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mydarlingdearestdead · 11 months

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Real Sweet (But I Wish You Were Sober)

Barty POV, Rosekiller, TW: Alcoholism, idk what else- Pt 1 probably

It's a crowded party, filled with younger students drinking for the sake of conformity and older years drinking to get drunk.

Barty is the second type.

He stumbled toward an empty chair in the corner of the room, allowing him a perfect view of the Slytherin common room and its contents. He doesn't even notice when someone sits down beside him until he feels their lips on his neck.

Instinctively, he jerks back. However, thanks to his drunken state, Barty misjudges just how much force is necessary and accidentally ends up on his back on the floor boards. To make matters worse, his ankle hooked around his companion's waist and brought them crashing down on top of him.

It's a boy, Barty sees now, with golden-blonde hair and bright hazel eyes.

Evan.

The other boy is resting above Barty, peering down at him curiously. Circe, Barty thinks, he must be pissed. That is when Evan decides to shoot his shot for the second time, aiming for Barty's lips.

The thing is, as much as Barty wants this, Evan would never forgive him. Sober Evan, that is. Evan who has a pureblood girlfriend and a tendency to cry whenever Barty brings it up.

'It' being the fact that at every potential opportunity, Evan finds a way to get to the level of drunk that alcoholic's envy and makes an attempt to snog his best friend.

Sure, Barty indulged him the first few times. It was selfish, he knows that, to take advantage of his friend in moments of weakness. But can you really blame him? Barty had been falling for Evan since he first saw him on the Hogwarts Express when they were eleven.

Now, they are sixteen, drunk and accustomed to the pain.

Barty turns his head and Evan's lips collide with his cheek. Evan pulls back, looking at Barty with wide, almost mournful eyes.

"Rosie?" Evan smiles, remembering his fondness for the nickname despite the alcohol's effects. "We can't do that, okay?" Evan nods hesitantly but he's still peering down at Barty with piercing hazel eyes.

"Yeah, alright." Barty mutters. He does his best to manoeuvre out from under Evan without alerting the boy he's trying to do so. When Barty finally manages it, Evan's eyes have glassed over and, in truth, he looks quite sweet, if a little vacant.

While hating to shatter the image, Barty hoists him up from the wooden floor. Evan looks mildly disgruntled but he leans into Barty just as easily. He's smaller, just by a few centimetres and so much lighter. Barty can smell his shampoo.

Barty supports him all the way up the stairs and to their room. The curtains are drawn around Regulus' bed when they make it. For good measure, Barty casts a fresh silencing charm around him.

Instantly, Evan collapses onto Barty's bed, it being closest to the door. He curls in on himself and is asleep in what seems like seconds. Barty sighs, he's going to have to levitate him into his own bed in a minute.

Or just carry him. An unhelpful voice supplies.

Yeah! A fireman lift! Like in those muggle movies! Another joins in.

Barty rolls his eyes. "Fuck no." He whispers, turning for the bathroom. He strips off his shirt, well technically Evan's shirt, and turns on the sink to brush his teeth.

His gaze snags on the rose tattoo on his forearm, then the letters across his knuckles. Rosie.

Regulus had told him then, Most people don't get more than one tattoo for their best friend, if any. Barty brushed him off. I'm not most people, Reg.

Barty turns the tap off and heads back to where Evan lays. He hasn't moved an inch.

Do it, Crouch! The same voice says. Lift him!

"What if he wakes up?"

If a voice can shrug, this one does just that. Wing it.

Barty cursed under his breath. Still, the idea had some merit. A slight indulgence, but an indulgence all the same. It wouldn't really be all that different from supporting Evan as they walked up here, would it? Just a different kind of support.

Evan didn't stir as Barty swung two arms under him, nor while Barty carried him, in a fireman's lift as requested, to his own bed on the other side of the room. Not even when he landed, with a thump, on the top of the covers.

He didn't curl in on himself again. Instead Evan lay just as Barty had left him, on his side with one hand curled beside his face. A single strand of dark blonde hair fell into his face. Without thinking, Barty reached and tucked the imperfection behind Evan's ear.

This, of course, did wake his best friend up.

"Huh?" He murmured.

"It's just me, Rosie."

Evan fell onto his back, looking up at Barty. "Were you- were you watching me sleep? And where's your shirt?"

Barty felt the flush in his cheeks. "Why? Do you want me to watch you sleep?" Evan huffed a laugh. If he noticed Barty avoided the second question, he didn't say anything. "I'll see you in the morning." He turned his back on Evan who made a noncommittal noise.

Barty draws the curtains around Evan's bed with a flick of his wand and wanders over to his own.

Barty draws his own curtains, buries his head in his hands and doesn't emerge until late that next day.

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tootiredforaname · 2 years

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had thoughts about soulmate aus as dystopias, merged that with the boys hyperfixation, here we are

(Butcher is at odds with the nature of soulmates.)

Mum used to tell the story of how she met dad. Coming into the graduation party soaked from the rain. Her friends daring her to ask the boy across the way for a dance, and the way his hair shone in the dim lights as she staggered over. How she stuttered out the question as her heart beat through her ribcage. The sparking moment he took her hand, and everything around them froze in place to let her hear his slurred laugh. Like angels singing. The story always ended with them dancing into the morning, never letting each other go. Then a kiss on Billy's cheek as she told him to have sweet dreams.

Smashed china, beer bottles carpeting the floor, blank staring at the wall waiting for him to stumble back from the pub, she never mentioned them. The stories were meant to send Billy to sleep, but he was always up past midnight, trying to stitch together the shiny man in mum's head with whoever slept next to her now.

"You take care of your soulmate," she said once, while Billy dropped dad's empties into the bottle back behind Tesco's. She would do it herself, but her hands were so blistering red from bleaching the smell out of the kitchen tiles that she couldn't stand getting dripped on. She kept asking for that fancy hand cream off the telly, but there was always something more important to buy. "You take care of them."

(Maybe it was a joke.)

Lennie never met his soulmate. Hardly anyone that young does. The priest made sure everyone knew they weren't only mourning Lennie, but the future that could have been. "Perhaps, if they had been part of the lucky few who met early, we would not be here today."

"It's tragic, how someone can be so selfish," one of the Irish cousins said. "His soulmate's all alone in the world now."

(Billy always knew how to fight. Here's where he learned to enjoy it.)

Butcher let his visa run out in the States. Mainly because the yanks had better drugs, maybe because most soulmates are the same nationality. Leave all that back across the pond, drown the rest in gin and fentanyl.

Of course, then Becca came along, and oh.

Becca, Becca, Becca.

The chainsmoker who took a lend of his lighter and never gave it back. With crows feet from smiling so hard so long, and a singing voice too reedy to make up for her shit music taste. Who hadn't met her soulmate at twenty-five and wasn't much bothered by it. Who dip-dyed her hair so she could cut the purple ends off to visit grandma. Who didn't give a rat's arse about what was written in the stars.

(If the universe had any sense, it would have set her up with some nice millionaire instead of convincing her the best she could do was Butcher.)

Billy let his guard down. Stopped planning for an empty bed or a note left in the night. He could wake up wrapped in Becca's arms without that sick stab of relief. On the best mornings, when the sun lit Becca up gold and neither of them had to go anywhere, he could curl up against her and fall right back asleep. He trusted her when she said they were building something together.

(The universe either has the same sense of humour as mum, or it fucking hates him.)

(Back to the gin and fentanyl.)

It's not about Homelander. Butcher knows that, in the darkest part of him. If life's as set in stone as people like to think, then Homelander isn't the thing at fault.

So when a gangly twink asks if he's interested in nanny cams, and the air around them shudders like angels sighing with relief, and the kid's eyes go wide as the moon, and the darkest part of Butcher's heart flutters its wings-

(Well. There's plenty of grieving widows in this city.)

#the boys fic #billy butcher #becca butcher #hughie's there for like three lines but shhhh #lennie butcher #billy x becca #a becca version is probably coming so. watch out #butchie #a bit #butcher x hughie

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leonsliga · 6 months

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thinking of robert enke today ❤️ can't believe we lost him 14 years ago. I saw a docu earlier where he seemed so happy, joking around with manu in their last game together

My heart’s with Robert today too, as well as his family and loved ones.

I’m just going to issue a quick trigger warning for mentions of suicide here. The rest of this post will be below the cut, so if this is a topic that hits too close to home or is too personal in any way, feel free to scroll past it. There’s no shame in doing whatever you need to do to preserve your mental health ❤️

First and foremost, after a life under public scrutiny, I hope that Robert Enke has finally found peace. For as great of a footballer as he was, he was an even better human being; I can’t tell you how many stories I’ve read about him that all come to the same conclusion—that he was a man who treated his teammates, fans, friends, and family alike with the same compassion and care. He went through a great deal in both his personal and professional life, more than anyone should ever have to go through, but he always stayed kind. He always had time for the people around him.

I recently watched a video covering his time as a footballer, and the fan abuse he faced was unimaginable. One story in particular stuck with me: Robert suffered a 3-0 loss in his first match on loan at Fenerbahçe, and the fans threw lighters and bottles at him to “punish” him for it. After that, I couldn’t help but think about how much that sort of thing has happened (and continues to happen) at other clubs throughout the world. In our drive to win, we all too often forget that there’s a human being behind every footballer we boo or ridicule. Words and actions borne out of hate hurt them as much as they do us.

I think, in mourning the loss of a beautiful soul like Robert, it’s important to remind ourselves to always check in on the people around us. All too often, we’re fooled by seemingly happy faces. We take a smile as a sign that someone is doing well—that we don’t have to worry about them. Like you said, Robert always seemed so happy. But sometimes the people with the brightest smiles are fighting the bloodiest battles in their heads. Sometimes reaching out to them and simply asking about their day can make a big difference—can remind them you care.

For those who are currently struggling with depression and/or suicidal ideation, take it from someone who has in the past (and who’s had family members who have attempted suicide): it sounds cliche, but it really does get better. The best times in my life came after the times I was at my lowest and nearly ended my life. I know things feel hopeless right now, but you have people who love you and want to be there for you given the chance, each in their own way. Maybe it’s your family, your friends, your pets, or even people here on tumblr.

Depression has a way of isolating us; we often worry deeply that we’ve become “too much”—that the people around us can’t handle what we’re going through or wouldn’t want to, so we don’t bother. We burrow deeper into ourselves because we want to spare them the pain. I felt the same way. But the truth is, sparing them your suffering in the moment isn’t worth the cost of your life. And no matter how heavy a burden that pain may seem, the people who love you will bear it with you if it means they can save you.

On another note, I just want to say that it takes incredible strength to fight depression and suicidal thoughts, and I’m so proud of you. There’s so much courage in waking up every day and facing this messy world again. You are unbelievably brave, and I just want you to know that. And you’re not alone (I know, another cliche). You have a community here who loves and cares about you, I promise you that. We’re all fighting to survive this crazy world in one way or another, and you and your fight matter.

Let’s all take care of each other, ok? Oftentimes, just making ourselves available and giving the people around us a safe place to land is the best thing we can do for them. Let’s take today to remind ourselves to do that. You never know who needs your kindness the most.

I’m sending you all the biggest hug I can muster, today and always. I know that sometimes living is the hardest thing we can do, but hang in there. It’s worth it, I promise <3

#anon 💖#hopefully this doesn’t sound too preachy…it’s just a matter really close to my heart #robert enke #my asks

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sigmadolos · 1 year

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@bitterseadrop said: remember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.

the modern prometheus

It’s a comment tucked casually into their conversation, but the sharp-eared manager certainly doesn’t miss it nor mistake it for something less than it is. His smile freezes and then wobbles under the pressure of his own thoughts as he reflects on the statement. Of course it could simply mean that one day she might simply stop visiting the casino, which dramatically reduces the chances of running into each other. After all, he isn’t particularly famous for being out and about, though he did sometimes descend for meetings with the other angels (if they didn’t come here) or on a whim, or sometimes as a client’s invitation for an event. But the more likely reason is injury or death.

On one hand, it would be good for the Decay of Angels. Sigma was confident enough of the situation that her visits weren’t a problem, but having a detective lurking around like a dog on a trail wasn’t the most ideal situations to be operating under. Especially when she seemed to suspect something about him, though he’d yet to reveal anything that could be worrisome. But he’d also come to enjoy her presence around the casino and the conversations that they had. She wasn’t like the majority of the clients who flocked to the casino’s grand halls.

“ Why would you say that? “ His brow furrows and he speaks in spite of the fact that it truly was non of his business. He tried not to pry as a general rule (outside of when necessity needed it) but this could hardly be helped. It could be a look deeper into the Agency, but more importantly, it was the fact that it was her.

Silver eyes watch her movements carefully, a mental file pulling up the facts and observations he’d made of her from their past interactions. The concern clouds his usually warm expression into something more complex.

