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chocolatecakeandbl · 1 year

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Prapai’s Past - Character Study with Headcanons

Out of the blue, we had a very interesting convo yesterday at the server. It started with ‘Prapai’s happiness’ and turned into ‘What might have happened in Prapai’s past?’

A lot of headcanons came up, halfway turned into a deep character study we want to share with everyone.

Buckle yourself in, get a drink. This will take some time :3

A short Prapai Character Study

We often joke about Prapai being empty-headed about anything that is not Sky and Sky's body, but we never think of him as just a dopey guy. He has to be brilliant at his job. His father wouldn't have made him CEO if he were an idiot. He has brilliant emotional intelligence. He just plays the smiley fuckboi, because that's what people expect him to be.

Prapai the CEO.

The amount of burden he has to carry on his shoulders must be beyond imagination.

The pressure? The expectations?

Prapai’s family seems to be supportive, but they still loaded expectations upon expectations on him.

Prapai the family anchor.

The boy raised his siblings, said so himself. How fast has he had to grow up? How old was he when he lost his childhood?

Where was Pai's mother in this? Why did the responsibility for his siblings fall on Pai? Why not someone else? They are rich. They could have had help. Nannys? Other family members? Literally anyone but Pai? So why Pai?

A possible headcanon:

Pai's mom was there when Phan and Plerng were still small, but when they got older, it fell on Pai. Largely because Pai was always present and wanted to take care of them, loved them more than himself - that's how this boy is, really. In the end, Pai was too protective to let someone else care for them?

In a way, if looked for deep enough, it becomes tragic. Why? Because he had the money for a place to live, all the food and stuff he might have wanted. But he was too young to carry the responsibility of a family, and it led him to make hard choices.

Prapai, the man behind the mask.

Prapai is incredibly intense in whatever he does.

He was given a lot of responsibility since a young age, not only from his parents because his dad most likely already had the intention for him to become CEO the moment he was born, but also because he cared for his siblings the way he did. It might have ended up coming naturally to him, not only because he IS loving like that, but because he's been slowly put into a position of "taking care of things", whatever those may be. Started off as helping out his brother with a bruise, ended up in making deals and ensuring the status of the company.

On the other side, we see what happens IF Pai stops wearing that mask of smiles, and his charming sunny boy self. It's been a thing when Sky cut him off. But what really got us was the way he looked when he got up to repay Gun’s efforts.

There wasn’t a trace of a smile. Prapai’s eyes were intense, focused. His stance was tall, grand, room filling. Someone hurt the man who is his heart? His life?

This is the moment the mask falls completely. What we find is an intense Prapai. A protective Prapai. A Prapai who doesn’t fear to keep those safe he wants to have safe no matter what it costs.

This Pai is the real Pai.

Why the smiles?

If you have no idea why he keeps smiling and being the sunny boy, it's easy to say that he just is like that because he never had to worry about anything. He's from a rich family. He had his future set out. He's pretty.

But what does it need to be a young CEO?

That is what many underestimate. How there's ALWAYS people telling you how you are too young for the job, that there's no way the company survives under your hands. That you only got the position bc of X instead of your own hard work. If you leash out, it's all over. Everyone goes "Told you. He's not made for the position." So what is left? Smile. Be charming. Maybe add a bit of puppy eyes and acting innocent because it always helps. We all see it at Pai. We hc he not only got hurt relationship wise, but also has to take slights on an everyday base. He has a way to cope with it, but it's a thing many people choose to not see.

Inevitable questions we never got answers to:

Why was Prapai ‘raised’ by his uncle?

Why did he end up having to raise his siblings?

Where had his parents been?

Why had he had to take over the company at such a young age?

Prapai as a teenager

Prapai wearing his heart on his sleeve is so true and we can only imagine a much younger Prapai, being his lovely golden retriever self trying to give someone his heart, only for it to be stomped on. How long he might’ve been a ‘kicked puppy’, who decided that all smiles, swaggering fuckboi was the mask he needed to wear from then on?

What if this is what happened? Teenage Prapai who lost his heart to someone only to have it crashed...

What made him into the 'fuckboi' we got to know? Did he sit down, over his broken heart, seeing the sadness in his eyes in the mirror, and go "No one will ever get to know about it?" only to adapt a "Single life is best." attitude we saw he had (and conveyed to his siblings)?

What if he tried again, got shot down again, then realized people only wanted him for one thing.

OR.... Maybe he overheard someone talking about him. Young Pai, pondering on whatever he's pondering on, maybe he's in school or college, he overhears a conversation about him, and as he's about to walk in and say hi, he hears himself described in ways that break his heart.

It's hard to believe he just chose “Single life is the best!” out of the blue and that he always wanted the "single heartthrob" vibe for himself. Prapai is TOO lovely to simply be a player.

He didn’t go through a trauma like Sky went through, but he might have gone through a period of time with someone whom he cared for a lot but who didn't treat him the way he deserved. "Why should I even give my heart to anyone if people just use it however they'd like?"

Considering he was raised to care for everything, he wouldn't just go around "fucking and finding out".

What if we go deeper into this headcanon?

What if he tried relationships?

He freaking tried but got so badly hurt he decided he’s either not worth it or everyone is the same so there’s no point in trying. In high school, or while in UK. Being cheated on, being used for money, being a game in someone’s bet (I dare you to get into Pai’s pants and make him head over heels for you kind of bet). A different hurt from Sky’s, but still one creating a huge scar in his heart.

So many people just go for looks.

And Pai fits in that part. Not only does he come from a monetary background, and social status, but he has the looks as well.

He is a charming boy, it's hard to not want him.

Maybe he's how he is because he got hurt. He got used. And to avoid it happening again, he opened a playground where he could live out the frustration his life inevitably brings, while at the same time getting that tad bit of intimacy (aka bedroom activities) keeping him sated enough to go through daily life.

We think Pai is someone, who IF he had a relationship before, got cut off because he is very caring. And so many out there just aren't able to cope with it. Too many feelings. Too much care. Too much focus.

It’s easily overwhelming for too many.

Prapai’s Happiness

We often talk about how Pai made Sky happy, made him feel safe, but we talk way too little about how Sky taught Pai to be happy and showed him that happiness in a relationship is a thing too. Before Sky, Prapai had no idea how real relationships work. He didn’t know the joy that came from it, nor that slightly different feeling of support and feeling home.

Now, Sky showed him what real, genuine romantic love is, what does it mean to hold someone in your arms feeling content simply because that person is next to you and you can hug them.

That your love’s happiness is often your happiness.

Sky showed him that fuzzy warm feeling. He rid him of loneliness and gave Pai stability. The way that boy smiles in EP11 after the NC, when he holds Sky in his arms, and in EP13 when he peppers him with all the kisses?

It’s a totally different smile from all the smiles he showed us before. His eyes sparkle with unconfined joy.

We think Pai never experienced something like this before.

It’s proven by how often Prapai says something along the lines of "I've never done this before, you know?" And how it's a sign of the journey of discovery he's in.

He's finding out all of these new things in his first ever relationship.

He wants to share them with Sky. And since he's an eager puppy, he’s all happily going "Look! I did this for the first time!"

In turn for Sky, who has been in a relationship before, but was not cared for during it, all of Prapai's discoveries are discoveries for himself too. He's finding out what real love is like.

Prapai: You know, I've never cleaned up someone before.

Sky: You know, no one has ever done this for me before.

They discover and learn together.

Sky teaches Prapai how a true relationship should look like - the boy isn’t even aware he does, he’s just being himself, but with his feelings for Prapai it’s inevitable. The love he offers Prapai is the guide.

Prapai teaches Sky how to be happy again, how to love again, how to not be afraid again.

But who said Prapai isn’t scared himself? The man has all the love to give, he’s a natural caretaker. He’s been born to give.

But with it comes the inevitable danger of being used. Sky doesn’t use Pai. And maybe, this is the whole point.

Prapai and Sky

It says a lot that Prapai waited for 3 months before actively going to PhayuRain's place one day to get a hold of Sky’s number. We see he tried before, but got interrupted. But if we go deeper, if Pai would have REALLY wanted Sky's number, he could have gotten it before. He waited 3 months to get it. And we think that's the cue. He'd been debating with himself for weeks, because he couldn't get Sky out of his mind. He couldn't sleep with others anymore because it just didn't bring any joy anymore. It felt wrong. It's safe to say the three times he slept with someone might have happened within a week after he met Sky (because let’s be honest, Pai is on the active side when it's about sex. He doesn't need to wait) It took him approx, a week to realise he wants Sky, and no one else when it's about sexual pleasure. It took him 3 months (!!) to really make up his mind and for SURE get Sky's number. We think this is what says it all.

If he hadn't been burned before, he wouldn't have waited that long. He could have gotten Sky's number before through Phayu or Rain. He could have tried to get another night with Sky. Just sex. GREAT sex, but after all, only sex. But no. He decided to ponder over Sky, kept replaying their time. A clear sign he's debating with himself. Should he? Should he not? Pai is a smart boy. Yet, he went to Saifah, “Hey, what's the meaning if I can't stop thinking about him?" A question he could easily answer himself. He got the validation he searched for through Saifah, and promptly went ahead with a plan he surely had in mind for a while.

All the scenes we didn't see, but would have been highly interesting, would have clued us in.

Aka the drive from the university to Sky's apartment, when Pai "picked up" Sky the first time.What did they do during the drive? Did they talk? Did Pai steal glances?

Another key scene for us is when Sky falls into the memory right in front of Pai before they got breakfast.

Cards on the table..

Who would be able to make sense of the retreat from Sky, who hadn't been hurt before?

Pai sees the hurt. And for someone to be able to see the hurt, the one must have experienced hurt before.

He reacts perfectly that moment. He draws Sky out of the building to get food (bc we all know food can help immensely in such a situation bc it changes the body reaction) I don't think anyone would do it/see it, who doesn't have any experience with it.

Again, in summary, and I can’t stress enough about it: Who’d do that if they didn’t know what being hurt feels like?

What does it NEED for someone to see it in someone else? And how much MORE does it need for someone to go "How can I help you?" after recognizing the hurt in the other?

Prapai was genuinely concerned. He dropped all his smiles and playboy-ish ways immediately. All masks fell.

Another instance is the boardroom scene.

Excuse me if we go a bit off course for a moment, but there is literally no other way to word it:

The boardroom behind the scenes was very telling.

How Fort and Peat remain in their position on top of the table, not just because they're doing a scene, but we think deep down Fort is caging Peat with his body, he can easily just wrap himself on top of him to protect him if needed. And we think it's something he shows in Prapai too.

When did Pai fall for Sky?

Hard to say. We can’t possibly know. But what we know is:

When Sky kept pushing Prapai away and not falling for his charms/money/sex, Prapai might have hoped that maybe this time risking his heart to love again would not be a bad idea. And maybe this time this "cold" person might be exactly who he's been looking for all this time.

Prapai saw in Sky his own façade. To be a playboy, you also need to play a role. Sky was the ice prince, Prapai was all smiles and charm, but in some of his interactions he's also straight up sassy and cold. We think he definitely did his fair share of "this means nothing, it's sex, just take what you want and leave me be" like Sky did to him.

It is an instant connection?

This study is a collab of @fortpeat (who also did ALL the work with the screencaps *smooches*) and @moriano and @akitbeast and @bird-inacage and @mb-praiskyfortpeat and ofc me :3

#prapaisky #love in the air #paisky #lita #prapai x sky #skyprapai #love in the air series #love in the air the series #fortpeat #lita meta

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pardis-dhyai · 1 year

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general relationship headcanons

characters featured: kamisato ayato, al-haitham, zhongli, faruzan, eula lawrence

pronouns used: none--second person perspective.

warnings: none!

notes: i have rolled ayato every time i have done the random generator now and i think the bastard is messing with me (my heart, that is)

kamisato ayato is somewhat hesitant to show affection. his feelings for you almost scare him, as a relationship with him comes with far more than he feels he could ask of someone given his position. it’s certainly not a matter of self-confidence--he has that in spades. he is a gift giver, showering you in everything he can until he thinks he can tell you how he feels. he would do anything and everything to protect you, and honestly needs you to remind him to focus on himself every once in a while. he works late and long, but never skimps on the affection in the hours he does get with you.

al-haitham has never done this before. he almost expected he never would, judging by how people tend to receive him. so, he does what he does best and he learns. he learns your likes, dislikes, favorites...he just learns you. he probably has notes, either physical or mental, that he updates with each new bit of information on how to best make you happy. he will challenge you, as he is still al-haitham, but you will get to see more and more of the kindness that he feels he must hide behind insisting it was simply the “most logical” course of action. he hides a loving and almost gentle man behind his cool indifference, though his intelligence is always real and unfiltered. it’s clear just how much you mean to him through the little ways he starts to open up to you.

zhongli is traditional in all the best ways. he always puts you first, insisting on pulling out your chair for you before sitting himself and letting his reverence for you bleed into everything he does. he is gentle, thoughtful, and genuine, giving his whole self to you and cherishing what you give him in return. probably the only complaint you could lodge is that...he seems to forget that outings cost mora, and mora is something he does not often have much of. fun couple activity--sitting down and figuring out a savings account while attending finance classes.

faruzan is a brilliant spitfire, and she is endlessly entertaining as a partner. her intelligence lends itself well to absolutely riveting dinner table discussions, and she will listen to your interests with as much attention as you listen to hers. she is ALWAYS sure to show you just how much she values you, your companionship, and your input. she will also call you in for backup if someone does not call her madam. please humor her. she loves you, and women have such a hard time getting respect they deserve in academia anyway.

eula lawrence may be a graceful dancer, but with feelings she stumbles like a newborn deer. she is oh-so-genuine with her feelings, always unquestionably in love with you, but she feels she has to mask it with talk of “vengeance” as opposed to frank statements of how much she adores you. she will open up and express herself over time, but she needs you to be patient with her. you will be handsomely rewarded with a woman who will do anything for you and would lay down her life to protect you.

