fic: and the rest you can keep.
title: and the rest you can keep
pairing: elena (/stefan/damon)
summary: there is a dark-haired boy on one side of the door, and there is a dark-haired boy on the other side of the door, and there is a door.
a/n: written for the waxing poetic multi-fandom comment ficathon. But I'll also probably add it to the fairytale prompt meme because I like to see it filling. I just started law school and have no time, so OBV I WROTE FIC.
warning: post 3.22. And devastatingly random. apologies D:
disclaimer: disclaimed. I also don't own anything referenced. Or Richard Siken ofc.
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cassiehayes's beautiful Siken-prompt: eventually something you love is going to be taken away. and then you will fall to the floor crying. and then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “i am falling to the floor crying” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it - you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.
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There is too much blood in the story, she decides at the beginning. Too much blood, and not the good kind. Not the kind that runs between two brothers who’d kill each other to not lose the other, or the life-giving kind that runs through the veins of her best friend whom she wants to rip into with very sharp teeth and betrayal.
This is what she decides at the beginning. Or maybe, this is what she decides at the end, if you're into linearity and death is the full-stop in your last sentence. Her story is different, she knows, although everyone in the world thinks that when they set an alarm and are late for work anyway. But the thing is, she ended with ellipses and her story slipped from the pages into blood. There is too much blood in this story.
So this is where she does something different: she bites into his skin and licks his blood off the side off her mouth. She knows this is not the story you thought it was, when you started it, because if Beauty is the Beast, then you've been lied to all your life and it's easier to close your eyes than watch her bite into the soft skin of the inner thigh of the boy she runs around in circles with. Circles are rather annoying, when you’re into linearity. So she gives you permission to shut the pages and when you’re pretending to be more drunk than you are because the boy on the left side of you has the bluest eyes you've ever seen, you can say it wasn't a very good story, it had too much blood in it.
A dead girl walks into a room and she says I love you over and over like the dark-haired boy outside had said to her, and the dark-haired boy inside just looks at her and allows her to take his clothes off. This girl is lucky because nobody asks her what love is. And you're betrayed because you wanted her to make love to the dark-haired boy. Inside or outside, you aren't particular. But instead she bites his inner-thigh and you're betrayed because you thought this was a different story. The kind where a girl walks through the door and takes off the clothes of a dark-haired boy and there is love. But this is not that story and you are betrayed.
A dead girl walks past a dark-haired boy outside and he tells her I love you, except he says it far too many times. He says it so many times that the words just start looking strange and she thinks he may have spelt it wrong and she's not very sure what it means anymore. And when she walks inside and says I love you, she is lucky, because the dark-haired boy inside does not ask her to give a definition. He does not say define love, so she pulls down his zipper instead. And then there is too much blood in the story. It stains the bedsheet in his room and her mouth and his skin and it's rather a mess, and you think it’ll be so hard to get the blood off the white bedsheet because while she’s biting the soft skin of the inner thigh of the dark-haired boy with wild abandon, you are doing your laundry and you know about laundry.
There is a dark-haired boy on one side of the door and there is a dark-haired boy on the other side of the door and there is a door. The door is not a metaphor. It is far too large and brown and solid, but then again, you've never seen a metaphor before, so maybe the door is a metaphor. In the distance, a dead girl is walking towards the boy outside and the boy inside and the door. This time you do something different, because she never does, and you're into linearity. This time you leave the pages on the desk before her story bleeds through and stains the clothes you're laundering. There is too much blood in this story, you know.
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Things you should REALLY be doing is clicking on the pretty banners AND WRITING ME FIC. /GUNPOINT.