“ You’re not about to do something absurdly reckless, are you, ντετέκτιβ? “ A frown tugs at the corner of his lips as he gives he a pointed stare. It WOULD fit into the profile he had of her but that didn’t make it any easier to be passive over. No. Passivity was what broke the spirit of plenty.

He does not share the fact that he doesn’t forget anyone. Not one face or name, a gift and a curse all at once. As if he were little more than a handwritten book, everything immortalized in words with him. Sigma rests his hands flat on the wooden top, staring at her.

“ If that is the case, please be careful. “ He tilts his had with a sad little smile, silver eyes clouded like a foggy morning. “ I’m sure there’s many people who would mourn your loss. Such is life that its loss is something that happens to everyone else. “

He clears his throat, forcing a lighter smile to his lips. “ Besides. I still owe you that drink or meal from when you first visited, as I recall. “

#bitterseadrop #sigma not accepting it so easily #the sad lil smile :c #ic || the angel of the aerial casino

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miistical · 1 year

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week eight - latin american p. 1

I think this is the first time in any of my writing classes that we focused on Latin American literature at all, let alone for two weeks in a row. While I'm not going to say I enjoyed all the readings this week, I did find all them interesting. This has more to do with genre than writing, however, and all of these are very well written.

This week's had: Carlos Fuentes' "The Doll Queen" Juan Rulfo's "Talpa" Gabriel García Márquez's "The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings"

A bit of a disclaimer here: this week is focused on the treatment of the disabled, chronically ill, and physically deformed. While none of the stories portray these actions as correct, each does heavily involve the abuse of these people. If you want something lighter, wait until next week: we're killing abusers there!

Carlos Fuentes' "The Doll Queen" is great story telling, as expected of such a celebrated novelist (and friend/peer to Salman Rushdie from week four!). The story only gets more compelling as it gets further and further into the plot. There's so much built around Amilamia, who she was and who she is. When Carlos, our narrator, walks through the house and reveals that he knew Amilamia to her parents, there's a very real sense of unease. From the decaying fruit to the comic books to the tracks on the ground that brings up images of a child's bike, it's easy to follow Carlos' idea that she had died not long after they had parted. It all makes the reveal hurt even more. The disabled, whether mentally or physically or both, have seemingly been mistreated and abused since the beginning of time. Instead of caring for Amilamia through her disability (she's in a wheelchair and is implied to be mentally impaired though she recognizes Carlos immediately), her parents fragrantly and openly physically, verbally, and emotionally abuse her. Instead of loving their daughter, they built a shrine to her child-self, with a life sized doll in her likeness, as if they were truly in perpetual mourning of their dead child. They would rather have abled and dead than alive and disabled.

"Talpa" by Juan Rulfo just gets worse, sadly. Written by a man who was beloved by every other Hispanic writer on this week and next week's list, it's not surprising that Rulfo's work is so heavy-hitting. The narrator and his brother's wife actively work to kill his sick brother—not that they're murderers, no, but they knew his illness would kill him if they pushed him on their journey. Their journey itself was based on how the narrator, his brother Tanilo, and Tanilo's wife Natalia thought praying for a miracle healing was better than learning how to properly take care of him throughout his chronic illness. The entire journey is marred by dread, with dust clouds and caravans of similarly ill people making the pilgrimage to pray for good health. Tanilo only gets worse and worse, but the people who are suppose to care for him most - his family - push him along further and further, knowing and accepting that he would die. They would rather be rid of him just a bit faster than let him die peacefully; in the end, Tanilo was a burden, not a person.

Lastly there is Gabriel García Márquez's "The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings". There really is no one better than the author of One Hundred Years of Solitude to write about religious themes, Colombian culture, and the innate nature of people. When confronted with a man who might be an angel, what should one do? Why, lock him up in a coop, charge people to see him, and liken him to a freak, animal, the homeless, or just a literal demon! Because why not at that point? Like with the other stories this week "The Old Man with Enormous Wings" is about how we treat the disabled. Instead of taking care of a poor man who fell from the sky, everyone in the town (including the local priest) was perfectly fine with treating him like an abomination just because he had wings. He was physically different and didn't act nor speak as the priest thought an angel should (as if humans would actually know what an angel sounded, looked, or acted like). Not ascribing to the expected social norm - for humans or angels - the old man is left to be gawked at like a zoo animal. Any disabled person who is visibly physically handicapped or someone who is nuerodivergent could see themselves as the old man, with wings protruding from their back that they cannot hide and cannot understand why others care so much that they have them at all.

Even today, there's a lot of hate and disdain for the disabled—from family, loved ones, strangers, and even their own doctors. I'd like to believe that there was some karma after the end of each story. That Carlos was able to rescue Amilamia from her home, that Tanilo's wife and brother eventually drifted through the rest of their life knowing they killed an innocent man, and that all the wealth the family/town made off the suffering of that odd angel disappears into the gale of a storm much like the one that brought him there in the first place. Just because someone is different from the "norm" (honestly whatever that means) doesn't give anyone the right to hurt them, and I hope anyone who has gets what they deserve.

#carlos fuentes #juan rulfo #gabriel garcia marquez #south american literature #short stories #ENGL 4430 #miistical murmurs

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chaandkeeroshni · 2 years

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08.11.22

It has taken me so much effort, coming from Montreal to Toronto again, to lie down in drishti’s bed to be able to write.

I’ve been wanting to write since last week but depression kind of becomes a lump stuck in my being all the time. Off late, everything feels very very exhausting. I was dreading coming to Toronto and kept postponing until last moment because I was dreading travelling, I was dreading being on my own for 6 hours, with my thoughts.

I have been trying to do what I can for work. During times like this, working smart over working hard always helps. I’ve been sleeping extra, taking my breaks, I work little but I make sure it’s the work that truly matters. Got one major project together in one place, arranged a call with an investor, arranged a potential partnership for non profit. I’m trying but work also feels exhausting, everything does. The only thing I feel like doing is sleeping on and on. On the brighter side, sleeping no longer feels dark and gloomy and no longer filled with anxiety, whenever I’m sleeping I feel like I’m healing and reaching acceptance.

Broke out crying on my bus ride from Montreal to Toronto; I haven’t cried about all this in a bit even though I felt like I had to. I was dreading crying about this. But I just couldn’t help it. I let the emotions come to me, see an ending as an ending, and just cry cry cry about it. And it helped. Once I was done crying, I felt relieved. Lighter. Mourning done. Passed.

I fought with my mom in the bus. Then, I reached Toronto, got out of union station. Somehow, I always come here as someone trying to hold herself together. I’ve never come here as someone who was still with him. At least, I don’t have the association with Toronto as a city where I’d text him and share the experience with him. But anyways, I stepped out and smoked a cigarette and this homeless lady came and asked for a cigarette and I was happy to give her one.

Coming here has been nice. I sat down with Isabella and drishti. We put frozen lasagne in the oven and made chai. Then we talked and talked in the living room. Eventually ended up playing Bollywood songs which are always humouring the strongest grief and heartbreak and it kind of helped. I danced on and told drishti this is actually the best therapy I’ve tried in a while.

Sara messaged me, she always checks in on me and gives me the best advice and strength. And sometimes I feel kind of weak and I can’t fathom Mujhe ho kya gaya hai. I was someone who didn’t let anything no matter how big get to her and now I flinched because of a short guy with hardly any mental ability to get through any situation. Someone who never knew how to stay. How has this been able to affect me this much, is still beyond me, maybe I’ll be able to understand one day. But when people who are thriving after breakup from 5 year long relationships try and give me strength, it sometimes feels absurd kay Mujhe kya hogaya hai.

But anyways, having those support systems helps. She said endings like these are like getting past a terrible car accident, you are in your own car and you HAVE to keep driving your own car yourself but you somehow can’t because something terrible happened while driving and now you’re struggling driving your own car. And in so many ways, it does feel like that. I dread driving my own car; it demands so much strength. Part of me wants to take sleeping pills and sleep past this and wake up when this is all over. When I’ve already driven my car and have reached some stability. But that’s the thing, no? I can’t skip this stage. I gotta drive on and on.

Last week, Ali and I had the global non profit call together. We prepared together and he had taken me for dinner 2 days before. While preparing for the presentation, he’d sneakily tease me and say “let me see if the bumble girl replied” to see how I’d react and I’d react the way you react to a stupid child and then get them back to work. On the presentation day, he was very visibly nervous and he told me so. I told him it’d be okay and in fact fun and we should see it as an opportunity to get to know people and their work. He said yeah maybe but I could see the nervousness on his face, and he had dressed up in formal for the presentation. It was lowkey endearing. He was doing all this with me, for me. All catered to the vision im passionate about, working for women around the globe. After the call he said he was very happy and I told him I was too. I sent him a Starbucks gift card bantering for being a basic boy but also telling him I appreciate him for being a tolerable male ally. For standing besides me while I do this, while I try to make this happen.

When I discuss excerpts from Sylvia Plath’s journals with Ali, he writes whole essays to respond to me. When I speak to him, he always looks down trying to focus on and process everything I’m saying. He asks me for advice before taking big decisions. Today, I was depressed and he texted me saying he missed baking and I invited him for baking and then he started flirting in his quirky ways again, asking me what ingredients I wanted. I said I only like ingredients whose only customer is me, and then he said don’t worry I’ll find something that’s for you only. And I blushed so much I had to leave the living room and go inside the bedroom.

i’m nervous about this.

Anyways, sometimes the gist of everything I’m feeling is that it overwhelms me I’m navigating multiple realities at a time. I’m here for my best friend’s birthday, working from home I have a date in an hour and half with a Toronto boy, tomorrow I’m attending Sara’s convocation because she has no friends or family in the city. Thursday I travel back. On weekend, I have plans which make me nervous and next week I travel back to Pakistan.

All of this keeps me on my toes and busy and life is exciting and in a way it helps me battle depression but sometimes my lifestyle is so so so overwhelming. I just wanna pause and breathe and find stability somewhere. I remember trying to find it in danyal and how that drove me further insane so maybe I shouldn’t. But I want to. Somewhere. Somewhere else. I want to be able to call something home, that no matter what happens, there’s home to return to.

How do people survive when home is where the pain is?

I don’t want a life like that. I don’t want home where there’s pain. I wanna find healing at home, I wanna find love at home, friendship, consistency and stability. an ally who stands besides me as I do the boldest things. A companion who holds me strong as I quiver. I don’t want to quiver because of home. I never wanna go back there again, never.

Anyways, writing always always helps. I need to start getting ready for my date. I don’t know what I’m expecting out of it, but it is what it is. For some reason, I do want to see this man and for some reason I also don’t. But I’m gonna do it.

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brelione · 3 years

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We Know What You Did This Summer (1)

Tw for this series:Murder, death, mentions of hallucinations, drugs, kidnapping and toxic relationships.

Ignored, that’s what she always was. Ignored by guidance counselors, therapists, teachers that pretend to care. Now everyone is sitting there, fake crying and acting as if they knew her. A group of kooks put a little pot of daisies in front of her locker. She fucking hated daisies. But does anyone care? Like, really care? No, so don’t come around acting like you’re all sorry for me. Vil says, blowing smoke from her mouth, watching as it sticks to the air. Vil always tells the truth, that’s why you had liked her.

You could trust her to tell you when something was a bad idea, when an outfit was bad or when you were being dumb. She was a breath of fresh air in a polluted island. JJ and Pope both frown, wishing there was something they could do to help. You are dead, long gone although your funeral hasn’t happened yet. “Run along, go back to your side of the tracks.”Vil lifts her shoe, putting out her cigarette before she swings her bag over her shoulder. “See you around.”She says before she leaves, heading for her bike.

It’s a shitty old thing, rusted and bright pink cause she can’t afford to get it painted. They watch as she leaves, huffing before they return to Kie and John B since the two of one had decided to stay in the van. “What’d they say?”Kie asks, turning her head. Her eyes are a bit puffy, her nose is red, and her lips are puffy from tears. See, Kie has this thing where she feels people’s pain. She doesn’t go as far as to call herself an empath, it makes her feel boastful. Even though she barely knew you she can’t help but mourn, you could’ve been anyone that fateful night.

You could’ve been JJ or Pope or John. B, any teenager that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Basically told us to fuck ourselves and that we don’t really care.”Jj summarizes. Kie frowns, staring at the treeline. It’s blurry, her eyes hurt. “We know this isn’t an accident, we know it, right? Like, there’s no way she just fell from a tree.”She says, taking in a deep breath. Pope nods, putting his hands on the seats, staring forward.

“What do we do?”He asks, figuring that Vil cant be any help in solving this. “Did you tell her that we wanna help? We all know that Vil isn’t that dumb, the girls got like a 4.0 GPA.”John. B hits his hands against the steering wheel, creating a rhythm in his head. “Unless she’s getting paid to keep quiet,”JJ says, flicking his lighter. The others look back at him, intrigued by his thoughts. Who is rich enough to pay someone to keep their best friend’s murder a secret?