#kamisato ayato #al-haitham #zhongli #faruzan #eula lawrence #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #house of daena #genshin eula #genshin ayato #alhaitham

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fatgumsurpremacy-remastered · 1 year

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Have you watched Emesis Blue? What did you think of it?

(I LOVED IT)

I have! I’ve also written some stuff about it!

Cw: spoilers, obvious dark subject matter

Okay, I wanna talk about the beginning and how well they portrayed true relationship between Jeremy and Fritz. It’s clear they’ve got a mutual trust in one another and it hurts all the more when Fritz finds him dead. I’m still 100% devastated by the ugly ass smile Medic gives in the respawn. That hurts me so bad man. The way they portray Fritz’s mental state decaying is chilling but it sheds him in a light that this was bred from necessity. He clearly cares about Jeremy, there would be no reason for him to go to the slaughterhouse otherwise. And while plagued with these visions he doesn’t want to worry Jeremy with trivial detail.

The setup of all of it was amazing and the amount of Kubrick references absolutely had be absorbed. It’s nice to feel a story flesh out certain properties to something entirely it’s own. The looping sequences sent chills down my spine but my favorite mindfuck were the conaghers.

Zed has to be one of my favorite renditions of Engie because of how they portray him as an active threat rather than passive danger. While he appears cool and sadistic, that coolness is out the window the second he gets a chance to play with someone he deems a threat (ie) Fritz. The moment he said “I’da got you.” and starts giggling showed me just how fucked up he was if he wasn’t already. He’s got a childish ass outlook on this, and him stuck inside a place like Teufort is absolutely NOT GOOD. (Love Teufort but it’s the shittiest map. Also my favorite though.)

Maynards design had me frothing at the mouth, I’m just gonna say that straight up. He didn’t even do nothin outwardly he just kind of went along, which- yeah I guess let your creepy younger brother tourture that poor twink. He really does give off the vibe of a man disconnected, Medics whole bit about strangling him was out of left field but necessity. That scene in particular made me feral.

It showed us what I imagine to be an anomaly in the loop correcting itself, but therefore making the entity more aggressive, the entity in question Fritz. That whole scenes cinematography is brilliant.

Now I get on to my absolute favorite character ever.

Fucking soldier.

Never thought that someone could do such a damn good job emulating Rick may but FUCK did they. The lower, and more stark tone to the character made his wacky lines way funnier: it shows someone who seems incompetent being truly skilled at what they do. Surviving. While his methods are ridiculous it’s his leaps of faith that save him.

With bat out of fucking hell sniper he showed that he doesn’t like to give mercy. He shows a side that would make him antagonistic. But throughout the whole film he shows nothing aside from compassion, even towards the people he barley knows. That elevator scene says it all to me. He has reason to be suspicious but through that he chooses to be kind. It sunk my heart seeing the warfeild scene, it was quiet in a way. It was bleak and chaotic but he seemed perfectly fine to be there for just a moment.

Jane lost… a lot. In this film. He lost his coworker to the pits of an evil fucking loop. He lost a friend in Demo when Demo froze. (That scene broke me btw.) He lost dignity and connection and hope. And afterwards he looked so… dead? He won.

He escaped but what was the cost in the end? The loop continued on. His blank stare shared with medic and the attempt to blow him and the venue itself up over spies inaccurate details really shows his need for the truth. This film helped me out a lot with characterizing Solly in the future he’s honestly a darling.

On the topic of the loop and the way they constructed it holy shit. Those beginning shots were so so affective at building the atmosphere. I thought it’d be found footage till the end but NO, it just set up the mood and shit RAGGH

#I’m rabid over the film sorry about my rant

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souvnirsgift · 2 years

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What Are The Various Employee Appreciation Gifts?

Every achievement deserves appreciation, no matter how you achieve it or who is or a small of a deal it may be for you. The same can be said for the workplace. While there are several methods to express gratitude for your workers' efforts, offering thoughtful presents is the most straightforward and effective. This post will go through the numerous employee appreciation presents that can show your staff how much you appreciate them.

You may ask anyone in your office how they would like to be treated at work. They will almost certainly convey their primary wish to be treated with care and respect.

As a result, it is past time to recognize that rewarding and honoring staff is always a brilliant idea. Nonetheless, it is especially important in such trying times. Therefore, now is the moment to show your team that they are respected and appreciated, which will alleviate their stress.

Employee appreciation may be as simple as a verbal thank you or a handwritten note, primarily if delivered on time and with sincerity. Preference is both energizing and exhilarating. However, when it comes to current workers, expect more than just regular recognition.

That is why, in the current situation, expressing "thank you" and recognizing "employee of the month" is insufficient. You must now express your thanks with a tangible gift that is equally beneficial in boosting one's spirit. In summary, your employees would appreciate getting physical tokens of appreciation in addition to their salaries and verbal acknowledgment.

When coupled with a meaningful remark, a thoughtful and unique present may serve as a physical remembrance of that moment in time.

Of course, personalized presents are pleasurable to receive and even more so to give! However, selecting the best employee appreciation presents may be difficult. Something thing you should think about and take note of before diving in:

Although whether or not a present is loved or hated relies on the individual receiving it, we may consider a few aspects when picking employee appreciation gifts—for example, we all like personalized and meaningful presents.

Budgets will vary from company to firm and from campaign to campaign. However, giving a tangible present does not have to be difficult, expensive, or time-consuming. A gift card, for example, might be a straightforward decision for both the person giving and receiving it.

Remember that the purpose of employee appreciation gifts is not to advertise your company. As a result, try to restrict the quantity of company-branded things in your present options to a minimum.

Assume you're giving meals to a small group of colleagues as a present. In such a situation, you should be able to consider their dietary restrictions and create meal options for each person. However, this may not be viable when giving tasty gifts to hundreds or thousands of employees.

Although you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, bad gift wrapping might seem cheap and lead to disappointment. When creating your current budget, don't forget to include the cost of gift wrapping. Gift boxes with branding may give them a professional appearance while remaining elegant. With hundreds of gift box options available, choosing one that properly compliments your gift should be simple.

Some say giving presents is an art, but knowing where to start can be difficult.

Here are some ideas to help you get started, whether you're searching for a gift choice that your entire team will like, some DIY ideas, something modest and affordable, or something that will make your staff feel fortunate.

Desk plant

A table plant is an excellent decore item; it adds nice aesthetics to the table and supports greenery. What's better than gifting something small yet sophisticated and pleasant at the same time? This will keep reminding them that you care about them, just like how much we care about plants.

Fragrant candles

Candles are known to be a beautiful gift, and if gifted to someone in their favorite fragrance, it will make their day bright and smile shines brighter. Gifting fragrant candles can be a tedious job at first look but give it a thought, and this helps you get to connect with your staff at a personal level with minimal effort in selecting a fragrance candle that may fit their smell sense. You can even ask them about their favorite scent in general and gift them that.

Candles also help in relaxing, and they are very thoughtful gifts.

Caricature

Caricature who doesn't want a picture of themselves on their desk, and it's better if it's a caricature. This doesn't even call for much effort as, well. You can impress your people with it on any given day. Also, a caricature that shows that person's personality and not just a standard caricature also adds up a lot of value to your gift. Consider going for an anthem with a caricature and including people’s favorite things or a part of their personality in it.

Corporate gifts are the best way to appreciate and recognize your employees. To explore various corporate gifting options for your workplace do visit souvnirs.

If you are looking for corporate gift options do visit Souvnirs a corporate gifting website. Souvnirs have a range of more than 1000 gift options.

#corporate gift #corporate #gifting companies #gifts for employees #business gifts #gift ideas

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kristenbrady · 2 months

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Don’t Hire Another Salesperson. Hire One Brilliant Copywriter.

I came across this post on LinkedIn from Liz Willits:

“Don’t hire another salesperson. Hire 1 brilliant copywriter.

Your website copy is your online salesperson.

Except better. Website copy can sell to thousands in 5 minutes.

Few salespeople can do that. And salespeople cost MORE.

The average base salary of a U.S. salesperson is $60,275. A great copywriter may charge $20K to $60K to rewrite key website pages. (It varies.)

Businesses will hire the salesperson. Drop the copywriter.

It’s a massive mistake.

The copywriter often costs less. And they’ll impact sales MORE.

Rethink your position on copywriting.

It’s your most powerful salesperson.”

I thought she made an amazing point! So, without further ado, here is my list of reasons to hire a copywriter:

Professional Copywriters Perfectly Capture Your Services

Once you hire a professional copywriter, you are not just getting someone who is able to write incredible pieces, you are hiring someone who is able to capture your services. Copywriters are skilled at learning as much as possible about a variety of industries to ensure that they write high-quality content. Also, a lot of industry-specific copywriters have specialized training, which makes them ideal to write copy for your niche audience.

Grammar Problems, Begone

Not everyone is good at punctuation, spelling, and grammar, and that usually is fine. But when you are creating website content, you want to ensure that all aspects of your copy are without flaws for Google, not to mention your reputation as an expert in your industry.

Copywriters have a variety of degrees in fields requiring good grammar, meaning they’ll have the ability to create professional material for you, the search engines, as well as your readers. Plus, a lot of copywriters have copyeditors on speed-dial who are able to skim through the content to catch little mistakes that make it through. Grammar is critical for good SEO; therefore, make sure to always have exceptional grammar just by using a copywriter.

Copywriters Know How to Create Persuasive Content

When creating content for the web, persuasive copy should be a must. But not everyone has the skills to write persuasive content which helps pull customers through a sales funnel without sounding like a used car salesperson from the 1970s.

Copywriters understand the importance of writing persuasive content for their clients without heavily focusing on sales-speech, because all of us know this easily can turn readers off. When you create your own content, it may sound much too sales-y for your audience, just because you do not have the experience to walk that fine line between sales-driven and being persuasive. Overcome the doubt about whether or not your written content is too persuasive by hiring a writer who is able to write professional copy that turns readers quickly and easily into customers.

Copywriters Know How to Create Different Formats of Content

Writing copy does not just mean creating web content and blog posts, but also writing copy for several formats. It’s possible to find copywriters with training at writing copy for images, videos, and infographics, that helps in driving engagement on your blog and social platforms. As a matter of fact, a copywriter easily can create a blog piece that may then be broken down into various formats that repurposes the content and gets it out to a broader readership.

A Copywriter Keeps Updated with All Google Changes

Google is fantastic for helping folks find your business, increasing your revenue. But it may be difficult to keep up with all of the changes Google makes to its algorithm. It seems like there is a new update every other month, and recently there’ve been some massive changes that everyone should be prepared for.

You’ll Get New, Fresh Content at All Times

Publishing new, fresh content on a regular basis is an important aspect of remaining relevant on the internet, and you must make sure that you always have it. It may be easy to use the exact same content across your site, which makes it feel streamlined and takes up less time. However, this looks sloppy, and a lot of your readers won’t like duplicate content. As a matter of fact, Google does not like it, either.

Copywriters Will Help to Bring in Sales and Generate Organic Traffic

Organic traffic is something all of us would prefer instead of having to pay a lot of money for advertisements. While advertising is still a critical part of any presence online, if you produce more organic traffic, you will find you are likely to have more legit customers. As a matter of fact, organic traffic will lead to fast sales, in addition to helping you keep those customers you bring in.

Use Copywriters to Get Social

Copywriters will help to create the ideal social media presence by writing engaging social media content which drives interaction and clicks with customers. If you use a social media copywriter, you’ll start noticing that you have more engagement with your customers, which helps in terms of word-of-mouth marketing.

As you can plainly see, a copywriter is an excellent idea for every business in terms of writing exceptional website copy. Leaving your important content in the hands of capable copywriters helps improve your website and copy, which brings in great clients and traffic.

❤️Kristen is a contributor on Medium. Sign up here to catch every story when she publishes.

