itself upon itself (aew, julia/skye)
Oct. 20th, 2025 11:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fiachairecht posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
thelonelylakeitself upon itself. all elite wrestling, julia/skye. the house holds anything asked of it, and quite a bit that wasn't. 880w, rated t. for hotties haunting the narrative.
The thing Julia used to be is still in the House. Old uniforms in the closet, doors she doesn't open, but could, if she wanted to, if she was asked.
Sometimes she thinks it's a kindness that her past selves are still here, though whether she's grateful for their presence or the fact that they're locked away, well, it doesn't do to think too deeply about what the House has done for her. They are there, and so is she. They are Julia, and so is she. Anything else is—
Anything else is.
It grows inside her, the House, and it's good and necessary in a way she hadn't known she needed. And it makes her grow, too, in ways she hadn't anticipated — muscles thickening, jaw lengthening, eyes darkening. What she is now is what she has always wanted, and it is enough, for a long time, to know that all those other selves are still there for her. To know that if she reaches in — if she opens the door—
Not dead, not buried, not her while they remain uneaten. Anymore becomes yet in the House, the strange collapse of time that Julia embraces but doesn't quite control, but she doesn't feel the need to. Not until Skye.
*
The House restyles itself for Skye. Julia feels it in her bones, the creak and stretch as the insides give way and grow. She wonders, briefly, if this is what the others felt when she joined — she doesn't remember much of the early days, about how it felt to crawl through the mist or if the House had shifted between her first few visits, just the sensation of change — and yet:
The decorations, the rooms. She doesn't feel the dead.
Where are the things Skye used to be?
She gives it time, at first, though patience comes uneasily: time for Skye to get better in the ring, time for Skye to prove that her loyalty and embrace of the mist have been offered freely. But when Skye moves in and she still can't feel any other bodies, she starts to wonder.
She hooks her fingers in Skye's mouth one night in bed, searches out the mist in the slick soft space under her tongue.
'What are you hiding, baby?' Runs her fingers across the sharpening ridges of Skye's teeth, pushes back into Skye's throat and listens as she hums in contentment and doesn't gag. 'Where are all the creatures you used to be?'
Skye sucks at her fingers, tosses her head unhappily when Julia pulls them back so she can speak.
'I don't think I was anything, before,' she says. 'I think you made me. I think I only exist here.'
Possessiveness, the House, rises victorious in Julia's chest. This is one of the things it is to be loved, she thinks, but it's not enough, and it won't save Skye. 'You need ghosts,' she says, leaning down into the press of Skye's hips. 'You need to kill yourself, or you won't be able to survive.'
She's done it to herself enough times, she thinks; watching Skye should be easy, beautiful. It's what they both want, her and Skye and the House. It's what Skye needs to survive.
*
'If you go into this door,' Julia says, arms wrapped tight around Skye's waist and chin propped on her shoulder, 'Someone else is going to come out.'
'I know.' Skye's voice is steady, breathing even, but Julia can feel her heart, stuttering under skin and bone. It thrums arrhythmic, out of sync with Julia's, with the thing that beats in the centre of the House.
Do you? Julia wants to ask, but she doesn't want to hear Skye say no, doesn't want to hear whether there's a lie lurking behind Skye's yes.
'The House will make you leave a body,' she presses, 'One you'll never see again. You have to be okay letting it rot.'
You aren't killing anything real or important, Brody had said to her years ago. You're creating my sister. One of the Julias who died had been a coward who needed to hear that, but Skye — Skye deserves to know all about death. Skye needs to learn how to kill.
'I know,' Skye says again, and then, so truthfully it startles a laugh out of Julia, 'I trust you.'
She hasn't been trusted by someone new in so long. Julia presses her nose to the back of Skye's neck and breathes in, sweat and sex, sandalwood and the spores of decomposing things.
'Okay,' Julia says into Skye's hair. 'Remember I'm doing this for you. Remember that you have to leave everyone who can't take the pain of the House in that room.'
'I know.' A third time, and Julia wonders if she's just being selfish now, drawing this out. She likes what Skye is now; will only be able to love the thing she will become.
She turns Skye around long enough to kiss her, hot and lingering. Tongue laving over the roof of her mouth, teeth digging into her lips, and she thinks: this is a ghost. This is something dead.