@outerbongs @copper-boom @httpstarkey @teenwaywardasgardian @deionswannabegirl@simonsbluee @jiaraendgame @khiaraaa-in-spacee @on-socks-off @abbiesthings @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @lostaurorax @batcat46 @pqrkerr @xgracexlathamx @izjustafaze @Younglover08 @nas-marie-loves-u @28cnn @sexytholland @yuxsh06 @ifilwtmfc @cherryobx @poguestarkey @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @poguestyleskye @judayyyw @sunwardsss @meaganjm @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @jj-fic-recs @homophobicclownmoviestan @jj-iz-bae @natalie-kate-98 @negativity4you @nxsmss @ofmaybankheart @broken-jj @joshy-obx @curroptbunnie @outerbnx-stiles @angelreyesgirl100 @hannahhh-marie @sadnessrehab @purple-vodka-99 @annmariek8 @harryswigss @imagines-07 @pink-meringues @popcrone818 @fttayla @cherryobx @drewstarkeyobx @jjtheangel @jj-iz-bae@sunwardsss @natalie-kate-98 @nxsmss @broken-jj @prejudic3 @outerbongs @copper-boom @httpstarkey @teenwaywardasgardian @simonsbluee @jiaraendgame @khiaraaa-in-spacee @on-socks-off @abbiesthings @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @i-love-scott-mccall @lostaurorax @cheshirecat107 @quxxnxfhxll @lowke-y

@mazzelloswannabegirl

#jj headcanon #jj x reader #JJ Imagine #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x reader #rafe fic #rafe angst #rafe imagine #rafe headcanon #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #kiara x reader #sarah cameron #john b x reader #john b routledge #Outer Banks

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redwinterroses · 3 years

Note

hey so here's an idea for a "two best friends but one turned evil and asked the other to kill him before he went too far gone" trope (you know exactly what i'm referring to)

the first character, looking into his friends eyes, stabs him in the heart. then they both fall down and the first character is left on his knees, head down, holding onto the sword embedded into his friend's chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

he doesn't touch the sword again and instead ties a ribbon around it in memory of the one he lost

you're welcome :)

- anon fierri

Not that this has been on my brain all day or anything, but... well. Okay. It has been. And then @/3lsmp posted that stuff about a zombie AU and-- well. This happened.

Yay for my first shulker box fic! (1,728 words, with mirrored/connected first and last lines)

Zombie stories don't have happy endings so... neither does this. Be warned.

Jimmy’s waiting when Scott gets back home.

He stands in front of the door to the house they’ve been living out of, with none of his gear or weapons on him. He’s leaning against the old oak that grows next to the sidewalk, one foot perched on a root that ripples out of the ground and cracks through the old concrete. The sun is setting behind him, but the twilight shadows don’t quite hide the bloody stain that spreads from his right shoulder.

Scott’s feet come to a stop of their own accord, and he very specifically does not move his hand to the hilt of his sword. He shifts his satchel— filled with goodies he managed to find today; he discovered an entire village that hadn’t been raided yet— on his arm, its weight heavy after an afternoon of walking. He hates the wary tone in his words when he calls out:

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy, looking up to see him, gives a shrug. “Told ya this would happen,” he says, and there’s a quirk to his smile that could break other hearts.

((hard to break what’s already shattering.))

Scott swallows. “Show me.”

Jimmy pulls the collar of his shirt to the side, and Scott winces at the bloody mess that is his mangled shoulder.

“Skizz got me,” Jimmy says. “It was stupid— I should’a been faster, but… I mean, it was Skizz, ya know? He still kinda looked like himself, and I thought… I dunno what I thought. But by the time I realized he was already gone, he’d got my shoulder in his teeth and…”

((the earth is crumbling away beneath him. this is a nightmare. time to wake up now.))

((please wake up now.))

“Hey, don’t worry.” Jimmy covers the wound back up. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“It doesn’t— No, Jimmy that’s not the way to make me feel better.” Scott takes another step forward, his arms aching to reach out and his gut telling him to get away get away get away— He can feel his throat closing, swallowing emotions he refuses to feel.

“Look— ” Jimmy takes a step forward and Scott backpedals, half-unsheathing the blade at his hip. He hates himself for it instantly, but the instinct—

The instinct is what keeps him alive.

Jimmy just puts his hands up placatingly. “Hey, hey— I’m not that far gone yet.”

“You’re fine.” Scott tries to sound scornful, and nearly succeeds. “We’ll get you patched up and you’ll be good as new in a few days. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

With a laugh, Jimmy shakes his head. “Nice daydream,” he says. “That would be cool.”

They stand there, in a silence that shouldn’t have been awkward, for a long moment. Then, at the same time:

“Scott, you know— ”

“So I picked up a— ”

Pause.

“You go first,” Jimmy says.

((Jimmy always puts others first.))

Scott grits his teeth and forces his voice to be light and cheerful. Nothing is wrong. They’re fine. “I found canned soup!” he says. “Five cans— one’s a little rusty, but I’m sure it’s fine.”

“That’s… um. That’s good.”

Scott steps around Jimmy—

((not too close. don't get too close— no. damn you, coward, get as close as you want, there’s nothing wrong— ))

— and moves toward the house. “So…” he says, “I’ll just… start up the fire? Get dinner going? I think we’ve still got some— ”

“Scott.”

Jimmy’s voice stops him, and Scott winces. He drops his head, unable to look Jimmy in the eye.

“Don’t make me do this,” he says. His voice struggles, and his free hand goes to his throat, as if he can pull the plea from his chest. “You… you can’t make me do this. You can’t.”

((i can’t, i can’t, i can’t— ))

“You gotta.”

((too close!!))

Scott’s head snaps up, and one hand flails behind him, catching against the siding of the house. Jimmy is right there—

((danger! danger!))

But other than the tell-tale red gleam in his eye and the bloody stain on the shoulder of his shirt, Jimmy looks the same. Same golden hair, same dimple as he quirks half a sad smile, same gentle hands spread wide. Unarmed, though that won’t matter soon. He stands close enough that Scott could reach out and touch him— punch him, maybe, for being such an idiot… or wrap him in an embrace that will never let go.

“Skizz got me an hour ago,” Jimmy says, and his voice is as low as a secret. “I’ve got… what. Maybe twenty minutes? Another hour if we’re insanely lucky?”

“You’re fine,” Scott says again. But this time it comes out as a plea and not a statement.

“I’m not.” Jimmy shakes his head. His eyes shift to the side. “I… to be honest, I’m already feeling it.”

“Feeling— feeling what?” Why was he asking. What a stupid question.

And yet… yet he had to know.

Jimmy drops his hands to his sides, and they clench and unclench. Scott watches, mesmerized, his heartbeat fluttering in time with Jimmy’s hands curling into white-knuckled fists and uncurling into trembling claws.

“I can’t— I can’t describe it. It’s like I’m on fire. Only I’m drowning at the same time. Or something. And I— ” he takes a deep breath, and meets Scott’s gaze. A low growl comes into his voice, and the hands squeeze tight into hard twists of bone. “I look at you, and all I can see is how easy you’d be to kill right now.”

Scott’s sword is drawn before his denial can catch up.

((instinct keeps you alive))

Jimmy looks down at the shining blade, and finally his façade of cheerful nonchalance wavers. There’s a crack in his voice as he says, “There we go. That’s… that’s the way it’s gotta be.”

((i can’t, i can’t, i can’t— ))

And then, as if he can hear Scott’s internal scream: “I don’t— I don’t want to become like one of them. I don’t want… you to see me like that.”

Like one of them. Scott’s memories skip over images of white-eyed creatures, people he used to know, monsters with mindless hunger driving them to rip, to shred, to devour—

Jimmy wakes up crying some nights. He tries to be quiet, Scott knows, but in the single room they’ve barricaded against the darkness, every sound is magnified— and Scott's always been a light sleeper. He knows Jimmy dreams of them, dreams of blood and gore and of being left alone— or worse, of being the one to do the shredding.

He knows because he’s dreamed it too.

“I won’t let that happen,” he says, his voice firm. But there’s a tremble in the sword between them.

“You didn’t let it happen. It just… it just did, dude. That’s life.” Jimmy takes a deep breath, and with a far too gentle hand, takes hold of the sword blade and guides it to rest over his heart. “Anyway, you promised.”

“Right so, if I get bit, you have to take me out before I can hurt anyone.”

“Ew. What a horribly morbid things to say.”

“I’m serious! I couldn’t deal with it if I turned into one of those things and came after you or any of the others— ”

“It’s not gonna happen, so don’t be stupid about it.”

“Come on— just say it. Promise me that if I start to turn, you’ll… ya know. Kill me.”

“Jimmy— ”

“Promise me, Scott.”

“…Fine. But only if you promise the same.”

((it won’t happen. it'll be fine. they’ll be fine.))

“Of course, dude. I promise.”

“You promised.”

Scott’s face is wet with hot tears that he can’t feel himself crying, and he wants to drop the sword— wants to fling it away from both of them and let fate do its worst. Who cares if he dies too?

((jimmy cares. If you let him destroy you, it’ll destroy him first.))

“Damn you,” Scott whispers.

Jimmy smiles.

The sword enters his body too easily.

It slides between the ribs, the only sound the soft catch in Jimmy’s throat as the blade bites into his heart.

For a frozen instant, they both stand there, outside the house they’d claimed— the home they’d defended. Jimmy looks down at the weapon in his chest, one hand reaching toward Scott—

And he falls

((he falls and falls and falls and Scott is falling too and the sword clatters to the ground and he’s clutching at Jimmy’s face and bundling the body to himself and pawing the hair away from his eyes and Jimmy’s hand is on his and— ))

There are no final words. No poignant goodbyes, no tearful proclamations or whispered last regrets.

There is only an ending.

There is only Scott, silent and dry-eyed, kneeling on the ground under the oak with Jimmy’s lifeless hand clasped to his chest.

He doesn’t move, even as night falls around him—

((them))

— and the cicadas start their mournful chorus. Doesn’t stir until something rattles down the street and he dimly realizes that Jimmy would murder him if after all this, Scott went and got himself shredded by a zombie anyway.

Jimmy’s body is heavier than he expected, and yet somehow lighter than it ought to be. As if it’s missing everything that made it Jimmy. He drags it—

((him))

— inside the house and wonders what exactly he’s supposed to do now. Dig a grave, he supposes, but— where? In the yard? It seems so… anticlimactic.

((death is anticlimactic. life is the climax. death is… an afterthought.))

He leaves the sword where it fell. He can’t… he can’t bear to touch it now. Scott doesn’t believe in curses—

((yes you do yes you do you’re cursed this place is cursed and that sword is cursed and the ground where it lays is cursed and— ))

— and yet he can’t bring himself to fetch it. Someone else can find it.

He’ll dig the grave tomorrow.

Tonight… tonight he sits. Keeps watch. Hopes beyond hope that Jimmy will stir— knowing that if he does, it won’t be for any good reason. Knowing that if he does, he won’t be able to kill him a second time.

Tomorrow he’ll leave. Find a new place— far away. Sometime, maybe sooner, maybe later… he’ll find the end of his road too.

He hopes Jimmy will be waiting there, when he finally gets back home.

#i played with the prompt a little bit near the end #but... yeah. that's a thing i wrote today.#redwinterwrites #redwinteranswers #3L zombie au #why are we so mean to scott and jimmy in these fics honestly #someone write some good skizz angst or etho or somebody #they get left out lol

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midearthwritings · 3 years

Text

Angels Standing Guard

You must go, but you are not alone.

Words Count : 1,447

Pairing : Durins & Reader, Slight Fíli x Reader, Slight Kíli x Tauriel

Warning : Canonical Character Death

Author’s Note : Took me so long to finally decide this was worth writing but yeah, here it is now. Inspired by the song 13 Angels Standing Guard ‘Round The Side of your Bed.

On the cold hard ground lies the body that used to be yours, and you can only watch as delicate snowflakes find their way into your mane. Strands of hair dance in the wind, but you cannot feel it, not anymore. Never again will you be able to enjoy the spring breeze caressing your skin softly, nor the harsh bite of winter.

With a quiet sigh, you stare at the face that once reflected happiness, life. It is now livid, marked by Death. Your eyes are wide open, clouded with the fear that had struck you as your enemy’s blade had dug its way into your chest.

Covering the still fresh wound, the corpse’s clothes are stained with blood. Silently, you watch as it flows, spreading beneath you to form a crimson halo. And when you step forward, the thick liquid remains unmoving, as if you aren’t there.

Further away, the battle is still raging. Warriors jumping at each other’s throats, fighting for their people. Swords crash against shields, pierce through exposed body parts to touch vital organs. Yet, you cannot hear any of it. The dark chanting of war does not reach your ears. Although, it is not invisible and if only you raised your head, you would be able to see. But you cannot bring yourself to look, your eyes fixated on your lifeless body.