😀Grab my audiobook on Audible: How to Productize Your Services: How to Make Money While You’re Sleeping or on paperback through Amazon here or FREE eBook through Gumroad here.

☃️Follow Kristen on Substack: https://substack.com/@kristenb

Note: This story includes affiliate links. I earn income from purchases through this link.

Originally posted on Medium

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bobafetts-princess · 3 years

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Hello! Congrats on the milestone!!

ヾ( ~▽~)ﾂ ♪💕

May I get an 51 from the prompt list with Boba? 👀

Thank you so much!

Of course!! I struggled with this a little bit, but I’ll tell ya. When I got rolling I got ROLLING! I hope you like it!

Public Kiss with Boba!

Boba x gn!Reader!

Warnings: Possessive Boba. Asshole at the bar doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.

Boba doesn’t do PDA. He’ll let you sit on his lap occasionally, if there’s no business to be conducted, but that’s the extent of it. He doesn’t remove his helmet in the throne room, the risks are too high. He can’t take the chance that someone will seize an opportunity to assassinate him, so it’s few and far between to see him bucket-less in public.

That being said, everyone knows you’re Boba’s. The way he watches you, the way his fingers linger on his blaster if someone gets too close. The way he bites out cruel words for anyone who dares touch what’s his. It’s the way he tilts his head up to you when you’re standing near the throne, jabbering on about Maker-knows-what.

But more so, it’s the way you light up when you see him. The way a brilliant grin breaks out on your face and your eyes seem to take on a glow when you talk to him. It’s the comfort in your body languages when you’re near each other. It’s the way that Boba’s shoulders release tension with every step you take towards him. So, for the most part, everyone knows to avoid you at all costs.

Except for tonight. Boba has some clients in, new trading deals and things along those lines. You weren’t privy to a lot of it, Boba liked to keep work and personal matters separate. You knew that some of his contacts were in town for a while, but that was about it.

You were at the bar, getting a spotchka for Fennec and yourself when a young, good-looking Togruta sidles up next to you.

“I’ve been in this bar all week and I know I’d recognize you if I’d seen you before,” he started and you laughed. His boldness was something to be admired.

“I’ve been hiding,” you tell him, keeping information to a minimum. Being with Boba had taught you several things, the biggest one being ‘don’t give free information’.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he offers and it’s sweet and he’s cute, but Boba’s probably ready to shoot him as it is, so it’s best not to encourage him.

“No thanks, I’ve already paid for mine,” you say, gesturing to the two glasses of blue liquid in front of you. It’s a lie, you don’t pay for shit in this establishment.

“Your comm then? I’m on the planet for a few more days, I’d like to get to know you a little better,” you’re not mad, just a little annoyed that he won’t take the hint as you shake your head no.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would like that,” you say, annoyance bleeding into your tone as you try to turn away but his hand on your wrist stops you.

“He doesn’t have to know, I wo-“

“He already does.” Comes the flat voice from behind you, not hidden by his modulator. You see the rage and fire burning in his eyes as the Togruta falters and sputters an apology. You know he’s pissed if he’s taken off the helmet, or maybe he walked in without it? You don’t know.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Fett. I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” but the damage is already done, Boba is livid

“Are you alright, little one?” He asks, tilting your chin up to him as he searches your face for any signs of discomfort. One hand is splayed across your hip, the other cupping your chin and you see the genuine concern there.

“I’m fine, Boba,” you promise and out the corner of your eye you see an older Togruta hustling towards you.

“Boba, Mr. Fett. Please excuse my son, he doesn’t think sometimes,” he starts but Boba silences him with a hand. He crowds you against the bar, your back pressing into the solid durasteel before he captures your lips in his.

It’s possessive, meant to be a show of dominance that prevents anyone else from trying to take what belongs to him. His tongue sweeps into your mouth and a gloved hand wraps around the back of your neck to anchor you to him. He presses into you, taking the glasses from your hands and setting them back on the bar. Your now-free hands curl into his cowl, losing yourself in his kiss.

The entire rest of the throne room disappears as your fingers climb higher to cup Boba’s cheeks and his own fingers tighten around the back of your neck. He tastes like spotchka and he smells like blaster-residue and something warm that’s entirely Boba and you find your legs weakening under the press of his body against yours.

He finishes with a nip to your lower lip, the heat curling in his eyes and the pit of your stomach and he speaks to the Togruta’s without looking.

“If you wish to keep our contracts in place, I suggest you leave tonight.”

The Togruta’s nod fervently, the older dragging his son out the door by his shoulders, reprimanding him along the way. Boba watches them leave, then shoots a look to Fennec before he loops an arm around your waist and steers you towards your shared quarters.

Tags IG? @rebelpitstop @justanotherstarwarswhore @tacticalsparkles @beskarprincessjenny @ahoeformando

(Ya I’m still working on these don’t say shit)

#the siren writes #baroclinicinstability #boba fett x you #boba fett smut #the book of boba fett #boba fett fucks #boba fett fanfic #boba fett fic #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader #k’s 700 follower celebration

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ruby-whistler · 3 years

Text

the difference between static and dynamic characters on the dream smp

Hi, hello, it's Ruby, back with another PSA because this fandom (specifically the people on Twitter) keeps getting worse.

/dsmp /rp

Recently, people started claiming c!Techno was boring because he never had any character development.

Now, this may come as a surprise to some of you, but if you in any capacity decide to study the ins and outs of creative writing, you'd learn that characters don't need to have character development to be compelling, loved by the audience, and have a complex personality.

This is what is called a static character. Not to be confused with flat characters. What's the difference?

Most articles seem to agree on this;

"Static characters should not be confused or mixed up with flat, one-dimensional characters. Though neither changes as the story progresses, if a character remains unchanged, it does not mean that he is one-dimensional like a flat character. A static character can be perfectly interesting, like Sherlock Holmes, who is completely ingenious, eccentric, and sometimes jerky. He never changes, but the audience still loves him. Thus, a static character could be the protagonist too, and a flat character, on the other hand, only plays a side role in the story." - ( link to definition )

Static characters are ones that don't experience any personal growth during the span of the story. They're often used in writing, because they're realistic and can be interesting if well-written. This article provides examples such as the aforementioned Sherlock Holmes, Captain America from The Avengers, and TommyInnit from the Drea- [gunshots]

But in all seriousness, c!Tommy is very easily a static character; a lot of the criticism of his character is about the fact that he doesn't change. He does gain experience and new relationships, he does suffer and becomes more and more traumatized, he does make choices out of impulse or emotion, but none of that is character development - he never overcomes his character flaws, including selfishness, stubbornness, and a lack of compassion or empathy for others. And I do not blame him for it as a person, and I do not consider him a badly-written character, even if he's a little frustrating to watch sometimes.

c!Tommy has two main reasons why he remains a static character.

a) he doesn't live in a constructive environment

It is normal for boys Tommy's age to be low on empathy. It's completely normal for them to be chaotic, immature pricks, because that is part of their growth. All of this would be just fine if c!Tommy was growing up in a highschool; however, he in actuality grew up on a land ruled by politics, wars and conflict.

I do not like using the age excuse, because I do not believe it makes his bad choices any more justified, but it's easy to realize why him being in such a position could stunt his personal growth.

At that age, you need guidance, whether it be from teachers, parents, or whatever other figures you're able to find around you. Usually, it is not difficult to find good people to look up to in today's world, but for c!Tommy, that isn't true.

In the pre-L'Manberg, post-Tommy era, there was moderate peace. Yes, there were conflicts, but none of them were damaging in the long term for anyone involved, and they were chaotic scuffles more than fights of ideals.

Once c!Wilbur came along, c!Tommy latched onto him. We all know how that went.

None of the adults Tommy had looked up to were in any capacity helpful to him growing or becoming a better person. He helped lead a revolution to help Wilbur gain power, he was lead to help Wilbur lead and unfair election, and witnessed the breakdown of the man he trusted shortly after. He was subjected to emotional manipulation by Dream, and then came to the wrong person for help. None of these things are reasons for positive change.

b) it's his major character flaw

Even in the few chances he had at genuine change, at forgiveness, at letting go, all provided by the environment or people around him, he didn't take them. Tommy doesn't like change, he fights it, and that is why he always loses. He doesn't want to change for the better, and he despises himself when he changes for the worse.

He looks for peace in a lack of activity, growth, or development. He searches for happiness in not letting go of the past, but hanging onto it for dear life, terrified that the people around him might change because he doesn't want to. And that is why, as long as he keeps this mindset, he'll never find it.

While other characters, such as Tubbo, Dream, Wilbur or Quackity seek to change the world around them, for the better or the worse, to rewind or to progress, and are willing to change themselves accordingly, Tommy does the opposite, because his biggest fear is people drifting apart and leaving him behind.

Let's get back to the point, then; what makes Technoblade a static character, and a good one at that?

His motivation is simple; he is a lawful character who sticks to his morals through thick and thin, follows a strict inner code, and is loyal to people above all.

On top of that, he is given no reason to change his morals.

No one's arguments against c!Techno have ever made much sense, let's be honest, and ever since he'd entered the server, Techno's been proven right over and over and over again.

He saw Wilbur face the consequences of having power over other people and then losing it, seeing the influence of corruption on the man he worked with. He was forced by the government to kill another person, to kill an ally, to kill an innocent. He was betrayed and used by the Pogtopian revolution, which knowingly kept things from Techno and fought to seize power, rather than destroy it. He was unfairly executed without a trial by corrupt politicians just absolutely demolishing the Geneva convention, holy crap people call Techno a war criminal, just in that one stream New L'Manberg commited so many war crimes-

Point stands that people say one thing and then do the other. Talk of freedom and then force people to do things (and no, forcing people not to force other people to do things doesn't count nor does it make Techno a hypocrite, get a better argument). Techno was never manipulated or swayed to someone's side against his ideals because he's not a man of words; he believes in what he sees, not what people tell him, especially since he's been repeatedly lied to.

That is the first thing a good static character needs; a strong motivation. Through everything that's happened, I'd say without a doubt that Technoblade has the strongest motivation out of everyone, which is to emancipate people from the tyranny of their rulers - not just sing about it and then establish a dictatorship - but to in fact do it, no matter the cost.

He's a very Paragon-type character, which is a common type of static; his moral code is too strong to allow emotional change.

Another thing a static character needs is personality. And Techno - if you watch his streams, not just others' perspectives - has a lot of that. From his bond with Phil and Ranboo to fondness of animals to sense of humour, the character is entertaining to watch and follow. You know what to expect of him, you know he won't betray, and that despite the flaws he has he will not let personal issues hold him back. He wins because he trains, and he puts hours into pulling crazy stunts, and he's persistent - it's satisfying for the people watching his perspective to see his efforts pay off.

His interactions with others are characterized by an attempt at kindness, no matter how many times he might fail at separating his personal life from the ideals he's pursuing.

And that is compelling! To draw parallels to Tommy again, the kid has so much personality that other characters could borrow from him and he'd still be fun to watch!

Neither Tommy nor Techno are flat characters, and I think that is the mistake a lot of people make when misinterpreting both the characters; Tommy and Techno are amazing examples of great static characters in fiction, and I'd like to applaud cc!Tommy and cc!Techno for being brilliant writers.

#dream smp #c!techno #c!tommy #dsmp analysis #c!techno analysis #c!tommy analysis #tommyinnit #technoblade #writing #dsmp fandom critical #long post under cut

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fuckyeahharryhart · 3 years

Text

THE ART OF SEDUCTION Reader Insert

After working months at his side, whether it be in the field, during training, debriefing in his office, or simply occupying the same space in quieter moments- reading in the lounge with a cup of tea, enjoying a few precious moments of peace, you were no closer at deciphering the gorgeous mystery that was Harry Hart. Your time with him merely reinforced what you already knew. And what you knew had, much to your chagrin, become increasingly and disconcertingly distracting with every moment you shared space with him. Harry was beautiful, obviously. You determined that the moment you saw him. Even from a distance, he cut a striking figure. But it was the understated way he acknowledged his own appearance, knew that it was pleasing and accepted it with grace, dignity and a matter-of-factness, that only made him more attractive.

Harry Hart’s appeal wasn’t just based on his good looks. There were other men who had more classically balanced features. It was significantly more than good genes or the symmetry of bone structure. Not that his purely physical attributes were lacking in any regard. You had already committed to memory every aspect of his form and figure, from his hair, with a distinguished flurry of silver, all the way down to his feet in their gleaming oxfords. No doubt polished with every wearing; they carried him with purposeful movement and long measured strides.

Harry Hart was a tall man. Often folding his legs as gracefully as possible under tables and desks that were just a breath too short to accommodate a man of his stature. He carried himself differently. Always with a posture, walk, a gait, that had a purpose. Never rushed unnecessarily, he possessed the ease of someone in full control of his physical body. His movements were light, sharp, and kinetic. When he was still, he held himself straight and tall, without strain. In more casual moments, his weight would shift to one side or the other, or he might lean against a support, breaking up the long, precise lines of his full height.

