling Laozu turned legend. He retreats from the world and builds a home for the Wens, this time on a mountain that is already green with life and rich with promise.)

(He wanders in the forgotten places, the places that do not know him. And he teaches his son that rumor is not to be trusted.)

(Lan Wangji will never be more grateful that Wei Ying didn't ask him to sing again as he is when he hears their song played on a poorly cut flute and thinks only of life, survival, and love.)

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hlizr50 · 5 months

Text

I cried when I came up with this.

I cried when I was writing this.

I cried when I proofread this.

**MAJOR FOURTH WING SPOILERS**

As I was rereading Fourth Wing, I found myself extremely heartbroken that I never got to see more than the little flirty suggestions about Liam and Jesinia. So here it is.

Tell Jesinia…

Read on AO3

Fandom: Fourth Wing

Pairing: Liam Mairi/Jesinia Neilwart

Read a snippet under the cut!!

His fingers were moving, as if by their own volition. “You came.” Jesinia nodded, and she might have even smiled at him. It was hard to tell with the hood casting her in shadow.

“First years aren’t supposed to be gallivanting between quadrants,” she answered. Perhaps she was nervous about meeting him, after all. But Liam grinned.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The scribe lifted her hand, covering her the breathy giggle that escaped between her lips.

“Do you always wear the robes? Even if you’re not on shift?” He signed. It would be a blatant lie to say that he hadn’t wondered what the pretty brunette might look like in figure-hugging pants and a casual cotton shirt. That he hadn’t hoped to get even the slightest idea of what she was hiding under the bland swaths of cream-colored fabric.

“I hadn’t gotten around to changing,” Jesinia answered, and Liam decided to accept the explanation, though it was pretty late in the evening. Instead of arguing, he chose to boldly pursue.

He kept his eyes locked with hers as he asked, “Could you lower your hood? It would be nice to see your face.”

The scribe hesitated, clasping her hands above her heart as she contemplated his request. Jesinia regarded him with a curious gaze, as if trying to understand why he would ask such a thing.

Especially since they could communicate with their hands.

The rider gave her an encouraging smile and shrugged, the faintest heat warming his cheeks. “I think you’re pretty, and I’d like to see you in the light. If that’s alright.”

I’m not even sure who to tag, so we’re just gonna guess:

@headcanonheadcase @mystical-blaise @daevastanner @vikingmagic33 @foreverinelysian @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @freyjas-musings @beaumaismortel @renxzs @aldbooks @sunshinebingo

#fourth wing #the empyrean #Liam Mairi #jesinia neilwart #Liam x Jesinia #Has nobody ever wanted these two together?#So much potential #jesinia x Liam #Liam mairi x jesinia Neilwart #Jesinia neilwart x Liam mairi #fanfiction #fanfic #not a happy ending #fluff #kisses #cuddles #hand holding #they could’ve been so adorable #I’m still angry I didn’t get to have this

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applewillowstone · 5 months

Text

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY @lamay13

(For everyone- please mind the tags this is not a happy ending fic lol).

#harringrove #billy hargrove #stranger things #steve harrington #not a happy ending #PLEASE READ TAGS #ANYWAYS-#HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY LAMAY #dead dove do not eat

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tomionefinds · 6 months

Note

I'm looking for fics where they don't end up together and/or one of them dies at the end. (I love torturing myself)

Hey Anon,

Thanks for the ask. Major SPOILERS and angst ahead. -JD

#tomione #multichapter #complete #angst #not a happy ending #not-HEA #time turner/time travel

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nsfw-kill-me-now · 2 years

Text

Blood

Instead of Bonnie dying on the cross, the Billy Boys decide to have some fun with the young Gold's future wife. They beat her, have their way with her until she's bloody and unconscious, shoot her in the chest, and tie her to the cross. By some miracle, if you could call it that, the girl survived, but she'll never be the same.

THIS FIC IS VERY MUCH INCOMPLETE. I DON'T KNOW WHEN I'LL FINISH IT, OR IF I WILL. I WILL TAKE CRITICISM BUT KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS IS MY FIRST FIC EVER POSTED.