Plunged in deafening silence, the quiet steps coming closer to you from behind don’t go unnoticed. The sound of his feet hitting the ground is engraved in your mind, but it is his own body, discarded further down, that gives him away.

When his arm circles your waist, you do not flinch, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. The brush of his soul against yours is intense, more even than the passionate kisses you had exchanged before meeting your Fate.

“We will not wake.” At your words, his grip tightens slightly, bringing you closer to him. It is not a question, for you both know the answer. Yet, he shakes his head.

You wish to cry, but the tears do not come. They stayed on the other side, a privilege granted only to the living.

“Not this time, Âzyungel.” The prince whispers, keeping his voice low as if he did not want anybody else to hear. It is useless because nobody will ever be able to hear either of you again.

“I do not know if I should grieve our death, or celebrate that I won’t have to live without you.” You admit, pulling back from his embrace to face him. Even now, Fíli looks divine. Despite the situation, you smile. Your heart cannot beat anymore, but your love for him has not faded. It is still deep and true, stronger than when you had met.

“Do not say such things.” He scolds, but his eyes mirror yours and you can see that he loves you as much as you do. How unfortunate are you, for your time together might come to an abrupt end. “Let’s get somewhere else. I can only look at your dead body for so long.”

Again, your eyes fall to your lover’s corpse. He, too, has been abandoned, forgotten. You cannot help but wonder if someone will find the bodies, or if they will remain here until time decides to feast on them.

With a nod, you take his hand in yours, entwining your fingers, your souls. Glancing one last time at who you used to be, you let Fíli drag you away.

Once dead, time seems different. It passes so slowly, yet so fast at the same time. You have no idea how long you and Fíli have been wandering. You have no idea why you are still there. Are you condemned to walk the Earth aimlessly until its end?

As you silently question the Gods and their ways, a desperate call breaks the silence. Perhaps this is why you have not left yet.

With each step you take, the shape of your friend becomes clearer, more detailed. He is not alone. There is the lovely red-haired elf that had saved him, back in Laketown, postponing what could not be avoided. On the other side, she holds him tightly as if he might vanish. Tears run down her soft cheeks, mixing up with the blood. Hers, or his, you do not know.

Stuck here, with you, Kíli calls her name. He calls, louder and louder, in vain. She will not hear him, nor will she even know he is by her side. Poor Kíli. Young lovers, beautifully crafted for one another, cursed to never be together. Fate is cruel, merciless, and not even the purest thing such as love would be able to defeat it.

Next to you, Fíli steps forward. Before he can move any further, you grab his wrist.

“Not yet.” You say softly, answering the unspoken question. “Give him time. It is the last time he sees her. The last time he can be with her.”

Humming approvingly, the ghost of your prince backs off, his eyes lingering on his mourning brother.

As Tauriel gently presses her lips to his, you look away. It is privacy you do not wish to invade, tenderness that is not for your eyes to see. Perhaps you are just selfish and do not want to feel their pain during your last moments.

“I cannot help feeling guilty,” Fíli says. You turn your head and his eyes meet yours. Their color is deeper, enchanting. Why must people die to catch a glimpse of true beauty? “If he had survived, and I still died, he would have had been the new Crown Prince.”

“Wouldn’t have it been a blessing?” It wouldn’t have been, you know it. Bearing the weight of being a future King, Fíli was sparing his brother.

“There is no need to keep discussing the matter.” Getting behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your chin on his shoulder. His younger brother falls to his knees, desperately trying to touch her, to make her notice him. “It is the end.”

Three ghosts, waiting to be freed from their burden. Still stuck in this world, forced to bow to the Gods’ will. Three ghosts, eyes fixated on their dying leader. Three ghosts who soon will be four.

The orcs had sworn to end the line of Durin and kept to his promise. One by one, he had slain them. First, it had been your Fíli. You could still feel the excruciating pain of having to watch your lover falling before crashing onto the ground. Thankfully, you had not had to watch his brother die as well. But seeing him so hurt, so vulnerable, had been almost as painful. And finally, he had gotten to Thorin. He had made him suffer the death of his kin before erasing him from the Earth.

Never had you thought the death bed of your King would be the snow-covered ground.

“Children.” The baritone voice coming from behind makes you all stand up. Finally, you are reunited. It is his nephews who go to him first.

He embraces them tightly. His love for them is great, and his face is contorted with guilt for he is the one who put them to Death. You stay back, watching them from afar. How beautiful they look together. They were one another’s strength, each other’s reason to fight.

“Now, do not stay so far. Come.” The King addresses you, opening his arms. Unsure, you step forward and join them. Thorin welcomes you as his family, and if your heart was still able to beat, if you could still feel everything as you did before, it would probably swell with happiness.

Only now do you realize that you start to feel lighter as if you were floating. It is time. The four of you will leave to never return. People will remember your names, tell tales of your courage and how you battled. Children will think of you as heroes, longing to live the same adventures.

A hand slips gently into yours, barely there but reassuring. There is no certainty that you will find each other again, this could be your last time together. Closing your eyes, you think of all the things you will never see again. Of the sunrise and the sea, of the birds building their homes in the privacy of trees. You think of home, of those you were not able to say goodbye to.

Four ghosts, walking to eternal rest together. If they are scared, they do not show it. It is a cycle no one can escape from. One last time, you look back.

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anayaahwrites · 3 years

Text

KOT ficlet #6 (Kudou Chika/Houzuki Satowa)

(Events based after the most recent update that had me screaming into oblivion.)

Needle in a thread

His first thought is, not them.

He recalls his horror when they took away the one person who had loved him, the one that lit fireworks in his darkness.

But before he had time to mourn, the torch had been passed—like some sort of metaphorical relay race—into fresh, affectionate, and welcoming hands. They cared, nurtured, and gave purpose to his existence.

The child hated by a parent, the child of calamity.

Of disaster.

And now that he’s built a home, a hideaway to rush back to whenever things seemed too rough, like hell he’d let the demons of his past have it their way.

He drops down carefully, one knee after another, placing folded hands in front of the head tucked in between his legs.

Because Chika is desperate and he has no pride to protect to begin with, so pleading before them to let him just live outweighed any sense of shame he’d feel.

But he’s naive to think Uzuki cares.

There was something bizzare about the boy since he’d met him, how he changed based on what the situation called for—like a snake shedding layers of its skin.

The light at the end of the tunnel vanishes, but Chika pushes on, pouring the deepest parts of his soul in front of the people that ruined him once before.

Because Chika refused to let his torch dim, the flame protected by so many, he couldn’t be any more grateful.

Uzuki snickers, instructing Abiko and taking a blow to the face.

“I’ll tell everyone you did this to me.” He smiles.

Chika’s light is bright.

But his darkness is all-consuming. It wraps him like a blanket of thorns, clawing to tear chunks of his soul away. In the end, who could he save?

Who could save him?

“I’m tired of all of this!”

He snaps his head, facing the voice, breathing life into his own.

Houzuki stands with her back to him, confronting the men with such ferocity, they stutter for a second.

“To hell with your ‘ruin his life’ nonsense,” she huffs, swinging her hair like a whip. “I’m taking him home!”

He had so many questions.

Houzuki grumbles under her breath all the way out, twisting and turning from one street to the other, tugging him behind her like a four-year-old.

Why was she here to begin with?

Usually, he’d shrug her away. He’d tease the ever loving crap out of her and watch Houzuki turn a brighter shade of crimson every time while subtly keeping his distance from the intense urge to hold her close.

But today, when he looks at her, Chika sees more than just Satowa.

He sees a woman with the will of a stallion, dulling her blade in front of no one, however intimidating they might be.

He sees the hand of a woman he could not help but admire.

Couldn’t help but love.

He stops walking, looking at the fingers wrapped delicately around his wrist as if Chika realised for the first time that he was holding the hand of the woman he fell in love with a long time ago.

“Are you tired?” comes her tender voice filled with concern, as she looks around, “Do you want to sit for a while?”

He looks into her worried eyes and quickly drops his gaze, to the hand she wouldn’t leave. On any normal day, by now Satowa would let go, a shade of bright pink spreading down her arm to her toes.

Today she holds his hand, firm and gentle, both at once, neither shaking nor blushing at the contact that was progressively setting his nerves on fire.

And admitting his feelings was easy. It was easy for him to look at every minute he’d spent with her—in sorrow, in joy—that Chika was irrevocably in love with her.

He’d give the Sun if she demanded it, the moon adorned as an elegant crescent ring around her finger. He’s so in love that he forgets his past, that he could endanger Houzuki and her entire family.

But it looms around him like a constant-present shadow. So he sharpens his facade to protect her.

“You shouldn’t follow me to places like this,” he swallows, maintaining his composure as best as he can. “It’s dangerous. Are you stupid? Don't pull a stunt like this again.”

He steals a glimpse at her, pushing strands of loose hair behind her ear with not an ounce of regret or fear of her actions.

“If anything, you’re the stupid one,” she replies, ebony eyes staring straight into his as he raises an eyebrow in question.

“For thinking you’d need to face this alone.”

He stills, feeling her thumb stroke his bruised knuckles, eyes steadily turning a shade lighter.

“I understand,” she says, “I understand you’ve been fighting your battles by yourself all these years. You feel responsible for everything—like you deserve divine punishment for sins you didn’t commit to begin with,”

“But for once, point the blame to those that deserve it.” her grip tightens. “Tell them to,” she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Eat shit for all I care.”

Her gaze softens as he peers into her eyes; for solace, for the comfort he’s never had. That he’s never asked for.

“You’re only human, Kudou, and humans make mistakes. We all do. Does that mean we need to be crucified for it?”

He shakes his head from one side to another in an unspoken response.

“The past won’t change, no matter how hard we try. But the future.....” she grimaces, “Our circumstances are different now. No one helped you then—no one stood for you,”

Satowa’s smile is melancholy, like rain and snow at once, as she cups his cheek with her free hand.

“But you have me now,” she whispers, lacing her fingers into the groove between his. He peers into those abysmal eyes and sees a promise.

“The only day I’ll let go of this hand will be the day I die.”

In a flash, Chika breaks.

He shatters like smashed glass, scattering across the ground in shards of built up agony. He feels the tears forming in his eyes as he looks into hers, chin wobbling uncontrollably. His heart squeezes in his chest as everything sinks in—Dad, Mom, Grandpa, everyone he’s loved and lost.

And she stays there throughout, rubbing warm circles into his much bigger palm, a distant sorrow in her eyes.

This woman, this beautiful, wonderful woman, had saved him on more occasions than he could count.

She was the white to his black, yin to his yang painting his life with every colour in the spectrum between them.

The Sun sets not far behind, fiery orange encircling her like a golden halo. And that’s all it takes—the gleaming sky behind her, the tears in her eyes, the ones in his.

He pulls her forward gently, letting Satowa fall against him as every type of warmth rushes through his veins.

She stills for a moment, leaning against him, not a hair on her head moving. Chika gives her time, space enough to let go if this isn’t what she wants. God knows he doesn’t want to force her.

When she leaves his hand, Chika thinks it’s all over. And that’s okay.

He’s okay with that.

Instead, Satowa throws her arms around his neck, face sinking into the groove of his chest, nuzzling the space where his heart beats erratically.

He takes a moment to register, but when realisation sets in, Chika pulls her tighter to himself, fingers working through the strands of her hair, chin resting comfortably above her head.

In those small arms, Chika feels the affection she holds radiating with every fibre of her being. She stands on her toes, reaching higher to lay her head on his shoulder. He draws her up by the waist, anchoring her safely to his chest.

“You’re not alone,” she whispers into his collarbone, the touch of her lips, a second of pure bliss for him. He shivers at the contact, holding his breath to stop his thoughts from escalating.

“You’re not alone,” Satowa repeats, chin resting against his chest as she stares into his eyes, lowering one hand to trace his jaw in short, quiet strokes.

“You have me forever.”

When Chika kisses Satowa, he feels everything all at once. The rustling of the leaves dull, his heartbeat overpowering every sound in existence.

When she kisses him back, realisation sinks in that this woman, this beautiful wonderful woman, would give him the world too.

Chika stands in the centre of their universe, two supernovae colliding against the speed of the world, her breath against his skin like warm sunlight streaming in through a window.

When Chika looks into her eyes, he sees himself in them, trapped in a circle of warm ebony. He watches her smile brighten when she raises herself just enough to wipe the tears he doesn’t remember crying.

Today, when he looks at Satowa, Chika sees salvation. He sees his world.

“Forever,” he sighs as they walk back side by side, fingers intertwined, like needle and thread. She gazes at him, instinctively moving closer.

For once, Chika would let himself be protected. Because Satowa was a force to reckon with. She’s fierce and brave and he’s safe in her arms.

Chika really smiles then, one so wide his eyes crinkle and vision narrows to the one person who matters more than any other.