Mostly, this had to do with a hyper awareness of his environment and his place in it. If Harry needed to calm a new recruit, he might stand with authority, but tuck his hands in his pockets, conveying a sense of ease and familiarity. When confronting an adversary, his stature seemed to grow as he pulled himself to his full height. In those rare moments where he was free from personal and professional obligations responsibilities, as much as he could ever be, his figure would take on smooth curves and relaxed angles. The space he occupied was his to claim, mould, and manipulate. And Harry Hart did so with his body, his voice, his gaze, his way of dress.

Surprisingly, you discovered that Harry was a man who often communicated through physical touch. As a man of few words, who often guarded his privacy and personal life, you expected him to be even more reserved with his body language, to be even more wary of close physical contact. Quite the contrary, he was often more generous with a hand on the shoulder or a gentle pat on the back as a form of approval or encouragement. Sometimes, he would place his hand over yours as gesture of support and understanding. Harry was more demonstrative with contact and touch than he was with using words of praise or comfort. Even his proximity, whether it be as a figure in the distance or his physical closeness, could affect the energy of the room.

Rolling it over in your mind, you realised that it made sense that Harry would be comfortable communicating through touch. In some regards, he was a very tactile man, a sensual man, if not overtly so. He was a man that celebrated the senses.

In his office, though minimalist by Kingsman standards, austere even, there were touches of extravagance not influenced by tradition. All the furniture, as well as being beautifully made, focused on designs that were hospitable as well as functional. The chairs were comfortable. The lounge was upholstered in a dark, rich leather, well oiled and worn smooth by years of use. It was masculine, but also soft and inviting, a piece that you could relax and sink into. A sumptuous throw. Pillows covered in dark velvet that were actually soft, not just decorative.

The items that did adorn his office were obviously selected thoughtfully and with care. The enticingly smooth curves of a vase, seemingly out of place, brilliant jade against the subdued tones of hunter green, tartans and plaid and the deep tones of polished wood and leather. The delicate lines and breathtaking color of a framed butterfly. A small, sterling silver paperweight in the shape of a terrier. A cut crystal decanter, with matching tumblers, no doubt holding an insanely old and very expensive scotch.

There was an emphasis, not on the prestige or price of an object, but on its, color, texture, lines that were pleasing or challenging to the eye. Not as a flaunting of wealth, but a source of pleasure. It wasn’t an ostentatious display of the rich, it was the luxury of selection and taste. Any piece of clothing or fabric that touched his body directly was often luxurious, as well, scarfs, gloves, fine cashmere or calfskin leather. Though you had no way of knowing, you assumed his sheets would be of the highest thread count.

Harry’s manner of dress was immaculate and as precise as the polished, clipped tones of his aristocratic accent. He presented himself as a man who was self-assured with his appearance. Whatever he wore, he wore with confidence. He wore it well, without vanity, pretension, ego or conceit. Not that he needed the help of his wardrobe to face the world. His manner of dress seemed to highlight, magnify his innate sense of self. He was not a flashy man, but he appreciated the expert craftsmanship that went into a finely cut suit. That good clean lines, quality materials, understated but interesting details could be the final polish on an already finely honed presentation.

His clothing was the other area where he allowed himself some extravagance. A firm believer in the principle that if one’s self and surroundings are not only presentable, but impeccable, then one will always be prepared for what surprises life may decide to throw in one’s direction. In his line of work, unpredictability was as predictable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. His wardrobe countered the erratic nature of life as an agent. Thus, his was a look of man who had his life in order.

Harry Hart was a man of consistency. His tie was an unfailing full Windsor, tucked under the spread collar of a pristine white shirt. An equally crisp pocket square, folded neatly, peeked from his breast pocket. French cuffs were secured with custom gold links, bearing the Kingsman insignia. His suits were mostly double breasted, in classic shades of black, charcoal, navy and grey and cut in a wool that was appropriate for the occasion, whether solid, pinstriped, or woven with a pattern such as herringbone, or houndstooth. After years as a Kingsman agent, he had amassed a considerable and varied wardrobe that consisted of classic suits, formal wear, overcoats, ties, scarves, for any occasion or any type of mission. Each Kingsman agent also wore a gold signet ring on the pinky of their dominant hand. Harry wore the ring on his right.

Kingsman suits were cut close to the body, but designed with allowances made to accommodate weapons, ensure maneuvrability and flexibility in all types of action. They were also bulletproof. It was a feature created after decades of experimenting with different textiles and weaves and exploring processes and techniques that would result in a material that could withstand the velocity and impact of of a bullet shot at close range. The lightweight, flexible lining was sewn into every Kingsman suit and many times proved to be a lifesaver.

Shoulder harnesses were used for carrying. Not belt clips. Belts constricted the body whereas a harness allowed freedom of movement. They were also easily and quickly detachable in case they needed to be removed. Belts, on the other hand, though they had their uses, could also cost valuable seconds when needed to be taken off. The carry position prevented printing and maintained the lines of Kingsman’s suits.

The fine, bespoke tailoring emphasized Harry’s height and build. Trousers were slim cut, long and hemmed with a perfect mid break. He preferred the simple Oxford rather than brogues. He styled his hair in a classic, handsome cut, and was always clean shaven, (unless in the field where there was no opportunity for a straight razor shave). His aftershave and cologne were unobtrusive but memorable. Rather than preceding him, the warm and masculine sent of woods and spices, with hints of cardamon, bergamot, the tactile sensuality of rich leather and suede, would linger after his departure, like a layer of warm dark velvet. Even his hands were beautiful. Beautiful but not delicate. Large wide palms, long elegant fingers, his nails were neat and clipped. They sometimes bore the marks of time spent in the field. They were strong and capable.

Overall, Harry Hart had the appearance of a man who embraced classics, honoured tradition, but defined his look with his own individual aesthetic personality and sense of style.

In quieter moments, when you had the opportunity to watch him without being too obvious or call attention to yourself, you allowed your curiosity to wonder over all the small details and mannerism that were unique to Harry. How his fingertips would gently find the arm of his glasses and rest lightly there, when he was thoughtful or pondering a question, as if it helped him focus or think. The automatic gesture probably developed after years of transmitting information through the eyeglasses, which also functioned as communication devices. Through your experience in human psychology, you recognised this as a self soothing gesture. Finding the comfort of something familiar. You were fairly sure that Harry was aware of this gesture and allowed himself some habits, that were, not particularly productive but, helpful nonetheless. Rubbing his thumb along the band of his signet ring. The way he would always shoot his cuffs when rising from his seat. Or run the palm of his hand along the back of his head, smoothing down the already polished hair.

Never had you met someone who had the ability to asses and evaluate any given situation as throughly and unerringly as Harry. Whether it entailed clearing a room, identifying a mark, or even just something as simple as slowing his pace when you walked along side him so you wouldn’t have to struggle to keep up. He was constantly aware of his surroundings and deconstructing what needed to happen to make the environment more pleasing, the conversation more engaging, the meeting more productive, the mission more likely to succeed. He was nothing if not thoughtful. Thus, when you walked with him, he always slowed and allowed you to maintain your own graceful stride.

His physical appearance, his exacting nature, his precise moments, his carefully maintained wardrobe, his formal patterns of speech, his refined accent, not to mention his good looks could intimidate even the most confident agent, let alone a green one. That was until the person in question realised that this outward perfection was merely the layer that he presented to the world.

It would seem impossible for man to be blessed with so many gifts, but Harry Hart proved to be the exception to the rule, for he was as charming and gracious as he was handsome. His quick wit, his clever way with words, as well as his dry, incisive sense of humor could enthrall even the most unwilling participant.

He could placate the most difficult handler, assuage the most reluctant agent, enchant the most reserved target, or ingratiate himself into the most inhospitable of circumstances. When Harry turned on the full force of his charm, the people he met, let alone the men and women who worked with him, frequently found themselves elevated in his presence, their own experience heightened by his vitality and charisma. They left the experience a little breathless, a little awestruck, a little seduced by Harry Hart. You were no exception. And you had been spending a lot of time with him.

————

You found yourselves alone one evening at the manor. In the lounge, when you both happened to desire a drink at the same time. Most of the Kingsman had already departed for the shop if they were returning to the city. The rest had dispersed to their own private quarters, or were participating in whatever activity they had planned for the evening. The lounge was quiet. They way he liked it. Apparently, it was the way you preferred it as well.

Harry spotted you the same moment you lifted your gaze at the new arrival. Your eyes narrowed slightly in pleasure at the sight of him. You gave him a small, but welcoming smile. The musical clink of crystal against glass as he poured a scotch from the fully stocked bar was the only sound aside from the cracking logs in the grand fireplace.

The club was a vast space with a vaulted ceiling. The stately fireplace stood on the far wall. Like most of the manor, it was dressed in masculine shades of dark brown and hunter greens, tartan and plaids. Polished hardwood furniture, mostly antique, and historical paintings, displaying the rich history of Kingsman, whispered class and wealth. In the center was an arrangement to accommodate a more substantial group with larger sofas and chaises surrounding a massive polished low wooden table.

Around the room were smaller clusters of tables and leather club chairs tucked into alcoves for smaller gatherings or intimate conversations.

It was at one these clusters that he found you, tucked in a quiet corner near the fireplace.

In the most relaxed arrangement Harry allowed himself while still on Kingsman property, he had his coat draped over his arm. Dressed in his shirtsleeves, tie and shoulder holster, tumbler in hand, he approached you, also with a pleasant but small smile. Pleased that you were the one that was sharing this space with him.

You were dressed quite differently from how Harry first remembered you. Well, your clothes hadn’t been memorable, but you had been. Since you were not a knighted agent, they weren’t quite sure how to classify you yet, you took the freedom to dress beyond the Kingsman uniform. Though always appropriate and surprisingly on brand, you were not quite regulation. If you were out in the field, you were in tactical, or the women’s version of the kingsman suits. You even had the shop tailor some custom pieces so you could have more diversity. When you were at Kingsman HQ or at the shop in support, you dressed appropriately, but in your own style. There were handfuls of fashionable men at Kingsman. You couldn’t turn around and not run into a gentleman turned out in Kingsman’s finest. But an attractive, stylish woman was a rarer sight. Even Harry noticed the heads that turned when you walked by.

Walking toward you, Harry took the time to observe your appearance, he told himself as spies always did out of habit. Today, you remained on the property. Without the need for being in the field, this would be your most proper look. You were dressed in a way that was very elegant, but sexy at the same time. Or, perhaps it wasn’t supposed to look sexy. Harry set that observation aside. Not the time nor the place, he thought to himself.

You were dressed in a slim, knee length pencil skirt in a very deep shade of oxblood red. It was velvet he noted when he saw the sheen of the fabric as you shifted your knees in his direction. A matching tailored jacket, that, like him, you had removed and draped over the back of your chair. Topped with a delicate, almost sheer silk blouse the color of sun bleached bone. It had tiny pearl buttons down the front, and lace detailing at the collar, cuffs and similar detailing along the button placket. A narrow dark brown leather belt circled your waist with a gold clasp rather than a prong buckle. Dark brown suede court shoes with a tall, but reasonable heel. Your makeup was minimal and natural. You looked like you had just somehow heightened your features, but in no discernible way he could describe.

As Harry got closer, he was able to notice even smaller details. Your beautiful hair, was twisted up and away from your face and secured in some secret way women have where it would stay perfectly in place by means he could never quite see. Your accessories were feminine and understated. Small gold earrings in the shape of teardrops, a simple gold cuff around your wrist, a Kingsman issue watch on the other. A signet ring on your own pinkie. Your nails were trimmed short and clean, either no polish or something bare. A thin gold chain around your neck with a small solid gold version of the Kingsman pendant.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted a woman to look like until he first saw you. The first time, on that first chaotic night, he had the same thought. He could give you a basic description of what you were wearing, but he could describe every feature of your face. The way you looked when you were reflective. The line of your jaw when you were determined.

And then, for the very first time he saw you, dressed, properly, walking down the long marble corridor of the HQ manor, when you had the opportunity to present yourself on your own terms. Harry thought, this is what I want a woman to look like. It wasn’t that you were model beautiful, or that your features were perfect. In London, on the streets, you could see plenty of models. They were beautiful, no doubt, and pleasing to look at, but once you were done, you were able to go about your day without a second thought.

Your beauty had substance. The fact that Harry knew what your skill set included, to know what you had overcome to be where you were, to be the person you were, made your beauty a real tangible thing, regardless of what you were wearing. Perhaps it was that, whatever you wore, you made it part of you. It wasn’t just a pretty skirt or a flattering blouse, it was the way you wore it that made him notice you. You could have looked completely different, with completely opposite features. Harry would have still have felt the same. And he would still say, this is what I want a woman to look like.