Warnings: fem!reader, heavy angst, allusions to rape, blood (mentioned), miscarriage, paralysis, likely inaccurate depictions of a Birmingham-based hospital in the 1920s, abortion themes, childhood abuse (mentioned), verbal abuse (mentioned), MASSIVE TRIGGERS ALTOGETHER

While there are absolutely no religious themes or allusions in this fic, I did partially base this on my own experience being raised Catholic (tho not in an ideal, "good" Catholic household if that makes sense), as well as events that have happened in my extended family, including but not limited to: mental/verbal child abuse, rape, disability, and miscarriage.

Let me know what you think in the comments!

"Was it a girl? A boy?"

A pause. "A girl."

"I want to hold her."

A gasp. "No."

"Give her to me."

"I-I'm sorry, th-the fetus has already been--"

"DON'T CALL HER THAT!" I roared, attempting to lung at the poor nurse, but my legs were numb. The girl leaped away, her eyes wide with terror. I wanted to blind her. "SHE'S A BABY! SHE NEEDS HER MOTHER! GIVE HER TO ME! GIVE HER BACK! GIVE HER--"

Arms wrap around my shoulders and I screamed. Back in the forest, the Billy Boys' chanting rang in my ears as their hands groped my body. One of them sliced the front of my dress, cutting flesh down to the stomach. Another squeezed my breasts. Someone slammed his boot into my gut. I couldn't even cry out with a hand covering my mouth. In the hospital, nurses and doctors surrounded me, then I returned once again to the forest. Memory and reality blurred into one. I struggled against the arms wrapped around my midsection, only vaguely processing that I couldn't kick my legs, try as I may. Hot tears spilled from my eyes in the struggle, screaming and scratching the unwelcome touch of my captors. There were no words, only rage and fear and a desire to not be touched. The telltale BANG of a gunshot echoed in the country air. My abdomen felt sticky and warm. Vaguely, I register a cloth covering my mouth, it's sickly-sweet scent all too familiar. My world, hazy and warped, once more fades into darkness.

The next time I woke up, the room was different. A heavy door, white brick walls, and a single window with light streaming through. I went to shield my eyes, but my arms were too heavy. I couldn't even muster out a word, only what could be called a grunt.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"I can't, Bonnie. I can't get up."

A pause. "Why?" His voice was so small.

I sighed, and looked up to him with sad, tired eyes. "I can't feel my legs."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I..." My breath hitched. "I... didn't want a baby." I stared at the wall. I couldn't look at her. I didn't want to see her eyes. "I could never be...a good mother. H-How could I? Didn't exactly have the best example."

I paused. "Sh-she'd always held it over my head. 'I could'a 'ad ya killed,' she'd say. 'Should'a let the doc cut ya into pieces an' be done wi' ya,' she'd shout. Like my life was an inconvenience, e-even before my first breath. My own fuckin' mother. And I'll have been just like 'er, wouldn't I?

"B-But.. I still wanted my-- I still wanted her to... have a chance. Bonnie's a good man, and she would have known her father to be a good man. He didn't force me, and I think he knew I didn't want... but I knew he really wanted to be. I tried for him. A-And I get why other people would just get rid of it, there are serious reasons to, but... but I never saw this child as an "it." She was there. She was moving... dancing, even. She was alive. How could I take that away? Even now, I don't understand how anyone believes they have the right to do something like that, even if the m-mum would d-die otherwise. And God, I'm a fuckin' terrible person for saying that, aren't I?" I paused, breath hitching, then continued. "But to me, I'd have killed her. I-I didn't want a kid, but I wanted her to live."

I saw Ada's shoes approach my chair, and she surprised me by wiping my cheeks. When had I started to cry? She gingerly turned my face towards hers, stood back an inch, and opened her arms.

Another pause.

A sob ruptured from my throat. I lunged into her bosom, clung to her satin dress, and cried.