Oct 21, 2023
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Thank you to everyone who got me to 1000 likes! I love you guys!!
angst prompt 48
i just love the angst right now for some reason
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”
Prompts from this list , and I am still taking them if anyone wants me to write more drabbles about our favourite idiots in love.
Words: 550
Warnings: Mature, references to sexual content
i may or may not be writing another series...
Love your writing. Can I ask another gerita ask for this prompt: #20 “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.”
Warning this became so darn sad. Like, I’m writing and I just kept making it sadder and sadder without even realize it. Don’t ask me where this came from because I have no clue. I’m not even really into Gerita (at least not presently) and even I ripped my own heart out with this... Apologies in advance.
Prompt: “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.”
It has been one whole decade since they decided it was best to split up. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other, quite the opposite actually, that kind of relationship just didn’t work well for them.
Ludwig had always nagged Feliciano and kept him on his toes. Feliciano knew that he did this out of love, but once they got into a relationship, he became overbearing. Ludwig realized a similar problem. Sure Feliciano had always been a clingy and affectionate individual, but once getting into a relationship, that affection increased ten times. Although he appreciated it, sometimes he felt smothered and he wasn’t big on doing such things in public.
These differences led to tension, dates became a chore, and the relationship was no longer happy. They tried to talk it out, but that often resulted in more tension and even a few arguments. Eventually, it all became too much and both agreed it was probably best if they went back to being just friends.
But that proved more difficult than expected. Even though they had broken up, their friendship became awkward. It was as if they didn’t know how to act around each other anymore, so they slowly drifted apart. Despite this, their feelings still lingered, shown through the longing gazes exchanged during meetings, the customary Italian greeting of cheek kiss lasting too long, and the bumping of hands and knees together when they were close to each other.
Ludwig was getting tired of it. Each look, each touch made his heartache. When he caught those amber eyes looking at him with a fondness for the hundredth time that meeting, he finally snapped: “don’t look at me like that.”
Feliciano’s nose scrunched up like it did when he tried to fake confusion.
“Like what?”
“Like you still love me.”
The Italian became silent and his eyes downcasted. “That’s the problem Ludwig,” he whispered, barely audible, “I still do!”
“What?”
“I still do. I thought distance and time would make these feelings go away, but...they’ve gotten worse if anything.”
Ludwig’s hand twitched, wanting to reach out to grab Felciano’s and tell him it will be okay. But that would just make things worse, and there didn’t seem to be any hope of making things better. Unless they tried again. Now that he was considering it maybe they went a little too quickly into breaking up. “Feli...maybe we could…”
“No Ludwig. You were right. They may say opposites attract, but there have to be some similarities there for things to work. We have to be on the same page and we just aren’t. Either we just aren’t ready right now or we aren’t meant to be together like that in the first place.”
Never had Feliciano talk so seriously. That only added to the blow of the words. But Ludwig couldn’t argue, Feli was right after all and Ludwig had said something similar when they first discussed breaking their romance off.
“Maybe we should start looking for people who are more compatible with us.”
At this point, Feliciano was tearing up, but he seemed to be trying to keep in. Without thinking, Ludwig grazed his cheek, wiping away the few tears starting to fall. “Okay…” Ludwig sighed, turning his attention to his watch. “Well...Gilbert is expecting me home in about fifteen minutes. I-I guess this is goodbye for now.”
“Si…”
Neither moved, neither spoke. After a moment, Ludwig stepped forward, wrapping his friend in a tight embrace. It lingered longer than Ludwig had wanted, but eventually, he was on his way, trying to bite down his growing emotions.
With all that heartbreak out of the way, I hope you found some enjoyment in it. I’m happy to hear you enjoy my writing, comments like that make me feel so giddy and blushy.
can i request where the reader is thomas daughter, but dies in bonnies arms? with prompts 11 and 48 from the list if that’s ok. maybe with thomas and bonnie talking over her grave about how she was the only good thing that came from his father? it’s fine if not, but bonnie does not get enough love.
I totally agree Bonnie does not get anywhere near enough love! I hate writing sad Bonnie but this did get me thinking. I hope this is what you were looking for with your request!
Warnings: Heavy angst, mentions of blood and death (nothing graphic)
For Her - Bonnie Gold x Shelby!Reader
(Y/n) Shelby. The oldest daughter of Thomas Shelby OBE himself. The princess of Small Heath and the love of Bonnie Gold’s life.
It wasn’t supposed to be her.
She was sunshine and laughter in the face of her father’s steely eyes and smoke-stained lungs. Her presence could light up any room, her optimism fueled her family in their pursuit of a better future for them all, her love more than enough to soothe any wound Bonnie suffered in the ring.
It wasn’t supposed to be her.
Bonnie had loved her from the moment he set eyes on her. Curls floating softly in the wind as she stood beside her uncles- her light swathed in mourning black but she was beautiful. Breathtaking. Bonnie had shivered straight down to his core when (y/n) first met his gaze. He was going to do everything in his power to marry her. He’d been waiting for the right moment ever since she first kissed him in the stables.