You posessed the capacity to stir his heart. Something that had been quiet and still for a very long time. Even something that Harry thought no longer had the desire to be moved. It was certainly not something he was seeking. He, long ago, had accepted the fact that the life of agent isn’t one that fosters lasting relationships. Relationships were based on communication and he had far too many secrets as a Kingsman.

Harry was beyond the time in his life for these kinds of thoughts. He knew he had been handsome in his youth. He had his fair share of relationships and much more than his fair share of sexual encounters. He was aware that his looks had carried him quite well as he got older and that if he wanted, there were women, very desirable ones, that would be more than willing to engage in a casual relationship. Harry was by no means vanilla. It wasn’t that he was prudish in the least, or one to deny himself physical pleasure. If you were not exactly who you were, then he would have most likely allowed himself to pursue you and enjoyed whatever that relationship had to offer. The crux of it was, that he would not be as attracted to you, or charmed by you if you weren’t exactly who you were. He would not want your as much as he did if you were any different.

——

Harry set these thoughts aside as he approached you. Even though it was obvious you were alone, Kingsman manners never failed. Never ask a lady directly if she’d like your company. Give her a polite way to refuse without making her say no. She will indicate if your presence if desired.

“Excuse me, miss.” he opened. “Is this seat taken?”

You awarded him with an amused smile. You always enjoyed his little game of manners.

You nodded toward the chair. Please.

Draping his coat on the back of his chair, just as you did, He adjusted his slacks so he could sit down comfortably and gracefully. The club chairs were low and designed to sink back into. Harry took his seat, adjusted a little until he, too, was settled in.

Since both of you were now relatively stuck in your respective positions, where you couldn’t move without significant effort, Harry simply raised his glass in your direction. You followed suit.

You were pleased when he was comfortable enough to sit in silence with you. It was one of the first tells you would look for in asset or mark. Did they have enough self assurance to be silent? Were they uncomfortable, awkward, fidgety? Did they try to fill the silence? Most often, if they lacked confidence, you would notice these tells immediately. One of your favourite activities was to sit in silence.

It was also one of your favourite activities to look at Harry Hart. The fact that he was handsome was no surprise. When you initially started at Kingsman, this was simply an objective observation, like masterful way he handled weaponry. Or the fact that he was right handed. The more you were partnered in the field, the closer you became, both in proximity and as colleagues, his physical attributes began to affect you in ways that continued to make you increasingly uncomfortable.

You were aware his body was that of a man that you admired and looked up to. Tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped. Strong, driven, powerful. You became aware of all the things that his body could do. You had the opportunity to observe him every time you were in the field, in combat, in action.

But you also began to discern a softness, a gentleness that he could convey when he gathered you up after a surprising blast had knocked you off your feet. Hands that smoothed back your hair from your forehead upon waking up in medical after a particularly dangerous mission. A warm hand on your shoulder as you successfully accomplished a challenging task.

You were aware that as your mentor, Harry had a responsibility to maintain a professional relationship. But with escalating frequency, you imagined how it would feel to have him pressed up against you, to feel his body, purposeful and confident.

————

The evening was relaxed. Both of you, without the urgency of an upcoming mission to prepare, took the opportunity to simply rest and unwind. A seldom occasion. Feeling more and more at ease when both of you were together, you allowed yourself a little space to test the waters. When engaging targets, if they seemed comfortable sitting in silence in your company, would they make direct eye contact? You took another small sip of your drink, savoured it for a moment, and swallowed.

Hmmm. You were very curious about HarryHart and you were feeling surprisingly playful. You wanted to try something. Let’s say an experiment in tradecraft. You waited until you caught his eye. Harry seemed amused and matched your eye contact with equal directness. You were pleased that he made eye contact and even more pleased when he maintained it. But he was a spy, after all. Making and maintaining eye contact would be elementary for him.

With a little cheekiness on your part, you raised your glass to your lips again and took a small sip. He did not waver. His eyes even took on a little bit of curious amusement. You held the scotch on your tongue, pulled it to the back of your mouth, rolled the scotch around a little bit longer than necessary, before you swallowed.

Neither of you would look away first. You gave him a half smile, half smirk, crinkled your eyes a bit in amusement. You seemed to be saying. Ok. Your turn.

Harry had never seen your in this kind of playful mood and he suddenly found himself enjoying this little match immensely.

He could more than participate in this game. He, literally, had decades more experience than you. An agent may be able to seduce. But a gentleman agent was a master at the art of seduction. And Harry Hart was the consummate gentleman agent. One did not get to where he was in life without knowing how to pleasure a woman. He was often told he had beautiful and talented hands. That may have been years ago, but those kinds of skills, they stayed with a man.

A quick raise of his brow. Darling, challenge accepted.

Holding your eyes with his, he lowered his glass just enough to where it was in your sight line, but slightly off to the side, at the edge of your peripheral vision. You would still be able to hold eye contact, but would have to make an effort not to glance down at his glass. Especially, when you saw what he was going to do with it.

Harry held your gaze suddenly with an intense focus you were unprepared for. Out of the corner of your eye you saw that he was holding his glass, cupping it in the palm of one hand. He began to simply roll it around gently, as one would while enjoying a proper scotch. He rolled it around harmlessly, in a slow, lazy, rhythmic pattern.

You had to concentrate a little harder not to look away, but you kept his gaze. If you were uncomfortable, you didn’t show it. You hoped your gaze held a similar intensity as Harry’s. His felt, well, piercing, for lack of a more appropriate word.

This was certainly turning out to be an interesting evening, Harry thought. You seemed determined to stick this through. He would be required to dial his technique up a notch. He nested the heavy base in the center of his palm and let it rest there for awhile without moving. Then, once again, he started rolling the glass in his hand, not to stir the liquid, but to feel the surface of glass itself. He bounced the glass, lightly, as if testing the weight and feeling the heaviness.

The movement was subtle, slow, and sensuous. He let his hand explore the texture of the smooth surface. The base of his thumb pressed against the glass in slow, languid circles, sometimes rolling on to the pad of his thumb, sometimes to his finger tip. But he did this as if he were doing it unconsciously, because he was staring at you with a focus and intensity that said you were the only woman on earth, and that he wanted you.

There was truth to the term, the male gaze. It was not looking at something through a man’s eyes, it was seeing into something as a man. There was a reason why they called this particular look penetrating. It was a gaze of desire, a singularly male want and need. If done properly, it was a way to make love to a woman without touching her. It was far beyond physical contact. It wasn’t hard for him to harness his essential masculine energy. Harry had done it for years on countless honey traps in his younger days with the agency. He hadn’t thrown the full force of himself to seduce in quite awhile and found that he was enjoying a little flex of his muscle. If desire had a name, at that moment, it would be called Harry Hart. He let his desire roll off of him in waves.

What you didn’t quite understand, was that the game you were playing with him, wasn’t about who could keep eye contact the longest. It was a question of who was going to be seduced and who was going to be the seducer. You were approaching what you thought was a staring contest as a battle of the wills, which was why you were going to fail. Making eye contact may be a test of power and confidence, but that was a quick, brief test. A simple meeting or a darting of the eyes. It was very easy to find out who was going to be able to make and hold contact. However, eye contact for a prolonged period of time, especially between a man and a woman? It became something quite different. It was a game of seduction. It wasn’t a test of power. It was a test of control. Control of two things in this case, the seducer’s own desire, and the desire of the other person. Could the seducer harness his own desire to control the seduced.

You had not faltered yet. He raised to single brow. Would you like me to keep going?

You narrowed your gaze. Please, do.

The expression on his face all but said out loud. “You asked for it.”

Harry saw the flush in your cheeks when you noticed what he was doing with his glass. Your breathing intensified. Your pupils dilated and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

They were very small movements, but very deliberate movements. He cupped the bottom of the glass in one palm, fingers spread as if he were holding up a small tray. Using only his middle finger, the rest of his hand now cupping the base, he began to stroke the center of the glass. Like he was using his finger to say, come here. In very slow, very deliberate, beyond suggestive movements. His other hand simply rested on the top rim of the glass. Gently holding it in place while he moved his bottom hand. He did this without twitching another muscle in his body, as if nothing had changed.

Your eyes widened. Holy fuck, you thought. With very exact and explicit movements of his hands, Harry was not just implying, but overtly demonstrating how he used them to give pleasure to a woman. The shock of seeing him within the frame of something so blatantly sexual, all the while looking at you the entire time? It was intensely arousing.

Harry was not only looking at you, he was positively devouring you with his gaze. You could feel him, his energy in pulses of heat. This wasn’t merely eye contact. This was something unexpected and you were not prepared for it. Harry was suddenly changed, maybe not changed, but different. He was harder, stronger, more demanding. He was more of everything. The polite, honorable, considerate gentleman was still there, but now he added an aspect of himself that you had never seen or experienced before. The man was still Harry Hart, but it was also as if a part of him had been unleashed, whatever primal energy that was held in check by the handsome suits and the manners and the chivalry, had been released.

You fought to maintain your composure. He knew exactly what he was doing. His hands moved expertly, and with ease. His gaze, became even more intense, if that was even possible.

Harry continued to play and to tease as he held the glass in his palm. You knew where he had his hand. You could feel the exact placement as if it were on your own body. The base of his palm would cup your center, with the rest of his fingers spreading between your legs. His middle finger was still moving in achingly slow circles, one direction, then slowly moving in the other direction. He curled his finger under, using his knuckle, rolling it in tiny circles. Not even really moving just shifting the pressure moving from one side to the other, from top to bottom.

You saw in his eyes, that he knew, that you were not only being affected by his movements, but you were feeling sensations as if he were touching you directly.

It was the most erotic experience of your life.

Here was this beautiful man, still dressed as properly as ever in his dress shirt and tie, his shoulder holster with his side arm. His perfect hair, his perfect face. With all his dignity and respect, relaxing comfortably back into his chair, his legs spread wide, an ankle crossed over his knee, one elbow resting casually on the arm of his leather chair. Radiating such a profound sexual energy, that without even touching you, had the ability to control your body with only his eyes and the the way he moved a glass in his hand. He was so confident in his movements. His expression said, however brief this moment, that he owned you, that you were his, and he knows that you wants it that way. He can see it all over your face. He can see it in your eyes.

——

Harry wasn’t even close to being done.

He took his other hand, laying his palm over the glass, as if it was resting there. On the other side of the glass, where his thumb fell, he began to roll it around in very explicit, very familiar circles.

He felt himself harden as his own arousal grew. He didn’t try to stop it. Instead of letting it distract him, he channeled that energy through him and into you. Allowing you to witness the physical evidence of his own desire would strengthen his hold. Never underestimate the power of the imagination. You would see it. Your mind would do the rest.

Harry saw your lips part, even the slightest bit. Your chest rising and falling under your ladylike blouse as your breath quickened. Your knees pressed tightly together. He watched your face very, very carefully and intently, watching the subtle changes in your expressions as he shifted the movements of his hands, knowing that you were feeling his movements in your body. Every time your brow would furrow, or you took a sharp intake of breath, or would clench your pretty hands, as he moved his own, he knew you were feeling pleasure. And that he was the source of that pleasure.

Harry knew that there were men who were turned on by violence. For him, however, there was nothing more erotic than the sight of a woman experiencing the pleasure that you were giving her. So, he was especially aroused when he was free to look at the nuances of your face and body freely and openly. Your pleasure had reached a constant as you moved almost imperceptibly to the consistent rhythm of his hand.

And you still did not drop your gaze. Harry knew, now that you were fully aroused, you would not break eye contact. You probably couldn’t at this point if you tried. For, half of your pleasure was a result of seeing the man who was controlling your pleasure. And seeing that you pleased him, that he was also sexually aroused, intensified your pleasure. And you wanted to offer that to him, very willingly. Harry was finding out much about you in these few moments. Things that he wasn’t even sure you knew about yourself. Very few women would have been comfortable enough with their sexuality to be purely on the receiving end of pleasure. In the intimacy of their own bedroom in a committed relationship. Let alone in an extremely public and therefore vulnerable way. With a man who may be, slightly off limits. Which, in fact, probably added to your pleasure.

To see just how much you were under his thumb, pun aside, Harry paused for a moment. He kept his hand, his fingers in the exact same place. He just stilled. And watched you. After a few moments he could see the tiniest furrow of your brow. When he continued to remain still, he saw the movement he waiting for. You probably didn’t even know you had made it. It was the slightest lifting and rolling of your hips. He didn’t realize he could be more turned on, but he felt himself grow harder. It was the motion every woman made, in his experience, when they wanted more, when they were asking for more, and when they were begging for more. The ability to actively listen and comprehend another person was the most profound influencing tactic one could hone in communication, and therefore seduction. Which is exactly what he was doing. In a very non verbal, very physical way.

Harry began his movements again, with more intensity and purpose. He let his finger, for the first time, slide all the way up the side of the glass, even letting it lift with the upward movement of his palm. He saw your body move as if you were receiving him.