The world has to allow him this one moment of greed.

“Forever isn’t long enough.”

Yay! I wanted to write something for so long! This idea came to me after randomly listening to "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift.

Thank you for reading, and being patient with me. I love y'all so much <<3

#kono oto tomare!#kotedit #kudou chika #houzuki satowa #kot #dailykot #ao3 #fanfic #kono oto #kot fanart

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solarwonux · 4 years

Text

prince!wonwoo x witch!reader

w.c: 4.3k (I almost made it 5k but I stopped myself)

warnings: murder, death, alcohol, tarot cards, running away, witchy things if you squint, angst, smut, ropes.

note: special special thanks to my baby @starlightshua she named this beauty lmao. I re wrote this story so many times, literally the first draft of this was nothing like this and then I woke up at 5am today and rewrote the entire thing. I’m pretty proud so I hope you enjoy it. Also let me know if you want more of this, I have some ideas. Enjoy.x

Wonwoo pushes the tavern door open a little too hard. It hits the brick wall behind it, the sound erupting through the wasted and nearly wasted bodies that occupied the space. He doesn’t care, he needs a drink or many of them for that matter so he walks letting the door rattle obnoxiously behind him. The people eyeing him down like he just murdered their first born and not interrupted their nightly escapades.

He reaches the bar taking the worn out stool at the end and taps his fingers against the wooden counter. He was a regular and sadly had gotten used to the mustiness that was etched into the walls of the place and yet he still felt out of place.

“What does our royal guest of honor want tonight?” Mingyu rapped his fingers drumming in front of Wonwoo, grabbing his attention.

“Not royal, but bourbon please.”

Ever since he ran away from his Royal duties and somehow ended up in a tavern that existed harmoniously to bring two worlds together. Wonwoo had seen and witnessed things he had only grown up hearing during his mother’s bedtime stories. A secret language they shared when hidden behind the comfort of his bedroom. Away from the torturous hands of the King.

“As you wish your majesty.” Mingyu’s sarcastic drawl took him out of the spiral inside his head. He rolled his eyes obnoxiously as he watched Mingyu throw his head back in laughter, his fangs catching in the reflection of the dim light causing a chill to roll up his spine. “You’re so uptight tonight, relax a little Prince Charming.” He winked at Wonwoo before turning around and walking away from him.

No matter how hard he tried to leave the life he had behind, everyone here in this tavern that belonged neither here nor there, loved to remind him that he still had the king’s royal blood coursing through his veins. Usually, he didn’t mind, sometimes he would play into the character when he was drunk enough to earn a few laughs. But tonight on the final night of October, he didn’t want to be reminded of his true identity.

On Hallows Eve, three years ago his life had gone south. He was set to marry a princess from a neighboring kingdom and he couldn’t wait to meet her during the annual ball. He had woken up that morning with a jolt and skipped a step as he made his way to his mother and father’s private chamber. When he arrived, his heart, in his throat. He found his father the charming King beloved by his people with his hands around his mother’s throat and a murderous glimmer behind his soft eyes while she slowly turned a rough shade of blue.

Wonwoo felt his world crash onto the ground. his father didn’t stop no matter how hard he pleaded for him too. His tears fell onto the palace grounds creating tsunami’s as he witnessed his mother take her last breath.

He ran, ran to where his feet could carry him. Packed up anything that could fit in the tiny knapsack he used whenever he went to explore the forest behind the palace. And left, leaving behind the life he had only ever known.

He traveled for three days on foot without food nor rest, before he came across the tavern that smelled more like rotten feet than whiskey. He met Mingyu, who had recognized him right away and gave him the tavern’s royal treatment. Food, water and the rickety old room just above the tavern.

“It’s not satin or velvet or whatever you guys use over there, but it’s enough for you to sleep. Just pay me back by working here every odd day of the week.” Mingyu said, clapping his shoulder and leaving him behind to deal with his new reality.

That night was the night he was able to mourn his mother’s death and his own one as well. The king had come out publicly with fake tears in his eyes to say that his wife and his second born son had fallen ill to an illness and that when the royal physicians realized it, it had been too late. Though, everyone in the tavern knew the truth and he found comfort knowing that they hated the king just as much as he did.

“Penny for your thoughts my prince.” The angelic voice he had grown to love so much took him out of his thoughts. He lived in his head too much and he was thankful he had you —a witch he had met during one of his shifts over a year ago, to ground him back down onto Earth.

“Don’t call me that.” He smiled and grabbed hold of your hand and brought it up to his lips. He kissed it lightly keeping his eyes on yours as they burned holes of fire into them. You tensed up feeling the heat run up your body. It was laughable. You, a witch who could make anyone succumb and fall at her feet, was letting a runway prince pursue her and turn her into mush at his feet.

“You liked it when I said in bed once.”

“That was one time, princess.” He winked, enjoying the way your cheeks flushed. Your body reacted amorously to him and each time it bubbled an emotion deep inside of him that he wasn’t sure what it was. It scared him and excited him all at the same time.

Wonwoo stopped believing in love three years ago but every time you were nearby. He believed that he could again.

“One to many times Wonwoo.” You toyed as you took the empty seat next to him. Your hand still entrapped in his and you weren’t planning on letting go any time soon.

Mingyu rolled his eyes and placed Wonwoo’s drink in front of him, “Wonwoo has a prince kink?.” He mumbled his voice laced with disgust. “I should’ve known.” and leaned against the wooden table, shooting daggers at Wonwoo.

“Not a kink if that’s what he is Gyu.”

Wonwoo didn’t care that he still had royal blood in him, because whenever he found himself laughing at Mingyu’s poor attempts to flirt with nymphs. Or your presence next to him he forgot that he did. He wondered if his mother had led him here to this repulsive tavern in order to meet the two of you.

Although Wonwoo knew you were perfectly capable at defending yourself. He loved walking you home.

The two of you trailed down the dirt path hand in hand; chasing the blue light of the moon. Comfortable silence erupting between your bodies. Wonwoo never felt more at home then now.

“So what’s a witch like you doing with a commoner like me on Hallow’s Eve.” Wonwoo glanced at you his eyes sparkling like they held a million galaxies and you found yourself wanting to get lost in them. “Don’t you have rituals or cards to read, aren’t you the most powerful underneath a blue moon.” He edged on making you smile.

“Are you saying you want your cards read again?” You bumped your shoulder against his. His grip on your hand falters making you giggle.

Wonwoo’s eyes grew wider than the moon as he remembered the night you read his cards to him for the first time a few weeks ago and he blushed. “Last time you read my cards I ended tied up.”

“Well that’s cause you picked my sex deck Wonwoo, we’ve been over this.” You stopped walking and leaned up to kiss his cheek, leaving a plum lipstick mark behind. “Don’t act like you didn’t like it.” You whispered in his ear.

Wonwoo swallowed hard at your taunting tone. He knew you were right and he hated it. If you had asked him with that infamous bat of your eyelashes he would’ve done it again. “For once angel I want to see you tied up.” He blurted out, his cheeks turning a rough shade of red as he processed what he had said after he had said.

“Okay, but you’re going to have to catch me first.”

“Catch you, what a—.”

Before Wonwoo could finish his sentence you took off running. Wonwoo threw his head back in disbelief, his body coursing with exhaustion for a brief second before he took off as well. This is what he loved most, the adrenaline rush you brought to him. Although sometimes he thought you were too much he wouldn’t trade the moments he spent with you for anything in the world. Not even for his mother’s life and you had offered a few times, but he refused because with you he felt complete.

Your laughter rang through the howling branches of the trees surrounding the two of you. Wonwoo’s body felt like it was floating as he chased after you, the cool night air hitting his face as he ran with everything in him. It reminded him of the times he spent at the palace gardens chasing after his older brother, his mother’s voice ringing in his ears as she joined in halfway. It was these moments where he was the most carefree, that reminded him of his mother. That made him miss her with everything in his being. It was moments like these where the anger and resentment towards his father would surface and he wished he hadn’t had run away that day. But this was different because for the first time in his life he was running towards someone, a goal.

“Maybe you don’t want it enough Wonwoo. Are you even trying?” You teased, he could tell he was close from how loud your voice sounded. It only gave him motivation to run faster, so he did.

You faded into view, it felt like he was seeing you for the first time in his life. You were leaning against a tree, arms cockily crossed in front of you, waiting. He let his feet carry him like the wind around him and soon he was crashing into you like an ocean wave. You laughed silently. The impact, knocking the air out of your lungs making you feel lighter than a cloud.

Almost as if by instinct Wonwoo’s arms found their way around your body, his face morphing into one of concern. He didn’t mean to crash into you as hard as he did or at all, but sometimes when he was with you his body acted as if it were unattached to his brain. “I’m sorry are you okay?” He placed his fingers underneath your chin lifting your head up so your watery eyes locked with his.

You planted your hands on his chest, balling your fist wrinkling his starch white button down and nodded. “With-- y-you I’m always okay.” You gasped and closed the distance. Your lips were on his faster than he could blink and he felt himself melt.

In fairytales silver and water were a witches ' kryptonite. In this life you were Wonwoo’s.

Wonwoo didn’t win but he should’ve known you were going to give in to his desires. Despite your sneaky ways he knew he could always trust you but still it had caught him off guard when you had given him the onyx ropes upon entering your small cottage.

“You wanted to tie me up right? Now’s your chance.” The amount of trust that laid behind your eyes was overwhelming. And no one, not even his mother, had trusted him like you did.

He placed the ropes down on your old wooden bed and kissed you with everything in him.

When his mother would tell him the damsel in distress stories during bed time. She always described the ending kiss as if it were the most magical thing in the universe, with fireworks exploding and butterflies running mayhem in pits of stomachs. But you weren’t a damsel in distress and his mother’s description of a true love’s kiss didn’t do this kiss justice.

Wonwoo very much felt like he was thrown in the middle of space and was now dumbly floating around. His body felt lighter than air, but heavy at the same time. He didn’t feel fireworks nor the butterflies but he did feel the adrenaline dip in the mouth of his stomach and the strikes of lightning that raced through his veins. He felt brand new, and he was ready to give himself to you, just like he had many nights before but this time it felt different, important and special.

Maybe Wonwoo was finally releasing the lock he had around his heart, but if he didn’t know any better--and he didn’t. He was positive that what he was feeling for you in this moment of vulnerability was love.

“I want to take my time.” He whispered against your lips as your fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt. “I want to be with you forever but I don’t know how.” He crushed the hem of your silk black shirt between his fingers. Your hands stopped their movements and you pulled away. They wandered up to his cheek, your index finger playing with the tiny sunspots that only you were able to see. He looked so small and scared and you were sure you mirrored his same expression because the grip he had on your shirt got tighter.

You had been in love once. Many lifetimes ago and they had been taken from you because of what you were. You promised yourself you would never love again and you spent years alone, until you found yourself in the odd old tavern.

For as long as you lived in the old supernatural town, you never once paid attention to that old tavern. Until one night during blue moon much like the one tonight, a little over a year ago you found yourself drawn to it. Your feet carried you there by themselves, your mind on autopilot and before you knew you were sitting in front of the bar, looking at a curious boy that resembled the prince you grew up hating, but that was impossible because he had been dead for years.

To your surprise he was the prince and he had spilled two strawberry margaritas on you ruining your new favorite shirt. You cursed him out, wondering why he wasn’t deader than dead as he apologized. He dropped everything before taking your hand in his and leading you up the rickety old stairs that led to the room above. Without a word he tore his poor excuse of a room apart until he found you a clean shirt and you put it on not after pushing him out of the room for some privacy.

If you had known that you would still keep that same shirt hidden deep in your closet you would’ve laughed because that was the first night you started to fall for him and every passing moment you were with him felt like you were being reborn again. Like a part of you didn’t die behind the flames of the burning fire as you watched your lover yell out for his life. That memory was buried deep in your mind and you had never told Wonwoo in fear that he would look at you differently. Like you weren’t his lifeline anymore, so, you kept it locked away inside of your heart just like the love you felt for him. One day you would tell him just not tonight. Tonight you wanted to keep your secret and instead be with him in every way possible.

“Take your time but tonight make me yours please.”

Wonwoo didn’t tie the ropes hard enough and it made you laugh at his shaking hands as they traveled down your flushed out body. You had assured him that you had suffered through worse than the burning of ropes against your skin. But he paid no attention to your statement as he finished his second and final loop on your bedpost.

He kissed his way down your body slowly, giving extra love the parts he knew would have you unraveling in no time.

This was one of the things you loved most about him, instead of getting what he wanted and leaving. He took his time getting to know your wants and needs. You’ve had many lovers in the past and none of them had felt nor treated you the way Wonwoo did.

With love.

“You feel so warm already.” He whispered against the skin of your stomach, slowly getting closer to where you wanted him most. His hands squeezed your thigh and prided them open as he kissed his way further down, hovering his mouth against your clothed core.