The door is unlocked. Julia watches Skye's corpse fall backwards as she lets her go, and settles down in the hallway to wait for whatever will emerge.
The thing Julia used to be is still in the House. Old uniforms in the closet, doors she doesn't open, but could, if she wanted to, if she was asked.
Sometimes she thinks it's a kindness that her past selves are still here, though whether she's grateful for their presence or the fact that they're locked away, well, it doesn't do to think too deeply about what the House has done for her. They are there, and so is she. They are Julia, and so is she. Anything else is—
Anything else is.
It grows inside her, the House, and it's good and necessary in a way she hadn't known she needed. And it makes her grow, too, in ways she hadn't anticipated — muscles thickening, jaw lengthening, eyes darkening. What she is now is what she has always wanted, and it is enough, for a long time, to know that all those other selves are still there for her. To know that if she reaches in — if she opens the door—
Not dead, not buried, not her while they remain uneaten. Anymore becomes yet in the House, the strange collapse of time that Julia embraces but doesn't quite control, but she doesn't feel the need to. Not until Skye.
The House restyles itself for Skye. Julia feels it in her bones, the creak and stretch as the insides give way and grow. She wonders, briefly, if this is what the others felt when she joined — she doesn't remember much of the early days, about how it felt to crawl through the mist or if the House had shifted between her first few visits, just the sensation of change — and yet:
The decorations, the rooms. She doesn't feel the dead.
Where are the things Skye used to be?
She gives it time, at first, though patience comes uneasily: time for Skye to get better in the ring, time for Skye to prove that her loyalty and embrace of the mist have been offered freely. But when Skye moves in and she still can't feel any other bodies, she starts to wonder.
She hooks her fingers in Skye's mouth one night in bed, searches out the mist in the slick soft space under her tongue.
'What are you hiding, baby?' Runs her fingers across the sharpening ridges of Skye's teeth, pushes back into Skye's throat and listens as she hums in contentment and doesn't gag. 'Where are all the creatures you used to be?'
Skye sucks at her fingers, tosses her head unhappily when Julia pulls them back so she can speak.
'I don't think I was anything, before,' she says. 'I think you made me. I think I only exist here.'
Possessiveness, the House, rises victorious in Julia's chest. This is one of the things it is to be loved, she thinks, but it's not enough, and it won't save Skye. 'You need ghosts,' she says, leaning down into the press of Skye's hips. 'You need to kill yourself, or you won't be able to survive.'
She's done it to herself enough times, she thinks; watching Skye should be easy, beautiful. It's what they both want, her and Skye and the House. It's what Skye needs to survive.
'If you go into this door,' Julia says, arms wrapped tight around Skye's waist and chin propped on her shoulder, 'Someone else is going to come out.'
'I know.' Skye's voice is steady, breathing even, but Julia can feel her heart, stuttering under skin and bone. It thrums arrhythmic, out of sync with Julia's, with the thing that beats in the centre of the House.
Do you? Julia wants to ask, but she doesn't want to hear Skye say no, doesn't want to hear whether there's a lie lurking behind Skye's yes.
'The House will make you leave a body,' she presses, 'One you'll never see again. You have to be okay letting it rot.'
You aren't killing anything real or important, Brody had said to her years ago. You're creating my sister. One of the Julias who died had been a coward who needed to hear that, but Skye — Skye deserves to know all about death. Skye needs to learn how to kill.
'I know,' Skye says again, and then, so truthfully it startles a laugh out of Julia, 'I trust you.'
She hasn't been trusted by someone new in so long. Julia presses her nose to the back of Skye's neck and breathes in, sweat and sex, sandalwood and the spores of decomposing things.
'Okay,' Julia says into Skye's hair. 'Remember I'm doing this for you. Remember that you have to leave everyone who can't take the pain of the House in that room.'
'I know.' A third time, and Julia wonders if she's just being selfish now, drawing this out. She likes what Skye is now; will only be able to love the thing she will become.
She turns Skye around long enough to kiss her, hot and lingering. Tongue laving over the roof of her mouth, teeth digging into her lips, and she thinks: this is a ghost. This is something dead.
The door is unlocked. Julia watches Skye's corpse fall backwards as she lets her go, and settles down in the hallway to wait for whatever will emerge.
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Date: 2025-10-20 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-10-22 11:12 am (UTC)