He knew you were experiencing waves of intense pleasure. He could tell you wanted to close your eyes and tip your head back. As Harry witnessed your need, he went in for his last movements. His palm pressing up into the base of the glass, his thumb rolling in small firm circles and his entire middle finger along the entire length of the glass, the tip almost reaching the top of the rim. As if his finger were deep inside you, he made deliberate strokes while pressing into the glass, slow, but then gradually increasing in speed and pressure.

Harry knew, that you knew, the exact two parts he was pleasuring.

You lips parted, your breathing grew heavier. You had no idea what was going to happen next, all you felt were waves of pleasure. The only thing you could concentrate on was not losing eye contact with the man in front of you.

Harry knew at this point, he had let what was a silly, flirtatious game, go too far. He also knew this began as a challenge, and Harry Hart was never one to back down from a challenge. He also knew that he never purposely lost a game. If it took climaxing for you to break eye contact, then so be it.

Harry also knew he was mesmerized by the sight of you. He didn’t know if he could stop. But it didn’t matter because he didn’t want to. This moment had to hit the list of the top most erotic experiences of his life. Both fully clothed, siting in separate chairs, more than six feet apart. With only eye contact between you. He didn’t know if he’d experienced something more intensely arousing, knowing that he was the one you were feeling when you made yourself come.

Harry began to see the tell tale tremors, the quickening breath, your lips parting with cries that you desperately wanted to make that you would not let yourself, and still, you were trying to hold on. Psychologically you were making it harder for yourself, denying your own release would only make it that much more physically intense when you had to give in.

It was at that moment, that a door banged within the manor and someone appeared at the large entrance of the club room.

“Harry. That you?”

Damn it. It was Eggsy.

“Just headin’ out.” Eggsy called over. “What’s up? Looks like you two’re having a staring contest. Whose winning?”

“It’s a tie” Harry replied.

Eggsy held up his hand in a quick wave and left.

Harry gave you a quick glance, where you were still trying to maintain eye contact, wait no, you were just staring into the space behind him, concentrating on something he could not see.

——

You knew you had to stop staring at Harry, so you looked past his shoulder into the empty space behind him. At this point, even the sight of him might set you off. You were still right at the cusp of your climax and your body was still so aroused you were afraid that any movement could push your over the edge. You wanted to tell Harry to leave, but you couldn’t think of a way without embarrassing or offending one or both of you. All you could do at the moment was sit quietly. So that’s what you did. You were waiting for your body to catch up with the rest of you and settle down. Harry was waiting patiently until you were ready to move or speak.

After a bit of time, you glanced over at him, made sure it was safe. It was, and you began to relax a little, though your body still felt like a flame that was ready to ignite with any hint of friction. You just needed to stay still for awhile.

You saw Harry watching you, his face both concerned and amused.

He broke the silence.

“And that, my darling,” Harry said pointedly. “Is how one create’s an effective honey trap.”

In an attempt to further diffuse the situation, he wanted to be frank and direct with you and not to brush what just happened under the rug. That would be awkward for both of you. He did not want you to feel embarrassed or ashamed or uncomfortable with him or what had happened. The best way was to be as blunt as possible. He pushed down on his palms and rose out of his chair with minimal effort.

“My dear, I’ve been in the spy business for over 30 years. One does not get this far without knowing how to pleasure a woman.”

He winked at you.

“Not to worry, you’ll get there.”

Harry reached behind him for his coat, draped it over his arm, but not before you clearly noticed his own erection. Which before had just been a suggestion in the shadows. He’s hard.

The thought made you flame all over again.

“I need to take my leave. Will you be alright, here?”

All you could do is nod. You didn’t trust your voice yet.

Always the gentleman, he leaned over and brushed his lips against the top of your hair.

“Thank you for the lovely evening.”

You still couldn’t look directly at him so you turned your head slightly to the side and gave him a small nod. With a quick squeeze of your arm, you heard his departing footsteps. He was heading to the tunnels. He was going back into the city, He wouldn’t be staying at he manor. You didn’t know if you were glad or disappointed.

You were grateful to him for providing at least a somewhat graceful way to exit the situation, referring to the seduction technique that ALL agents are trained in. Harry was letting you chalk it up to a learning experience.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You tried again.

“Fuck.”

It was the first word that you had said all evening.

——

“Fuck.”

Harry thought as he boarded the train back into the city. He had actually planned on staying at the manor, but with what just happened with you, he wasn’t sure if that would be the best course of action. It took all of his self control to remove himself from any temptation by leaving the place entirely. Making it impossible for him to act in a way that was inappropriate. Not that what had just happened would qualify as appropriate. At least it had the veil of a lesson on seduction. He wasn’t sure it would convince judges, but he found it a weak, but passable excuse.

No, the problem for the moment was that all Harry could see was your face as he pleasured you. How your lips parted, your breasts underneath your blouse, the flush of your cheeks. He wanted to hear what your cries would’ve sounded like. He wanted to be the one to make you cry out. His sex drive, always healthy, may have had a prolonged dormant period in recent times. But now it was raging like a fire that he unleashed and now he couldn’t put out. By letting the full force of it out this evening, it was fully awake and needed something to do. Harry had feared that if he had stayed at the manor even a moment longer, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself and would’ve taken you and had you right there.

If he could do that to you with his eyes and just the suggestion of his hands, he couldn’t imaging what it would be like pleasuring you with his entire body. Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he took care of himself, and when he did, he would allow himself the sight of your trembling, responsive, body underneath his own as he gave you the pleasure he knew you so desperately wanted, joined together as he felt your body shudder around him when you climaxed, feeling his own release as he heard you cry out his name in pleasure.

#harry hart #harryhart #kingsman #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman the secret service #ardent #kingsman fanfic #colinfirth #colin firth #kingsman fanfiction #kingsmanmovie #kingsman ff #kingsman fan fiction #harryhartfanfiction #harry hart fan fiction

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zintranslations · 3 years

Text

Kaleidoscope of Death, Extra 6

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths (3)

The first person to leave a door could gain a hint about the next door. This was preferential treatment and leniency that the door awarded the victor. This was also an affirmation of strength.

But what many people didn't know was that when only one person was left in a door, that person, upon leaving the door, would earn a very special sort of hint. The person who possessed this hint gained not only detailed insight into the next door, but also a chance to save their own life.

For reasons, Ruan Nanzhu had never told Cheng Yixie about this. Cheng Yixie only learned about it by accident.

And Cheng Yixie, after just barely scraping his way out of the seventh door, had also come to a realization. He'd realized that he couldn't protect Cheng Qianli. The world of the doors was treacherous and ever-changing; no matter how smart he was, he was just a mortal in the end, and all mortals made mistakes. Mistakes in daily life may be utterly unimportant, but mistakes made inside the doors could cost you your life.

Cheng Yixie returned to the mansion, saw Cheng Qianli's brilliant grin embracing Toast, and made a silent decision.

Everything that followed became so reasonable.

Cheng Yixie was clever, and when clever people did bad things, they were naturally adept.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing, Cheng Yixie." Ruan Nanzhu very quickly figured out Cheng Yixie's deviancy, and he and Cheng Yixie had their very first explosive argument. "You're going to get Cheng Qianli killed, as well as yourself!"

Against Ruan Nanzhu's accusations, Cheng Yixie chose silence.

"Stop this, while you still can," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Don't wait until it's too late to turn back…"

Cheng Yixie gave Ruan Nanzhu an answer. He said, "Cheng Qianli's not even eighteen yet."

He held onto the railings, looking out over the lush green yard where Cheng Qianli and Toast were chasing each other around in play.

"If only one of us can survive, I hope it to be him."

Ruan Nanzhu, "but there are other ways. You're choosing the stupidest method—"

"But it's the most lucrative." Cheng Yixie was no older than fourteen, but there wasn’t any trace of a child's innocence to be found in his eyes. His pupils were deep lakes, in which were hidden things even Ruan Nanzhu couldn't comprehend. "Sorry, Ruan-ge, I really can't just watch Qianli die."

Ruan Nanzhu knew he had no chance of convincing Cheng Yixie. He said no more, and walked away.

At this point, the worst that Cheng Yixie had done was let people go to their deaths. But after…Cheng Yixie closed his eyes. He never wanted to talk about what happened after anymore.

Once someone broke their bottom line, it was like plunging into a quagmire; you could only keep sinking.

Had it been anybody else, Ruan Nanzhu would likely have already kicked Cheng Yixie out of Obsidian. But Cheng Yixie was just a kid. He was like a fresh-grown sapling that, before it could even grow up straight, got snapped at the waist by the battering rains and winds.

Cheng Yixie began to sink deeper and deeper in to the abyss, until he had no way of ever getting out.

Everybody said what went around would always come back around; Cheng Yixie thought that he would be the one to pay for the things he did. Once people do wrong, they had to pay a price. Cheng Yixie was willing to pay for his sins with his life.

But on the day retribution truly came, Cheng Yixie finally learned that some things didn't happen as easily as he's imagined.

The tenth door was hellishly difficult.

Even with the special hint slip, Cheng Yixie was running on the last of nine lives inside.

Just as he had Cheng Qianli, and the two were stumbling their way to the door, they discovered that where the door should have been was instead a giant green bronze statue. The statue was beastly and looked like a demon, and the green bronze encasing it was beginning to crack, revealing hard skin as black as lava rock underneath.

Seeing such a scene, Cheng Yixie knew the monster before him was about to wake. Though the door was right behind it, they still couldn't make their way through.

"Gege," Cheng Yixie spoke quietly, standing behind Cheng Yixie. "I'm scared." The hand he held Cheng Yixie's with was covered in sweat, and there was a helpless tremor in his voice.

"Don't be scared, I'm right here," Cheng Yixie comforted Cheng Qianli quietly. He took a deep breath, and then stuck a hand in his pants pocket, settling on the sharp dagger folded inside. "Just listen to me, and it'll be fine."

Cheng Qianli scooted closer. He seemed to have sensed something, and wrapped Cheng Yixie up in a tight embrace. They were twins, after all; they felt everything together. Through the thin clothing between them, Cheng Yixie could feel the heat of Cheng Qianli's body as well as the anxiety in Cheng Qianli's heart.

"Gege." Cheng Qianli's voice was filled with woe, and even sounded a bit choked. "Is it about to come to life?"

The monster behind them had already exposed the blood red of its eyes. The giant jaw packed full of fangs began to savagely snap. It looked ready to pounce at any moment.

"Mh," Cheng Yixie said. "But it won't be able to hurt you."

"Why am I so stupid?" Cheng Qianli said. "If only I were smarter." His tone of voice was agonized. "If only I were smarter, then Gege wouldn't have to work so hard…"

Cheng Qianli's arms around Cheng Yixie slowly began to loosen, and his voice too grew faint.

"But no matter how stupid I am, I still know what Gege wants to do…"

Cheng Yixie felt that something had gone wrong. His voice froze for a moment, and he slowly turned his head.

"Qianli…"

"Hey, I brought one too," Cheng Qianli said. "I hid it in my pants pocket, just like you."

He was smiling, but was likely also in agony—this smile was particularly hideous.

Cheng Yixie’s head inched down, and he saw a dagger stuck in Cheng Qianli’s chest. Bright red blood was flowing like a babbling brook down his chest, soaking his clothes and puddling on the ground.

Cheng Yixie saw that dagger, and felt himself reeling. He opened his mouth to say something, but the image before him appeared to have utterly stolen his ability to talk. He couldn't say anything, and his body slowly slumped forward.

"Ge…it hurts…" Cheng Qianli collapsed in Cheng Yixie's arms, black eyes big and staring. His pupils reflected Cheng Yixie's figure. He called, "Ge…"

"Aah…Aaaah!!" A wretched scream came out of his mouth, and Cheng Yixie could only watch as Cheng Qianli's breaths grew fainter. The roar of the monster behind him came from a spot directly over Cheng Yixie's head, but Cheng Yixie didn't turn around. The monster lunged at him and—

A black shadow enveloped Cheng Yixie. He ought to have been torn to pieces by the monster, but a faint sheen of light was emanating from his body. It partitioned the monster's attack directly away from him.

In Cheng Yixie's arms, Cheng Qianli's chest had stopped moving. With a numb expression Cheng Yixie turned around, spotting that huge black door behind the monster. He saw that door and stumbled to his feet with Cheng Qianli in his arms. He made a run for that door, unlocking it with the key drenched in blood. He still wanted to see Cheng Qianli again. There were still so many things he hadn't said to him.

Cheng Yixie sprinted out that tunnel like he had gone crazy, grabbing the Cheng Qianli outside in an embrace. The moment Cheng Qianli offered him a smile, mouthful after mouthful of blood began pouring out of Cheng Qianli's mouth. Cheng Qianli touched his face, called him Ge, told him not be sad.

Cheng Yixie was wailing. His Qianli, this was his Qianli—the kid he loved the most still hadn't been able to grow up. Hadn't even passed his eighteenth birthday. Certainly hadn't gotten to see all the beautiful sceneries of the world like he'd hoped.