You whimpered, tugging at his roots in attempts to bring him closer, “Please Wonwoo please.” You let out an exasperated breath. “I need you close.”

Wonwoo smirked leaving an open mouthed kiss against your core, savoring your honeyduke sweetness that seeped through your panties. Your grip on his hair got tighter as he continued to tease you. Kissing you and humming like he was tasting his last meal. He lapped up once more groaning before hooking his thumbs against the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, sitting down on his knees and throwing them somewhere in your room, joining your already discarded clothes.

The coolness of the wind coming in from your open window made the goosebumps rise against your soft skin. Wonwoo sucked in a breath as he took in how wet you were and for him.

No matter how many times he found himself in this position, your body's reaction to him always left him floored. “Take a picture, it will last longer.” You joked, placing your leg against his shoulder and pulling him down towards you again. Catching him off guard, just like you always did.

“One day I will and then I won’t stop and by the end of it all, I’ll have my own private collection.” He winked laying down in between your legs again. He kissed up your thighs alternating between the two, taking his sweet time like he always did.

“I bet you’d like that...f-fuck.” Wonwoo lapped up your entrance and wrapped his perfect lips around your clit. He closed his eyes savoring your taste, his blunt nails digging into the skin of your thighs.

“Y-Your mouth was—ahh, your mouth was made from the h-heavens.” You arched your back, pushing his head closer with your legs entrapping him. Your hands grabbing on the ropes as you felt your orgasm approach.

A throaty groan fell out of his mouth, sending the vibration up your clit and through your body. The knot in your stomach starting to get tighter. Wonwoo’s index and middle finger swirls around in your pussy. Bathing in the wetness before he slowly inserts them. He always knew you were warm inside but today it felt like you were on fire and he couldn’t wait to devour you further.

He hums happily pulling away and sits up, your leg falling from his shoulder making you whine at the loss of his mouth. “Patience baby I’ll give you everything you want tonight.” He assures before pushing his fingers in even further, your heat entrapping him.

“Ah, f-fuck this feels better than my charms.

“You have sex charms?” He poses curiously. You were a book full of fairytales and he couldn’t wait to read you front in back until the last day of his life.

“I have charms for a lot of things.” You throw your head back in pleasure as he lets his fingers take control. “I-I can show them to you one day.” You let out a breath as you felt your orgasm nearing.

“Why not now?” He brought his thumb onto your clit and started rubbing figure eights circumoniously, while his fingers pistoned into you. If anyone were to ask him what his favorite pastime was he would cheekily answer that it was you falling apart because of him.

“Don’t need them...you make me cum.” You arched your back and pulled on your ropes as your orgasm flooded over you. You moaned Wonwoo’s name like an old incantation in your book of spells as he continued to help you ride out your orgasm.

You always looked beautiful to Wonwoo, like a goddess or an angel sent from above. But the way you looked when you fell apart underneath him, was breathtaking and he wanted to remember it forever.

“Did that feel good?” He takes his fingers out, his palm rubbing soothing circles against your thigh as he brings them up to his lips. Your spent pussy clenched over nothing as you watched him, eyes locked with yours savoring you.

You nod, “It was orgasmic.” You joked. Your weak attempt of a pun makes him laugh. You freed yourself from his poor attempt at binding you to the bed and sat up. Wonwoo watched you dreamily as you wrapped your arms around his neck planting a soft kiss to his wet lips.

“Make me cum again my prince.”

“I’ll make you cum until first light.”

Wonwoo kept true to his word, pulling four more orgasms from you. Each one more intense than the other and you found yourself craving for more, but he had stopped sensing your exhaustion.

He had been right earlier that night in the forest. You were strongest on Hallows Eve and underneath a blue moon, but when it came to Wonwoo you were weak. You didn’t mind it because it was to someone who would without a doubt catch you if you fell hard.

You had read it in his cards the first and only time you drew them for him. You didn’t voice it because his face when you had exposed his kinks was priceless. And because you feared that if you did you would lose him before you could tell him how you felt about him. You weren’t sure when you would but if he kept looking at you and holding you like you were his entire universe. You would without a doubt forget your fears and confess.

“I love you.” Wonwoo’s eyes got wide as he brought his hands up to his mouth covering it. “Sorry I—I fuck I-“

“I love you.” You copied his actions. The two of you letting the silence overcome your ragged breaths. Until he laughed, making you laugh as well. You grabbed his hand and brought it close to your body.

It was unbelievable how afraid the two of you had been when the two of you had unknowingly fallen for each other long ago. Wonwoo sat up on his elbows and moved so he was hovering over you again. “I’ve never once loved, and I’m sure I love you more than anything in this world.” He pecked your lips repeatedly before laying half of his body on yours carefully and putting his head against your chest humming happily.

“I once loved but I didn’t love them the way I love you Wonwoo.”

“That must mean I’m special princess.”

You rolled your eyes, your hands coming up to his shoulders and kneading out the tension that had formed over years of unnecessary stress. “Not a princess...but you’re more than special.”

“In my eyes you’ll always be my princess.” He left a chaste kiss against your collar bone. “But you’re more than special to me too baby, and since we’ve established that can you tell me what’s been bothering you all night.”

“Nothing’s bothering me, why are you asking?”

“You didn’t drink tonight and back when we were walking home you were spaced out half of the time.” He traced a finger up your side teasingly.

You sighed and stopped massaging his shoulders. He was right you had been distracted for half the night wondering how you should tell him the last secret you had. This one you couldn’t keep hidden away because it involved him and his biggest heartbreak.

“I drew a card from my deck this morning.”

He hummed and lifted his head, his eyebrows knitting together, “What was it, anything bad?”

You bit your lip, knitting your fingers into his hair. “The Empress, sometimes I read her as a fertility card an-“

“You’re pregnant?” Wonwoo sat up, your hand falling onto his chest. You giggled, shaking your head profusely. Your contraception charms were safer than any kind of contraception out there.

“God no Wonwoo, not now, but you told me your mom loved peonies right?”

“Yeah, the palace was always filled with them.”

“Okay well for days I’ve been seeing peonies pop up randomly around this place and I just thought it was a coincidence. When I drew my card this morning, The Empress was surrounded by peonies, but I really didn’t think anything of it. When I entered the tavern last night there were peonies in the flowerbed growing. And now that I think about it they were there too the night I met you.”

“What are you saying, that my mom is here somehow?” His voice was filled with hope and you tried hard not to cringe at the sound. The thought had crossed your mind a few times but you always had to remember that even though the supernatural existed peacefully in this world. That rule didn’t apply to the dead, they had strict rules on their side of the realm. If his mom was making an attempt to contact him he was sacrificing her chances at reincarnation.

“I’m saying that maybe your mom didn’t tell you who she really was.”

“Are you saying she was a witch like you?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt comfort. Everything about his childhood made sense. The random peonies that would appear in the garden during the mid of winter. The stories that didn’t feel like stories but more like memories. And her sudden death. He wasn’t sure if his father had known or if he had found out that morning, but whatever the case was he was positive that she had sent you to him. His greatest and last gift to him from her and had never felt more at peace.

“Yes.”

#seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fluff

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slythergirlimagines · 4 years

Text

I Suppose That Would Be Alright- Draco x Reader

Request: Hello!! May I request prompt 4 with Draco Malfoy where the reader saw Draco cheating on her and they broke up? & He tries everything he could to get her back but she doesn’t give in easily. This could be a little angsty. xD

Summary: Reader catches Draco cheating and breaks up with him. He desperately wants her back. Angsty with a little fluff at the end! (gif not mine!) masterlist

Words: 3,681 Requested: Yes

******PLEASE GO TO THIS POST AFTER YOU READ THIS STORY, I REALLY WANT YOUR FEEDBACK ON A CONCEPT I HAVE*********

For reference, L/n refers to “your last name”

I Suppose That Would Be Alright

Draco meant everything to you. You had been dating for almost two years now, and you were happier than you had ever been.

There was a different side to Draco that you got to see. To the world he may be tough and snarky, but to you he was sweet and caring. He was also overly indulgent, and you knew he would do literally anything for you. He always told you how much you meant to him, and you had always believed him. Until this very second.

Draco stands in front of you in the corridor, being snogged within an inch of his life by Pansy Parkinson. You stand there, frozen in shock as time grinds to a halt. The other students in the hallway dart their eyes between you and Draco, and start whispering. You whirl around as quickly as you can, unable to take anymore of their pitying looks or Draco’s snogging session.

As you run, you hear Draco calling your name, but continue to push through the throng of students. You tell yourself that you just have to get away. As you run, memories swirl through your mind.

The words swim in front of your eyes, blurring into nonsense. How were you ever going to succeed in potions, when absolutely nothing made sense? Tears gather on your lashes, further obscuring what little you could make out. With a sigh, you let your head slam onto the heavy potions book.

“L/N? What are you on about?” A snide voice rings out in the quiet of the library.

You whip your head up, and blink back the moisture in your eyes. In front of you stands a scowling Draco Malfoy. His silver eyes penetrate yours, and it makes you uncomfortable. You know what he’s like, and he so obviously is going to use this against you somehow.

“Shove off Malfoy.” You mutter angrily, swiping at your eyes with vigor.

Draco eyes you for a second, then takes the seat opposite of you. He reaches out a pale hand and slides the book out from under you, turning it to examine its contents.

“Potions, huh?” He says. He looks back at you, and some how his face is a little softer than before.

“I’m pretty good at potions, if I do say so myself.” He brags. “I bet I could whip you into shape L/N.”

“Why would you help me?” You question. His actions go against everything you’ve ever heard about him, and everything you’ve ever seen him do.

Draco shrugs, and juts his pointy chin.

“Beats having to help Crabbe and Goyle. At least you can read.” He says.

You catch yourself laughing, and it surprises you. Draco Malfoy is funny?

“Y/N.” You say, extending your hand across the table. Draco considers it for a moment, and then takes your hand in his cool one.

“Draco.”

The tears stream down your face, as the memories keep hitting you full force.

“Y/n?” Draco asks, sprawled out in the grass. “Would you call us friends?”

You look up from the book you’re reading and mark the page. You’ve been Draco’s friend for several years now, and you know his moods like the back of your hand. If you don’t give him your undivided attention he’ll pout for the next week.

“I certainly hope so. I don’t spend this much time with just anyone you know.” You say gently.

You always try to be gentle around Draco. He’s been horribly belittled and mistreated by his father, and though he will never willingly admit it, he craves the support he didn’t have growing up. You never want to treat him the way his father does.

Draco sighs, and then locks his eyes on yours. He scoots his head into your lap, and then sets his gaze on the tepid lake. It’s a cozy afternoon, and the soft light makes Draco’s blonde hair look even lighter.

“But friends can take each other to dances and things right?” He says. His voice is uncharacteristically timid, and it makes you smile. Draco is always softer around you than he is with others, but he is still usually cocky and confident. Now he is nervous, and it makes your stomach flutter.

“What do you mean?” You ask, smirking. Of course you understand what he’s getting at, but you’ll take any opportunity to mess with him.

He looks up at you then, grey eyes narrowing when he catches the expression on your face. Draco sits himself up and turns to face you. He’s much closer than you anticipated, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks.

“You’re messing with me.” He says, voice low.

“Maybe.” You agree. You aren’t quite successful at keeping the breathiness out of your voice.

“Go to the ball with me?” He asks. You pretend to think about it for a minute.

“I suppose that would be alright.” You grin. “Poor Goyle, though. I think he already had his dress picked out.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but smiles back at you anyways. You can’t keep the blush off of your face the rest of the day.

The most important memory hits you last.

“That was so much fun, Draco.” You say as he walks you through the abandoned corridors to your dormitory. If you listen closely enough, you can still hear the faint sounds of the music. The night has a dreamy haze to it, and you practically feel like you’re floating.

“It was, wasn’t it? Doesn’t help that you had the greatest date.” He adds.

You laugh, happy and carefree.

“Y/n.” Draco says, catching your hand and stopping you.

“Yes, Draco?” You ask, blinking at him. The moonlight filters in through the hallway, and Draco’s hair and eyes are gleaming. He’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“I don’t want to be friends anymore.” He says.

Your face falls as you take in his words, and then he’s kissing you in the moonlight.

“I love you.” He says when he pulls away. It’s all too easy for you to stand on your tip toes, and press another hungry kiss to his mouth.

“I love you too.”

How could he do this to you? You loved him, and until now you had never doubted that he’d loved you just as much. You had been so blind.

Draco catches you before you can get away from him.

“Y/n, wait!” He says, griping your elbow to pull you back to him.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, venom dripping from every word.

“It’s not what you think!” He starts.

“Not what I think? What I think is that you and Parkinson were just having a nice song. Don’t let me interrupt!” You snarl. You itch to whip out your wand and curse him.

“Y/n...” he says, giving you the wounded puppy eyes. They usually work, but not this time.