It wasn’t supposed to be her.
She was the heart of her family. Caretaker to nieces and nephews, cousins and everything in between. Mediator between brothers when tempers spiked, a shoulder to cry on when they mourned and always the first to suggest celebration when good news was shared. (Y/n) was the glue that kept them all together with just so much as a smile.
It wasn’t supposed to be her.
Bonnie had asked for Tommy’s blessing only weeks earlier- it was probably the only heartfelt conversation he’d truly had with the man, and Bonnie expected probably the last.
“How am I supposed to go on?”
“You just do.”
Bonnie hardly believed that Tommy had any faith in his own words.
“It was supposed to be me.” A sob all but erupted from his throat as Bonnie fell to his knees in front of the headstone. “It was supposed to be me.”
(Y/n) had surprised Bonnie that day. They hadn’t planned on meeting up for another few days while she caught up on work in the office and he prepared for his next match. She’d ridden out to the spot he was camped with his father, the place only she and Johhny Dogs knew about, to deliver the news of a crash. Apparently, all of a sudden there was a number of rich people who weren’t so rich anymore. It had taken most of the work off her plate so she’d decided to take a break, spend some time with him instead of fretting away with her family.
Bonnie had been delighted, sweeping her off her feet the moment she’d dismounted her mare. Aberama had muttered something about the pleasures of youth and young love as they stumbled up the steps of the vardo, lips locked. The thought of asking her then had flittered across his mind as they’d laid together, limbs tangled, and faces flushed. He wondered now if that would have made the ache in his chest better or worse?
Instead, they’d both jumped as the single shot rang out across the clearing, followed by the ominous voices of the Billy Boys. They’d come for Bonnie, going on about sending a message to Tommy. He’d told her to stay hidden, that he would handle it-but even he couldn’t fight off the crowd of men that gathered in their camp. She’d stepped out of the vardo, her handgun shaking in her fist as (Y/n) told the men to leave him alone.
Their laughter echoed in Bonnie’s nightmares.
“Oh, you’ll be a much better message lil’ missy,” they sneered.
They’d grabbed her, kicking and screaming, before they beat her within an inch of her life. Bonnie had seen Tommy in her then as she kicked and scratched and bit at whatever she could, fighting for her life. And he couldn’t do a thing about it. They’d held him down and made him watch as blood ran into his eyes.
After stuffing a paper in her coat pocket, they left as swiftly as they had come.
His father helped him crawl to the side of her limp body that day. Stood watch as Bonnie gathered (Y/n) up in his arms and she took her last breaths. It wasn’t supposed to be her. They had not known she would be there that day. He was the one who had been marked to die. Instead, he watched the light leave her eyes as he held her in his arms.
“They will pay for what they have done.” Tommy’s vow was solemn, and Bonnie did not doubt him for a moment. He knew the circumstances of the vendetta that had brought him to Birmingham. Tommy Shelby would surely enact worse on behalf of his beloved daughter.
Not that revenge was something (Y/n) would have wanted. No matter how Bonnie wanted to tear each of those men limb from limb for what they did to her, he knew in his heart she would have never desired such a thing.
“And when you’re done, can you promise me no one else has to get hurt?” Bonnie returned to his feet to look Tommy Shelby in the eye, “it’s what she would have wanted.”
Tommy let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand along his face.
“She was always better than the rest of us, wasn’t she?”
“She was.”
Bonnie had always wondered how someone has warm and kind could be the daughter of someone so dark. How she could be the kin of people like the Shelby’s and still see the good in the world. The good in people.
“The only good thing I ever brought into this world was her.”
Bonnie wholeheartedly agrees.
“All right.” Tommy takes a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke towards the heavens. “I’ll end this… for her.”
“For her.”
Dean wasn't sure how he would be able to go on. His Cas, his angel, his love, he was taken by the Empty, and now here his baby brother was, dying right in front of him.
"Sam. Sam, please. You can't do this to me." Dean's voice came out broken, his breaths ragged and sharp.
"It'll... it'll be... okay, Dean," Sam said between labored breaths that shook his whole body.
"No, Sam, we I can't—Cas—and now you—"
"You can... you can get Cas back... I've been... research..."
Dean shook his heax, tears streamed down his face, and really, sobbing uncontrollably was started to become a permanent fixture in his life, that couldn't have been good, then Sam reached out his hand toward Dean, something clenched in his fist.
"It's okay, Dean... get this—"
~*~
Sam Winchester, 36, died while doing what he loved most: sharing his research with his brother, and only surviving family member, Dean Winchester.
i need some real angsty ryden fanfiction right now thanks send in your recs
TrollGust 2 - Ruins
(Are you ready for some angst? Have some angst. Sorry. Consider this as Draggka’s mindset going into Warlords of Draenor.)