What came afterwards, Cheng Yixie didn't really remember. He didn't really remember how he got through that time. By the time he came back to himself, he'd already left Obsidian, and was crossing doors with Zhuo Feiquan.

Zhuo Feiquan, like him, was a person left behind at the end of the world. Zhuo Feiquan no longer had a sister, and Cheng Yixie no longer had a brother. Zhuo Feiquan's luck was just a lot better than Cheng Yixie's, that's all—he had a pendant that his sister's soul laid in.

"Hey, you're not planning on getting me killed inside the doors and stealing my pendant, are you?" Zhuo Feiquan spoke frankly. "I'm telling you, I'm hardy as hell."

Cheng Yixie looked at him, answering faintly, "forget it. I thought about it, but it's better not to do it."

"Why not?" Zhuo Feiquan asked.

"I'm afraid he'll have to pay for the bad things I do again." Cheng Yixie's tone was cold. "Look, isn't that the case now?"

He didn't even dare to die, because his life had been traded in for Qianli's. That little fool had to be smart just this once, but this one time was all it took to torture him to death and back.

Zhuo Feiquan threw back his head and laughed.

To have experienced the same pain of losing family, the two actually had an odd resonance. Only those days didn't last. Zhuo Feiquan died in his own tenth door, and before dying, he placed his pendant in Cheng Yixie's hand. He didn't say anything, because both of them already knew.

Cheng Yixie clutched the pendant that Zhuo Feiquan gave him and managed a smile, meaning he had accepted Zhuo Feiquan's good will.

Once he had the pendant, Cheng Yixie wondered if he should use it to summon Cheng Qianli. But after thinking about it, he didn't do it. Because he remembered that Cheng Qianli was scared of ghosts.

If he wasn't there, Cheng Qianli could only wait around inside the doors. That was probably another kind of torture.

Cheng Yixie wouldn't do that to him.

The days went on one at a time. So Cheng Yixie thought that this would be the end of his and Cheng Qianli's story. He still went through doors in a state of numbness. He might die inside one of these days, but to the him right now, death seemed more like a merciful blessing and escape.

This continued on like this until Cheng Yixie went into his own eleventh door.

In his eleventh door, when he saw Tan Zaozao on television, Cheng Yixie became conscious of something. He left the hospital that he'd entered the door through in a hurry. He went back to his house and knocked on that familiar door.

Moments later, the door opened to reveal a face completely identical to his. And when he saw Cheng Yixie, he looked on with a stunned expression.

Cheng Yixie began to laugh, ignoring Cheng Qianli's shock completely and wrapping him up in a hug. He said, "idiot, Gege's been looking for you for such a long time." I thought that once I'd lost you, I would never get you back.

Good thing that now, he was finally found.

And since he was found, staying in this illusory world of the door seemed to be…not all that bad.

The once-split soul merged back together then, from two to one, just like the moment they were birthed from their mother's body. A satisfied smile appeared on Cheng Yixie's face. He dried the tears at the corners of his eyes and watched as the sun outside the window slowly descended beneath the horizon.

Translator’s Note:

Look, I need those of you who have even a passing understanding of Chinese to suffer this passage with me: 程一榭嚎啕大哭，他的千里，他的千里啊——他心愛的小孩還是沒能長大. The original is simply “HIs Qianli, his Qianli ah...” Just a fucking WAIL. Like me. Just fucking head back, sobbing at the ceiling.

[Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths(2)] | [Extra: Bai Ming and Zhang Yiqing]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #look mother i'm crying again #but this counts as HE i think #we get a break in the next extra #and then the last extra is Tan Zaozao ahahahah--#look i'll get those two done at the same time too #and recommend you read the tzz one first bc #y'know #then you get to end on a cheery stupid gays note

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

hello! do you have any fics where erik and charles are childhood best friends now in a relationship?

Hi anon, thanks for the ask. There are a fair few fics where Charles and Erik are childhood best friends and are now in a relationship but there are actually more where they are childhood best friends and end up in a relationship in the fic. So, I decided to include those in this list since it kind of matches what you're looking for.

Childhood best friends now in a relationship

Work/Life Balance - pocky_slash

Summary: As teens, Charles was the star of a super popular tween/teen television show and Erik was his best friend. As adults, they're a frighteningly domestic married couple and Alex, Darwin, and Sean are Erik's nosy co-workers.

Some Forgotten Corner of the Universe - Black_Betty

Summary: Erik remembers the boy he met on Osiris.

Charles is no longer that boy, but that doesn't mean Erik loves him any less…

A Winter in New York - nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.

A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.

A Very Cherik Sleepover – Penguina

Summary: When Erik invites Charles for one of their traditional sleepovers he doesn't expect it'll turn out that way. Instead of taking the upper bunk bed as usual, Charles decides to curl up in Erik's bed with Erik to keep them warm... However, it gets a little too hot.

Something in the way you move – BrightDream

Summary: Erik and Charles have been best friends for years now, but four months ago their relationship secretly became something more.

This means that when Erik's mom leaves them alone in the house, it's their chance to figure it out just what they can do to make each other feel good, even though there are some deep insecurities that might get in the way...-

Quiet Like a Fire - kianspo

Summary: Charles has been in love with his best friend for years without realizing it. When he finally figures it out, Erik is married to a wonderful woman and has an adorable daughter, who thinks the world of Charles. Erik has the perfect life that Charles helped him build, so there is only one thing for it - get over his feelings. So what if his methods are unhealthy or if Erik has an opinion on the matter? Charles is determined to do the right thing.

Love Story - Sophia_Bee

Summary: Charles and Erik are best friends, until they're not. A love story in three parts.

Curve Fitting - kianspo

Summary: The weird thing is, Charles always introduces Raven as his sister, but he never calls Erik his brother. Erik would be bothered, except he prefers not to think of Charles as his brother, either. He can’t figure it out for four years, and then suddenly he can.

Or. A non-powered AU in which Sharon Xavier never remarries, and Charles 'adopts' not only Raven, but Erik too.

Bad things happen when you mix siblings with spite - inazumaghostking

Summary: Erik is determined to fuck Charles.

Raven is determined to stop them.

a.k.a. a sibling fight ft. two gay boys, a concerned sister, and a closet

Did You See This, Erik! - Iggysassou

Summary: "What if Charles and Erik grew up together, Charles absolutely convinced that he was the one protecting Erik and being super proud of himself for it when in reality, Erik has always secretly protected him with his powers because Charles is simply the most adorable person on Earth."

Hot Cocoa Magic – nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles takes Erik out to the skating rink. Erik has never stood on a pair of skates in his life, but it'll be easy-peasy, right?

For Us Two – aliceecrivain

Summary: Erik is five years old the first time he meets Charles in the forest outside his new home and quickly discovers the other boy is more than he appears. Despite being accidental, the event defines the course of his life in ways he never could have expected.

The two boys grow up together, mutually braving the ups and downs of adolescence, and, over time, become inextricably attached. Initially intimidated by the limits the attachment puts on him, Erik yearns to break free in spite of his own feelings, but learns with time that the connection between them is not something he can live without.

Practical Cartography - pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: When Charles discovers how frustrated and self-conscious his best friend Erik is about his ignorance about sex, he's eager to volunteer to help teach him and practice. Charles might not have any more direct experience than Erik, but he does have a telepath's mind full of accidentally picked-up fantasies and memories, as well as knowledge of a few dirty books - and more importantly, he's been madly in love with Erik for years. This seems like a brilliant, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that he can't pass up.

Now he just needs to manage to keep his feelings in check, and not ruin their friendship forever.

A Kiss is Just a Kiss – Penguina

Summary: Charles Xavier has always been in Erik's life. However something always gets in the way of Erik actually realizing he has feelings for this adorable dork who was so obviously crushing on him since high school. Until one day, years after their first kiss, Erik finally understands what that feeling he always had for Charles really was! But is he too late? Did he miss his chance to tell Charles 'I love you'? It's been years and did Erik really think Charles would wait for him his entire life?

You and Me Against the World – madmalina

Summary: One important thing to remember: this is a love story.

Twenty years and two lifetimes later. Just two boys learning to mutant, grow up, and love each other.

Wicked Game - obstinatrix, seutedeern

Summary: Erik's reputation as a defender of the weak in elementary school isn't undeserved. He wouldn't have expected a Xavier to fall into that category, but it seems that other people don't see Charles the way Erik does, as a warm, lovely person who should be protected. As the years draw on, Charles and Erik become best friends, inseparable. Everything is perfect, platonically ideal, until it isn't.

Believe (One More Time) – luninosity

Summary: For the prompt, Charles and Erik dated during college and had a bitter break-up right before graduation. It's five years later and they both meet again at their class's reunion for a weekend. Someone was even stupid enough to have them room with each other for the weekend…

If We Met Differently – swoopswoop

Summary: Erik wasn't the only mutant 'taken in' by Shaw, Erik learns this the hard way when a new mutant is dropped into his cell. They manage to escape together, but things aren't all roses after that. Erik has a score to settle and needs to make sure Charles is safe.

With pulses that beat double – aesc, pearl_o

Summary: It has been thirteen years since Charles watched his beloved childhood companion walk out of his life. Now, in fin-de-siècle Paris, a chance overheard remark may lead them to each other's sides once more.

Change is Constant – Black_Betty

Summary: Erik and Charles knew each other in high school, might have even called themselves friends. At their ten year high school reunion, Erik realizes how much has changed.

There is No Future Without You – EnchantedPhoenix

Summary: Charles and Erik were friends when they were children - Until certain circumstances tore them apart. Many years later, when Erik moves to England so that he can study at Oxford University, he certainly doesn't expect to run into his childhood friend again. In fact, he doesn't expect any of the events that follow.

The Cost of a Good Man – archipelago (arcanewriter)

Summary: Erik and his mother flee Europe before the advent of the war to live on the Xavier estate. Charles never questions their good fortune, or his own.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #asks #earnestly answers #childhood best friends to lovers

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aprilsrant · 4 years

Text

Lay all your love on me | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N)’s been crushing on the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain for over three years. Now, in their seventh and last year of Hogwarts, her friends are determined to get them together.

WORD COUNT: 2,833.

WARNINGS: underage drinking. (If there are more and I didn’t put them, let me know).

NEXT PARTS:

Honey Honey! (part two)

When I kissed the teacher (part three).

A/N: so, this came out because of a random idea and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. For some reason, I like to imagine wizards dancing to ABBA, of course it’s the muggleborns and maybe halfbloods that know about them. This was written while I listened to Lay all your love on me, slowed down, on repeat. I algo gave the reader’s friends name because it was easier, and I may or mat not based their personality on my own close friends…

English is not my first language so if there are any mistakes, I’m sorry! Reblog if you can, and if you have any suggestions or requests just DM!

Masterlist.

tags: @peeves-a-legend (thank you for everything).

The Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff Quidditch match had ended with a win for the eagle’s house, although the other team did not make it easy for them. The Hufflepuffs were known for their patience and hard working nature, giving up easily was not one of their traits and that’s exactly what everyone had seen on the match this afternoon. They knew their opponent’s Seeker, Cho Chang was getting better with each game she played, so the Captain of the Hufflepuff Team decided their best chance was, if he wasn’t fast enough to catch the snitch that is, to lash out against the poor Keeper.

And so they did.

The Chasers, Preece, Macavoy and Applebee, were unstoppable. On the occasion the Quaffle landed in their hands, which had been like seventy percent of the time, they would use many different strategies to confuse the other players, including the Keeper, and score a goal.

Even after their brilliant performance, Ravenclaw still won by twenty points ahead when Cho Chang caught the snitch. A small distraction from the Hufflepuff Seeker and Captain had cost them the victory, but that didn’t discourage the badgers, hell, (Y/N) thought nothing could after how well they had played. She had never felt so much respect for the usually overlooked House.

That was pretty much the reason why the Ravenclaws were so eager to celebrate their win and had invited the whole school, or at least everyone up to the age of fifteen, to their Common Room. Many people believed they weren’t capable of throwing a good party since they were supposed to be smart and have their head on a book every minute, but (Y/N) never doubted them. One of her best friends was a Ravenclaw and that girl sure knew how to have fun, school and good grades being the last thing on her mind whenever she got sight of the Firewhisky.

If you had asked for (Y/N)’s opinion, she would tell you Ravenclaws were the seconds best at Hogwarts on the matter of hosting parties, Slytherins right up to them. Albeit that may have been biased, she herself was a Slytherin and, thinking about it, she never went to any Gryffindor parties because, well, no one except her other friend wanted a Slytherin there. Many of them thought they were some kind of saints just because they were brave and didn’t realise they were, instead, a bunch of reckless and prejudiced twats. The remaining house, Hufflepuff, took parties to a whole other level and sometimes it became all a little too much. She wasn’t much of a party person but she still enjoyed them from time to time, but they went insane any time alcohol was in the room and started to come up with crazy ideas that would, with no doubt, get them expelled.