“I’m done!” You snap. “There are a lot of people in your life that let you toy with them, Draco. They let you move them around like chess pieces, but guess what? I’m not one of those people.”

“I know you aren’t!” Draco defends.

“I won’t let you treat me like one any longer. I loved you!” You say, tears streaming freely down your face. “I loved you for years and you were just using me.”

“No I wasn’t! That’s not true.” Draco pleads. “Y/n, I’m telling you nothing happened!”

“If that’s nothing then I’d hate to see your definition of something!” You wrench your arm out of his grasp and move away.

“Y/n, please...”

“I’m done, Draco. I’m done.” You say, and walk away. Even though you want to, you don’t turn around once. You know your worth, and you deserve more than to be treated like rubbish.

The next few days are incredibly hard. The entire school learns about your breakup, and there’s a flood of sympathetic faces wherever you go. People whisper when you walk into a room, and grow quiet when you come near. It’s humiliating and annoying, and all you want is some damn privacy to mourn.

It doesn’t help that Draco refuses to take the hint and leave you alone. He’s already tried to approach you a few times, and it’s getting harder and harder to avoid him.

Today you all share a class, ironically potions, and you usually share a table. You know that it will be impossible to get any learning done with him next to you. Maybe you could find someone to switch with you. Draco was still astoundingly good at potions, and there had to be someone who would want to reap the benefits of being his partner.

Finding that someone, however, was proving to be impossible. You weren’t really that close with anyone in your class, and after the second no, you were starting to get the feeling that everyone wanted to see the drama play out. You decide that if you had to sit next to Draco, then the best thing to do would be to get there last and leave first.

You walk into potions with your head held high, seconds before class begins. Professor Snape narrows his dark eyes as you walk in, but doesn’t say anything to you about it. Draco is in his usual seat, sitting stiff as a board.

He is paler than usual, you note as you take your seat. Dark purple rings his eyes, and betrays his lack of sleep. Your heart stutters being this close to him, but you are strong and you will ignore all of this.

Snape begins his lecture, and you hang onto every word. You’ve never been so focused on a lecture in your life. You’re busy noting every word that Snape says, when a note pops up on your parchment.

“I really need to talk to you.” It reads. It’s in Draco’s neat and proper handwriting, and you have the violent urge to destroy the loops with your quill.

You lock your jaw, and then continue taking notes as if you’ve never seen Draco’s message.

“Y/n, please. I’d just like to explain.” Another note says.

Again you ignore it, and you can feel the tension in Draco increase as he scribbles another hasty note.

“Y/n, please..” the words start.

“Enough!” You snap at Draco, loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the class.

“L/n, I didn’t know that you were so educated about Acromantula Venom that you didn’t need my lecture.” Snape says in his slow drawl. “Please enlighten the rest of the class with your expansive knowledge.”

“I-I’m sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” You say. Snape looks more sour than ever as he turns his attention back to the lecture.

You feel the familiar pressure of tears behind your eyes. This time, they are angry tears. Draco couldn’t settle for humiliating you in front of everyone in the corridor, he had to also humiliate you in class too.

The second Snape dismisses you, you are running from the class. You give Draco no time to catch up with you, as you hastily make your way back to your dormitory. Maybe you’ll just have to hide out here forever.

Draco tries again during dinner. You knew you should have just had one of your housemates bring you a plate, but you hate feeling like a coward. You’re not going to starve to death because Draco couldn’t keep his tongue in his mouth. You refuse to let him have that much power over you.

You’re in the middle of forced conversation with your housemates when Draco makes his way over and sits down. Instantly, you feel a multitude of prying eyes on you, and you again have the urge to run.

“Y/n.” Draco says firmly. “I need to talk to you.”

“Leave me alone, Malfoy.” You say coldly. Draco flinches at your use of his last name. You’ve never called him Malfoy, not since the day you became friends.

“Y/n, nothing happened with Pansy. I love you!” He says as quietly as he can. It irks you that he’s being so quiet about it. If he really loved you, why was he acting like it was such a shameful secret.

“Right.” You say. “I’ll believe that when I see it Draco.”

You didn’t mean it as a challenge. Draco’s actions had already proven to you what he felt. However, his face brightens at your words and warmth blooms in your chest. You quickly stamp it out, and ignore the feelings. You’ll get over that soon enough.

“I’ll prove it to you! I swear I will.” He says, and then he swings his legs over the bench and walks out of the Great Hall. You have the sinking feeling that disaster is looming.

Draco’s first attempt to win you back involves flowers. Somehow, he manages to jinx a vase in your room to procure a new flower for you every morning. Of course, they are your favorite kind of flower, and the vase magically expands to include them all.

The flowers anger you because they are a sweet gesture and an impressive bit of magic. Why couldn’t his attempts be weak and pathetic so you didn’t consider taking him back? Draco was too good at wooing and schmoozing. You have to remind yourself multiple times a day that you caught him kissing Pansy.

To his credit, Draco leaves you alone for a while. He doesn’t try to contact you or force you to talk to him. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel his eyes on you all the time, and that potions isn’t the most intense class you have. But at least it’s something.

You have five flowers when Draco makes another attempt. Your favorite candy from Honeydukes now appears underneath the flowers. You carefully unwrap the package, and put the delicacy in your mouth. It’s delicious, as always, but it makes you sad too. You miss Draco more than anything, but your trust has been broken. Some chocolate and flowers won’t fix that by themselves.

You miss him, and you really should stop hiding from him and just talk. He was trying, and that’s at least enough reason to let him speak. You didn’t have to forgive him.

You go down to the Great Hall with determination. You’re going to get this resolved today, regardless of the outcome.

You walk into the hall, eyes searching for blonde hair and silver eyes. You find Draco at his normal table, and then your heart sinks. Next to him sits Pansy, who is staring at him with obvious heart eyes. Your anger reaches its boiling point as you stomp over.

“Draco.” You say, tone stormy. “We need to talk.”

Draco looks eager as he jumps from the table and follows you outside.

“What are you doing?” You hiss. “You can’t send me flowers and candy every morning and then still be hanging around Pansy whenever I see you! It doesn’t work that way.”

“Oh I’m sorry.” He says, voice haughty. He sounds like the Draco everyone else knows. “I’m just a little confused because I try everything to reach out to you, and you ignore me and all my effort and then get mad when someone else acts interested in me!”

“I’m not allowed to be mad that you’re with the person you cheated on me with?!” You snap.

Draco’s grey eyes narrow dangerously, and his body shakes with anger.

“You never listen to what I say.” He snaps.

“You know what? I was coming down here this morning to talk to you. I was hoping we could talk about everything, get it resolved, but I can see that I have my answer!” You cross your arms, and lock your jaw. You desperately try to stop your tears, but they spill over your lashes anyways. You collect yourself for a minute.

“If you’re going to be with Pansy, Draco, just let me move on.” You say quietly, voice watery.

Draco doesn’t say anything to you as you leave. As soon as you make it to your dorm, you smash the vase of flowers to pieces.

Weeks go by, and you are more miserable then you have ever been. You spend all your free time in the library, avoiding crowds and Draco. You don’t want to see him any more than you can help. Every time you have to sit next to him in potions it hurts. You don’t even go to Quidditch matches anymore to avoid seeing him. If he’s with Pansy then you’d rather not know.

One particularly rainy afternoon finds you in the library, potions book on your lap. You aren’t doing much studying, instead your eyes trace raindrops as they roll down the window. Your melancholy is broken by someone stomping up to you.

“I’m not with Draco.” A nasally voice says. Pansy stands in front of you, one hand on her hip.

“Ok.” Is all you say. You don’t want to so much as look at Pansy. All you see is Draco’s lips on hers when you do.

“Ok, so stop moping and just make up!” She says annoyingly. Even this doesn’t spark your anger like it should. You just feel numb and empty.

You don’t give her a response. Instead, you shift your potions book from your lap, and tuck your knees under your chin. Once settled, you turn your attention back to the rainy window, and ignore Pansy.

“Fine.” She says, storming off. “Keep being miserable.”

It’s only when she’s gone that you let yourself become a reflection of the window.

Draco tries again for a final time when he catches you in the library. Today, you are actually trying to study. Ever since you and Draco broke up, you had lost not only a boyfriend but your potions tutor. Now you were desperately trying to teach yourself, and it just wasn’t working out.

Draco finds you in much the same position that you were when you first became friends. You’re all but banging your head against the table when he speaks.

“Y/n.” You look up and find he looks as miserable as you do.

“Draco.” You say. Your heart still thunders when he’s near. You hate that he still has any effect on you.

“Listen. Just let me say this once and I’ll never bother you again.” He says, his grey eyes imploring you to hear him out.

You sit silently, waiting for him to proceed.

“I never kissed Pansy. She kissed me. I admit, I let it go on for too long. I should’ve pushed her off the moment she touched me, but I was so shocked and I froze. Then when I finally realized I pushed her away and you were already leaving. I never had feelings for her, nor did I ever want to cheat on you. You’re the only one I want.” He says.

“I know I hurt you, and that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I would never hurt you like that. I love you and it’s killing me to be apart from you like this, to think that you hate me. You’re the best part of my life, y/n, the only good part.” Draco takes a deep breath and continues.

“After this, if you still don’t want to be with me, then I’ll back off. I just wanted you to know the truth. I love you, and it’s only ever been you for me, never anyone else.”

You are in shock as he finishes his speech. Draco watches you process his confession with patience, and it takes you a few minutes to really understand what he’s saying.

You feel stupid when tears well up in your eyes again. You’re so sick of crying and feeling pathetic.

“It really didn’t mean anything?” You find yourself asking. “She kissed you?”

“Yes!” He exclaims. “It was 100% one-sided on her part.”

You sniff, thinking about it for a minute.

“Ok.” You finally say. “I believe you.”

Draco eases his tense posture and death grip on the chair he’s leaning on. He looks at you warily, trying to decipher where he stands with you now.

You look down at the table and your useless potions book. How funny that your relationship would come full circle. You know how you feel about him, how you‘be always felt. Even when you were broken up you still loved him.

“I’m sorry.” You say. “You tried to tell me and I didn’t listen.”

“Its not your fault!” Draco assures you. “It was me, I was being a right git.”

You shake your head, but for the first time in weeks you smile. When you look back up, Draco is smiling too.

“So, could I have a second chance?” He pleads.

You pretend to think about it for a minute.

“I suppose that would be alright.” You grin. Draco gives you a glowing look and matches your grin.

“On one condition.” You tell him, suddenly serious.

“Anything.” He tells you with sincerity. He walks over to your side of the table, and crouches down in front of you.

“I really need help with Potions.” Draco laughs and pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

It’s needy and passionate, and you let your mouth express to him everything you can’t yet put into words.

When he pulls away, Draco lets his forehead rest against yours. You relish this closeness with him in a way you never have before.

“I suppose that would be alright.” He whispers with a smirk.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed:) I am currently working on part 2 of “Don’t Call Me Princess” and that will hopefully be up in the next few days! Please don’t hesitate to request something, I write for several fandoms. I’m lowkey desperate for someone to request something Marvel.

#slythergirlimagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco x you #draco x y/n #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #Draco Malfoy

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yandere-mha · 3 years

Note

Ooh that depressed darling post was divine! On a lighter (on the surface) note, what are the love languages each of your favourites most like to receive and express love, and how exactly will they go about expressing it (and how will they want their darling to)?

Tank you, love! If you don’t mind, I’m just gonna do Dabi for this one because I think all of those characters deserve their own posts for this subject since their motivations behind their specific needs can get pretty complex. If you don’t care for Dabi and you were hoping for different characters, feel free to request those too! Sorry if that’s disappointing :(

TW: ABUSE, BODY IMAGE ISSUES, MENTAL ILLNESS.

MAJOR BNHA MANGA SPOILERS.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Yandere Dabi’s love languages:

Receiving

If you touch him even in the most friendly and platonic way, he’ll melt. He’s very touch starved and he sees his body as the ultimate punishment for you. He didn’t really give a shit about looks before he met you but he can’t stand to look at himself in the mirror. He disgusts himself and he mourns the death of the little boy with soft skin who perished alongside his innocence and hopes of a happy life. This also somewhat contributes to his lack of identity: “That’s not my face”. If you willingly touch him, it just proves to him that you must love him if you can even stand to do that. It makes him feel a little nicer about himself in a way that he hasn’t felt before the accident. Though words have a huge impact on him, usually actions mean more to him.

Words of affirmation are very much a necessity for him. He was labeled as a failure and thrown away for something better and his self esteem will never fully recover from that. Not only do words of affirmation from someone he respects help greatly with this, but if you say it convincingly enough he may start to have hope that you won’t throw him away either. He never fully trusts that you love him or that he has any good qualities, but he’ll become very needy and insecure if you don’t tell him that you love him every once in a while. If you tell him all the things you like about him, he’ll think you’re trying to screw with him but it will help with both his self esteem and his lack of identity. If he hears it from you, he won’t believe it but if he doesn’t hear it he’ll fill in the blanks with his own dialogue and he’s not nice to himself and it won’t end well for you either.