Defeating Garrosh did not feel like a victory. And although it had raised her heart, the election of Vol’jin to Warchief of the Horde didn’t feel like a victory either.
Draggka sat on a tall outcropping of the cliffs of Orgrimmar, looking down at the destruction and wreckage that had been caused by the Siege with Spike by her side. Her home was in just as much tatters as her heart, although the former could be repaired.
The troll was sure that she wouldn’t be able to sleep this night. Every time she closed her eyes she saw death and horror. The prisoners in the Valley of Strength, begging desperately for release; Ji Firepaw, battered and bruised and laid down for execution; the bodies in the Cleft of Shadows, strung up as a gruesome warning; the way the Sha had twisted the orcs, especially Malkorok.
It all seemed to cap off everything she and the Horde had done in Pandaria. The constant provoking of the Alliance. The shock of seeing Anduin Wrynn in chains, the panic that set in in knowing whose ire they were raising. The jade statue of Yu’lon falling to the ground and shattering, the Sha of Doubt erupting from the ground as the Alliance and Horde were locked in combat. The flash of the blade that was drawn across her chieftain’s neck. The corruption of the Valley of Eternal Blossoms.
Watching firsthand as the Divine Bell crushed the young Prince of Stormwind, hearing his bones crunch and his screams of agony and being unable to help him due to Garrosh’s presence.
Theramore.
The very thought sent dread and shame down through her body. She thanked her loa that she’d not had a hand in that atrocity, but it had stained the Horde’s name irreversibly, and thus hers too.
Tears burned at her eyes, and Spike whined softly, gently resting his muzzle against her face. She cupped his jaw, grateful for his comforting presence, even as she felt her emotions begin to drown her.
The Horde had been everything she had. Her brother stolen away by Zalazane and her father believed dead when he went after him, Draggka had been raised alone by her mother, constantly wandering the Barrens and Durotar, stopping only briefly in civilization. And then the wasting disease took her mother, with only her last words guiding the young hunter to seek her trials with the Horde.
She was Darkspear, of course, but being raised apart for so long, it was the Horde that became her banner first as she re-integrated. The troll had believed in Go’el’s Horde - they had been savages in the past, pillaging and destroying under the Legion’s thrall, but now they were making up for their mistakes. They were outcasts, sure, but outcasts that were going to forge a new life, upholding honour in all they did!
Those were the ideals she’d fought for, lived for. They’d been her compass even when her brother Dranka was rediscovered alive.
That was not what Garrosh’s Horde was for. Or maybe it was, in the beginning, but his lust for war and glory overtook it all. The Horde Draggka knew and fought for had become something monstrous, that destroyed cities with a incredible power that had left no chance of survivors, that had turned their strongest defender in the Alliance into a woman bent on their entire destruction.
And she’d helped it. She’d drawn Alliance blood at his order. Her arrows and Spike’s jaws had taken their lives, she’d snuck into Darnassus to help steal the Divine Bell. The same Divine Bell that warped orc into sha-beasts, the same bell that collapsed on top of Anduin Wrynn and smashed his bones, and Draggka could only watch him in utter agony, because she knew that she if moved, if the slightest thing that came out of her mouth that could be seen as dissent? She was dead.
Vol’jin had stood up to Garrosh and he had been assassinated. The agony of leaving her chieftain to his wounds had torn her in two, and it had been quite clear from then that the trolls were not part of the Horde. Not the True Horde, anyway. Dissent for troll was small. Easy. Too easy.
The scars around her wrists ached, a reminder of her capture. She’d managed to be defiant then, with the Rebellion under way and Vol’jin spearheading it. The hunter could raise her head and tell Garrosh to his face that he was not her Warchief.
At the price of spiked manacles and a public execution that next dawn, of course.
It didn’t matter that Garrosh had praised her back then for helping fell Deathwing. She’d been a troll that was resisting him, so her fate was death. No more, no less.
The hunter could have resisted him sooner. She could have spoken out, done something differently. Yet she just followed orders, and played a role in the pain created.
Draggka was just as blame for the dishonour the Horde had brought up itself just as anyone else was, for letting it happen. For doing nothing.
She’d worked with the Prince of Stormwind in Krasarang Wilds, defeating the sha infesting the Celestial Chi-Ji’s temple. He’d been curious about her, and she’d taught him a little of tracking, had found herself warming to the boy’s dream for peace.
And then she’d betrayed him. She’d left him under that Bell. He’d needed her aid, and she’d done nothing. The ultimate betrayal.
The Horde Draggka loved and had fought for so dearly was gone, its ashes amongst Theramore’s.
She had her tribe, the Darkspear. Vol’jin was still here, and he led the whole Horde now. She still had Spike, and she had her brother.
But where there was her heart, there was now only ruins.
Draggka bowed her head into Spike’s, took a deep, rattling breath, and wept.