Expressing

Unless he’s going through neurosis, he’s not a mushy person and he won’t touch you or tell you how much he loves you. He wants to touch you, but he’s afraid of rejection and abandonment.

One of his main ways of expressing his love is acts of service. Because he tends to be self centered, most of these services are things that he would like to happen in his life since he has a hard time relating to people unless they’re feelings that he has experienced. For instance, he won’t iron your clothes but he will kill everyone who has ever wronged you. He has a lot of wrath in his heart and he wants to think that you do too in order to feel like he knows you better than anyone else. He’ll think that these acts of service warrant a reward in the form of receiving affection. This is his way of wordlessly expressing his devotion to you and his desire for your happiness. He wants to protect you from feeling as shitty as he does, so he cremates everything that upsets you.

He also loves quality time with you. He loves to sit next to you silently and just stare at you, feeling connected and expressing his adoration for you in a way that words can’t. If he’s feeling more talkative, he’ll tell you all about his ideals, ambitions, criticisms of heroes society and the bums that are in it, his plans for you, his plans for Endeavor, his plans for a brighter future, everything. He’s not usually someone who likes to express things through words but once you get him started he does not shut up. All you can really do is sit there and listen while he rants because he doesn’t even give you a chance for input. That’s all he really wants you to do though because he’s never had anyone he trusted enough to talk about this stuff to and this is his way of telling you that you’re the only one worthy of his trust. He expects you to read between the lines too.

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madam-melon-meow · 3 years

Text

Bisexual Kyoshi is something that can be so personal, actually

Panel edit by @flagellasturbation

[image I.D. : An edit of a comic panel of avatar Kyoshi. On the left in the image is a close-up of Kyoshi from the torso up, contained within an upside-down trapezoid shape. She wears her full battle uniform of olive and emerald robes, dark gloves and bracers, and a golden headpiece in a fan-like shape. Her eyes are the same emerald shade as her robes, she has black hair billowing to the left edge of the image, and her black eyebrows have been dramatically lengthened by black face paint. Her face and neck are artificially whitened with chalky makeup, she has black winged eyeliner, red eyeshadow that sweeps upwards to her temples and down the sides of her nose, and red lipstick outlined in black. This is the classic Kyoshi makeup. Her arms are crossed, the left arm behind her head pointing a golden fan away from the viewer, the right arm extended in front of her face, another golden fan pointed towards the viewer. She appears to be looking upwards and towards the right of the image. Above Kyoshi’s eye level and in the top right of the image is a comic text box. It reads in all caps: “even avatar Kyoshi- who by all accounts loved men and women- was unable to effect any kind of real progress.” The background art and color has been replaced with the Bisexual Flag, a thick horizontal line of pink on top, stopping at Kyoshi’s cheek level, then a thinner line of purple ending at her shoulders, and a thick line of blue that extends to the bottom of the image. End I.D.]

(If someone does not find my image I.D. sufficient, please let me know. This is my first time trying to make such a thing, as i am a lurker, not a poster)

Rise of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee, page 99 (text copy / pasted from the b&n ebook version)

““Are those . . . fire lilies?” he said, a wide, knowing grin spreading across his face.

Kyoshi flushed beet red. “Stop it,” she said.

“That’s right,” Yun said. “The Ember Island tourism minister brought a bunch when he visited two weeks ago. I can’t believe you simply shred the flowers once they dry out. I guess nothing goes to waste in this house.”

“Knock it off,” Kyoshi snapped. But it was too hard keeping the corners of her lips from curling upward.

“Knock what off?” he said, enjoying her reaction. “I’m just commenting on a fragrance I’ve come to particularly enjoy.”

It was an inside reference that only the two of them shared. Rangi didn’t know. She hadn’t been there in the gifting room eight months ago while Kyoshi arranged a vast quantity of fire lilies sent by an admiral in the Fire Navy, one of Hei-Ran’s friends.

Yun had spent the afternoon watching Kyoshi work. Against every scrap of her better judgment, she’d allowed him to lie down on the floor and rest his head in her lap while she plucked deformed leaves and trimmed stems to the right length. Had anyone caught the two of them like that, there would have been a scandal that not even the Avatar could have recovered from.

That day, entranced by Yun’s upside-down features dappled with the flower petals she’d teasingly sprinkled over his face, she’d almost leaned down and kissed him. And he knew it. Because he’d almost reached up and kissed her.

They never spoke of it afterward, the shared impulse that had nearly crashed both of their carriages. It was too . . . well, they each had their duties was a good way to put it. That moment did not fit anywhere among their responsibilities.

But since then, whenever the two of them were in the presence of fire lilies, Yun’s eyes would dart toward the flowers repeatedly until he was sure Kyoshi noticed. She would try unsuccessfully to keep a straight face, the heat coloring her neck, and he’d sigh as if to mourn what could have been.

Today was no different. With a wistful blush on his own cheeks, Yun stared her down until her defenses broke and she let out a giggle through her nose.

“There’s that beautiful smile,” he said. He pressed his heels into the floor, sliding up against the wall, and straightened his rumpled shirt. “Kyoshi, trust me when I say this: If it turns out not to be me, I’ll be glad it’s you.”

~~~~~~~~~

Rise of Kyoshi by F.C. Yee, page 210 (text copy / pasted from the b&n ebook version)

“You think you don’t deserve peace and happiness and good things, but you do!” Rangi yelled. “You, Kyoshi! Not the Avatar, but you!”

She closed the distance and wrapped her arms around Kyoshi’s waist. The embrace was a clever way to hide her face.

“Do you have any idea how painful it’s been for me to follow you on this journey where you’re so determined to punish yourself?” she said. “Watching you treat yourself like an empty vessel for revenge, when I’ve known you since you were a servant girl who couldn’t bend a pebble? The Avatar can be reborn. But you can’t, Kyoshi. I don’t want to give you up to the next generation. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

Kyoshi realized she’d had it all wrong. Rangi was a true believer. But her greatest faith had been for her friends, not her assignment. She pulled Rangi in closer. She thought she heard a slight, contented sigh come from the other girl.

“I wish I could give you your due,” Rangi muttered after some time had passed. “The wisest teachers. Armies to defend you. A palace to live in.”

Kyoshi raised an eyebrow. “The Avatar gets a palace?”

“No, but you deserve one.”

“I don’t need it,” Kyoshi said. She smiled into Rangi’s hair, the soft strands caressing her lips. “And I don’t need an army. I have you.”

Psh,” Rangi scoffed. “A lot of good I’ve been so far. If I were better at my job you would never feel scared. Only loved. Adored by all.”

Kyoshi gently nudged Rangi’s chin upward. She could no more prevent herself from doing this than she could keep from breathing, living, fearing.

“I do feel loved,” she declared.

Rangi’s beautiful face shone in reflection. Kyoshi leaned in and kissed her.

A warm glow mapped Kyoshi’s veins. Eternity distilled in a single brush of skin. She thought she would never be more alive than now.

And then—

The shock of hands pushing her away. Kyoshi snapped out of her trance, aghast.

Rangi had flinched at the contact. Repelled her. Viscerally, reflexively.

Oh no. Oh no.

This couldn’t—not after everything they’d been through—this couldn’t be how it—

Kyoshi shut her eyes until they hurt. She wanted to shrink until she vanished within the cracks of the earth. She wanted to become dust and blow away in the wind.

But the sound of laughter pulled her back. Rangi was coughing, drowning herself with her own tears and mirth. She caught her breath and retook Kyoshi by the hips, turning to the side, offering up the smooth, unblemished skin of her throat.

“That side of my face is busted up, stupid,” she whispered in the darkness. “Kiss me where I’m not hurt.”

~~~~~

I include both these quotes because i've seen a few posts about the “gigantic lesbian” avatar, and although i am glad my sapphic sisters feel connected to Kyoshi (as well they should!), that doesn't mean i wish to simply be quiet on the matter of her textual bisexuality. I understand that not everyone has read her novels, nor has everyone read legend of Korra comics, but Kyoshi is *textually* bisexual.

Kyoshi had a loving romantic relationship with her firebending friend Rangi, but this does not erase her feelings for her earthbending friend Yun, even if neither of them were able to properly express it due to their respective “status”. (For context if you haven’t read, the masters believed that Yun was the avatar, and though he was bodyguarded by Rangi, and though Kyoshi was his servent, the three of them were simiar ages and thus close friends until the discovery of Kyoshi’s true ability destroyed their former lives). Hell, Kyoshi and Rangi do not become intimate until after fleeing their former lives. Who is to say what would have happened, had Yun not been captured by father glowworm ?

I know that there is a chance you will scoff at this, will write this off as comphet, accuse me of disproportionately weighting an almost-kiss with a true relationship, but these above quotes (as well as the comic panel from “the legend of korra: turf wars- part 1”) serve as proof that Kyoshi, “by all accounts loved men and women” (see panel directly below)

[image I.D. : the same comic panel as the edit above, this one without the bisexual flag edited in. Directly behind Kyoshi, within the upside-down trapezoid shape, is an olive to lime gradient, darker around her head and lighter near the bottom. Around and to the right in the image, outside of the trapezoid, is an aerial shot of buildings within an Earth Kingdom city, and what appears to be the lines of troops on the ground far below. the text box in the image is the same, but I have underlined the word “men” in blue, the word “and” in purple, and the word “women” in pink, to reflect the bisexual flag. End I.D.]

I am making such a big deal over this because Kyoshi is a massive figure, her long shadow cast over Aang’s life alongside Roku’s, and even before her novels came out there were often jokes about her “bloodthirsty” nature. I implore you to read the novels and see why Kyoshi believed in deadly justice at times, but also so you can see what a dynamic, loving, and beautiful character she is.

Some members of fandom have taken a “step on me” attitude towards Kyoshi, who has, even if the 7 feet tall thing is more fanon than canon, been explicitly described as “exceptionally tall”, and “towering” over others. This “strong woman who will break me and I thank them” attitude is one that butch &/or physically imposing sapphics, as well as trans women with similar statures to Kyoshi have expressed discomfort when applied to themselves and characters like them. I would love for more people to acknowledge her flaws and multi-faceted nature, that she is more than a “warrior goddess”, just as Aang is more than a living relic. Flattening her out to the easily-fetishable parts erases the depth of her character and the complexity of circumstances that led to the instances of deadly force.

There are very few bisexual characters in media, especially women, and especially in children’s media. Bisexual women have often been caricatured as loose, promiscuous, good for a threesome and not much else. (This is mot to say that i think any lesser of my fellow bisexuals who are proudly promiscious, nor can an actual live bisexual person be considered a stereotype for living their life, but media’s portayal of us as obsessed with desire is incredibly harmful). Knowing that a strong, beautiful, and important character in the avatar universe is a bisexual woman is amazing, even more so to have her first lady-love described in the novels with such care. F. C. Yee, the author of these novels, has my eternal gratitude. I sincerely hope that the new generation of fans, whether they are drawn to the cartoon or even the hypothetical live action show, will pick up these novels and discover the kind of bisexual character that I wish existed in my early days as a reader, and if a small fraction of them resonate with Kyoshi’s reciprocal on Yun and love for Rangi, then the world becomes a little bit brighter for it.

I mentioned her importance for the simple reason that Kyoshi IS important with the text of ATLA. As one of the avatars, she is one of the most historically important figures in that universe, one of the few avatars that Aang knows by name, and one of the only avatars to speak through his body. The fact that she has two whole novels to herself testifies to that effect, making her bisexual representation all the more important than a simple background character might be.

If or when the ATLA live action tv show occurs, we can expect some mention of Kyoshi. After all, there is a whole episode dedicated to exploring one of her missions, and the way that the descendants of her enemy have recolored history. It is my sincere desire that enough discussion is made about her canon bisexuality , that fandom trumphets it from the roof with as much force as crackshipping zukka, that when she does make it to the screen, there is some subtle nod in her bisexuality’s direction, even if it is something as meta as casting a bisexual actress for her. Thank you for taking the time to read this.

edit by @flagellasturbation

[image I.D. : An edit of a comic panel of avatar Kyoshi. This is like the first image, Kyoshi and the text box of the comic panel untouched, the background color and art replaced with the bisexual flag. However, this version has the words “by all accounts” blown up large and placed diagonally in the image, directly under Kyoshi’s face and stretching from one side of the image to the other. The bottom third of the image is similarly obscured, the words “men” , “and” , “women” blown up large enough to fill the panel and cover most of Kyoshi’s torso, as well as the purple and blue areas of the background flag. End I.D.]

#Avatar Kyoshi #Rangi #Yun #The Rise of Kyoshi #The Shadow of Kyoshi #father glowworm #bisexual

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