After waiting ten minutes for a member of the house to step out and answer the riddle for her, which (Y/N) knew you didn’t need to be part of the house to reply but even as a Slytherin and having, supposedly, a cunning and intelligent mind she sucked at those kind of questions; she, and twenty others, finally entered the Ravenclaw Common Room, which was completely renovated since the last time she had visited it.

The circular and wide room was filled with students from all the four houses making it seem smaller than it actually was. The moon shone, filtering through the arched windows, barely illuminated but some flickering and colour changing lights on the ceiling made it work. The furniture was against the wall on the left side so people could dance freely in the middle, while the tables on the right bursted with food and bottles of alcohol. A muggle radio had been placed on one of the large table’s corner and to (Y/N)’s delight, it wasn’t playing any songs by the Weird Sisters. She loathed that band since last year when some students, presumably Gryffindors, enchanted the speakers on the hallways to repeatedly play one of the group’s songs.

The girl started to move towards the left side of the room, avoiding the crowd growing larger and larger. Trying to catch some familiar faces, she stood on her tiptoes and observed the room, but the lack of light and her problem with seeing things from afar, made her search harder. A couple of minutes had passed when she recognized the trio she was friends with. They were waving and screaming her name, trying to catch her attention, right beside the door that led to the dormitories.

(Y/N) grinned at them while walking in their direction. Once she settled on Isla’s side, her best friend since childhood, some of her nerves were washed away a little. It was easier for her to be in a place packed with people if she had her close friends as company. Dorian, the last one to join the group in their fifth year, offered her a black cup with, judging by the smell, Quintin Black, her favourite. The corners of her mouth quirking up as a way of saying thanks without having to shout at him to make herself be heard through the loud music.

The Multicolour Quartet — name they all despised but stood with it because it was one of Dorian’s drunk comments when he realised how they were all from different houses; (Y/N) was the Slytherin, he was the Gryffindor, and the other two, Isla and Ethan, were both Ravenclaws — easily fell in a conversation about Isla’s brilliant performance as Chaser for her House’s Team, the other three complimenting her whenever she started to list all the errors that almost allowed the Hufflepuffs to win.

Spacing out of her friend’s chat, (Y/N)’s eyes peer round the room looking, nearly in a desperate way, for someone in particular. Answering the comments the other three made with a simple nod of her head or a yes to seem like she was paying attention, her eyes fixated in a figure directly across from them, supporting it’s body’s weight on a wall. He was surrounded by some of his classmates and friends from the same house, but she could still see, albeit with great trouble, his short brown hair and his right hand holding a black cup, equal to the one she had.

She failed to realise that her friends had noticed where her attention travelled to. Sharing knowing glances and smirks they knew it was time for (Y/N) to talk to the boy she’d been crushing on for three years now. Isla and Ethan left saying some people were starting to cause trouble, not that (Y/N) had actually listened to them, too lost in attempting to catch another glimpse of the boy. That ended on Dorian, the most chaotic of the four, finding the way to make them, at least, share two or three words.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her left arm dragging her along the room and pushing people on the way. That belonged to Dorian and it didn’t take long for her to understand what he was doing, his mischievous smile betraying him. Her eyes widened and she shook her head while planting her feet on the floor, putting all her strength on them so he wouldn’t move her. She didn’t succeed. Obviously because of his friend’s stronger hands.

A chant of pleas and several no exited from her mouth, but it was useless. If something got inside Dorian’s head, then nothing could stop him from doing it. A trait they both shared and the cause of a few of their arguments, neither of them knew when to back the hell down. Not even the promise of (Y/N) doing his Arithmancy homework for two weeks made him stop on his tracks. Dorian had really compromised to the cause because she knew how much he detested that subject, only taking it to please his father.

Before she could raise the offer to a month, they were already in front of him and the group he was chatting with.

Oliver Wood smiled at the two friends, recognizing only one of them but still being kind and inviting towards her, whose heart was about to jump out of her chest from how fast it was beating.

“Hey, Wood, how’re you doing?,” Dorian greeted him first and then nodded at the others as if he was saying hi, “preparing for the Quidditch match next week?”

(Y/N) stood awkwardly by Dorian’s side, looking and smiling shyly at people she had never interacted with. She was going to cut this boy’s head of the minute everyone left.

“Yeah, the Hufflepuffs played like hell today.” She heard Oliver say. His words tumbling with each other. Was he already starting to get drunk? “I think I’ll need to book more practices if we want to win next week”.

Luckily, or not, Dorian noticed he hadn’t introduced his friend to the group yet. And even if she didn’t like to just stand there like a rigid stick, she hated the new attention.

“This is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), by the way,” he announced while placing his right hand on the upper side of her back and pushing her body to the front. And the shy smile made an appearance on her face once more.

She whispered a small hello, looking at everyone but Oliver, and instantly felt the need to jump off the Astronomy Tower, not long after making Dorian the next designated Gryffindor Ghost.

“What house are you in? I’ve never seen you before,” questioned one of the boys next to Oliver with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a lost look on his eyes, as if he was trying to place her and remember the colours of the tie she used daily.

“She’s not a Gryffindor, maybe that’s why you haven’t seen her much,” Dorian answered before she had the chance to, “she’s actually a Slytherin.” A new expression on his face now, intimidating the others to see if they dared to express some kind of negative or stupid comment to his friend about the house she belonged to. No one said anything. She saw Dorian smiling proudly from the corner of her eye, but in that moment (Y/N) had the weird sensation she was some kind of prey to starving lions.

The group began to talk to each again, like nothing happened, all except Oliver, who was looking at her with his eyebrows raised and an intriguing sparkle in his dark brown eyes.

Dorian spoked once more.

Does he ever shut up?

“Remember the other day you said you were falling behind in Potions and Transfiguration?” Oliver nodded at him, signalising her friend to keep talking. “Well, I have the perfect person to help you with that. (Y/N) tutors me from time to time in those subjects too.”

Forget the Astronomy Tower, she desperately needed some kind of magical earthquake that could crack the floor beneath her feet and swallow her whole.

It’s not like Dorian was lying, she had helped him, and still did sometimes, to study for an important test, not only in Potions and Transfiguration, but also in the rest of the subjects they shared. Merlin knew that boy was a disaster when talking about paying attention to classes. But that didn’t mean she was good enough to tutor Oliver freaking Wood. (Y/N) could treat Dorian how she wanted if he wasn’t trying to, at least, know what she was talking about, they were friends and most of their time together was spent hitting each other, but how was she supposed to act around the precious Gryffindor Quidditch Captain?

“Great!,” Oliver exclaimed quickly. A sudden blush crept all the way from below his turtle neck to his cheeks, but she couldn’t identify if it happened because of the alcohol or embarrassment from sounding “too enthusiastic”. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I was about to start looking for one. McGonagall said that if I don’t get my grades up to an Exceeds Expectations, I won’t be able to play the rest of the matches.”

“That sucks, but you’d found one already so you two can start immediately with the tutoring sessions”, Dorian commented slily while looking at her with the smile of a champion adorning his face.

He was trying exceptionally hard, she had to give him that.

In a swift movement, she drank the whole content of her cup to see if the knot that had formed on her stomach would go away. The blonde girl, perhaps a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, beside (Y/N) noticed her drink was missing and offered her to reach out for one of the bottles of the table across. The Slytherin nodded and asked for the bottle of Quintin Black if there was still one.

“So you like Scottish things?” Oliver observed, with his eyes lighted up and his bottom lip stuck beneath his teeth, when he saw her grab the bottle of alcohol filled to the middle with onyx liquid.

“She sure does.” She heard Dorian mumble, he had tried to hide the smirk burying his face on his cup but (Y/N) took notice of that too. After giving him a pointed look, she turned her head towards Oliver, who, hopefully, hadn’t heard her friend’s remark; if he had, he was good at concealing it.

Her response was interrupted by the starting melody of “Lay all your love on me”, one of her favourite songs, and a voice that could only belong to her best friend, screaming her name. Out of nowhere, Isla took her hand, said something to Oliver and Dorian about returning her to them later, and yanked (Y/N) to the direction of the made up dance floor, making her almost drop the cup she was holding.

It was an unspoken rule between them, whenever one of their favourite songs was on the radio, they would stop what they were doing, important or not, and start to dance and sing, without caring about other people’s opinion. It was something like a ritual that had become a safe space and a signature of their friendship for both of the girls.

A few seconds through the song had played when Celine stopped dancing and approached her friend, whispering something in her ear.

“Okay, don’t look and don’t freak out, but Oliver hot stuff Wood is staring at you.”

“What? What do I do?”

“Just keep dancing, I guess, maybe he likes it.”

“I don’t know how to dance, why would he like it?”

Confusion and panic in her eyes, (Y/N) tried to think about all the logical reasons Oliver Wood, one of the most attractive guys in the school, could be watching her dance. The girl knew she wasn’t beautiful, even if her best friend repeatedly said so, she wasn’t funny or interesting and, on top of all, she belonged in Slytherin, the House with the worst reputation.

“No idea, but whatever it is, keep doing it.”

Her best friend winked at her, a large and contagious smile spreading over her face. Grabbing one of (Y/N)’s hands, she made her twirl around following the fast beat of the song. Seizing the opportunity, (Y/N) glanced at Oliver and discovered that he was, indeed, staring at her while he drank from his black cup.

A random and unexpected laugh flew out of her mouth. Her best friend, carefree as always, began to giggle with her while dancing around the room. She had never felt more alive, and some people would think she was ridiculous for actually thinking it, but singing her favourite song at the top of her lungs, dancing and laughing and just having fun with her best friend. Excitement running through her veins uniting with the nerves Oliver’s attention towards her had provoked; a slight headache caused by the alcohol mixing with the new confidence coming from the same thing.

Aware of the dark brown eyes focusing on her, she turned around once more, but this time she didn’t look away. She kept singing, beaming at him from the middle of the dance floor, and maintaining eye contact. A sudden thought appeared on her mind, if she’d had maybe one more full cup of Quintin Black, perhaps she would’ve been confident enough to ask him on a date.

Don’t go wasting your emotions, lay all your love on me.

Don’t go sharing your devotion, lay all your love on me.

(Y/N) didn’t think that he would take that as an invitation when she whispered the words while looking at him, it wasn’t even meant to be one, but Oliver Wood had left his cup on the table next to him and was now walking towards her.

A little small talk, a smile and baby I was stuck.

I still don’t know what you’ve done with me.

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #slytherin!reader #oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x slytherin!reader #slytherin #harry potter fanfiction #oliver wood imagine #fluff #oliver wood fanfiction #oliver wood oneshot #hp imagine

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tealtoedtoots · 3 years

Text

Two Super Vampires Walk Into a Bar...

“To me, immortality was something utterly unimportant and trivial. All that has ever mattered to me was living up to my code.”

Wamuu and Esidisi go out on the town and have a little heart to heart about the future.

Wamuu wasn’t usually one for drinking. Not often, anyway. He’d partake on occasion, but ultimately, he had decided that this particular diversion was not for him. He didn’t like the idea of not being in complete control over his emotions.

So it was with some reluctance, one night, that he agreed to go out drinking with Master Esidisi.

It was not long after they crossed the sea. They had been traveling for some time until they found themselves in a magnificent coastal city, marked with gorgeous architecture and bustling with life. Esidisi, ever lively, found himself with just enough spare energy to fancy a drink or two somewhere in this exciting new place. Kars did not share his enthusiasm. By the time they found a place to stay, the red-eyed man, perhaps a tad more red-eyed than usual, was ready for a rest.

So it was up to the dutiful Wamuu to accompany his master for the night. Truthfully, it wasn’t just his aversion to alcohol that made him wary of sharing a drink with Esidisi. He had much on his mind. The voyage had been quite unsettling for all of them, and Wamuu was left wondering if this grand quest for complete immortality was worth such risks. Or if he wanted such a thing at all. Ordinarily, he’d keep such doubts to himself, but he was terrified of the liquor loosening his tongue. And, shrewd as Esidisi was, it wouldn’t take much to see right through him.

Still, his master wanted to go out, and he couldn’t just let him go alone. So, with some good-humored advice from Kars, (“Make sure he behaves.” “Yes, Lord.” “Don’t let him start anything.” “Yes, Lord.” “Don’t get stuck somewhere before sunrise.” “Yes, Lord.”) they were off on their little tour around town.

Even at so late an hour, the city was fluttering with people, between and around such grandiose structures the likes neither of them had ever seen. They walked under several beautiful arches made of limestone and marble with impressive friezes. They passed by a large nymphaeum, covered in mosaic with a particularly striking fountain. And then there was the theater, so enormous the two found it hard to believe there was any spectacle that could draw a large enough crowd to fill it even half full. They finally settled at a tavern of sorts. A cozy little place with a lovely view of the city. They sat in contended silence for a while, Esidisi’s cup already half-empty, Wamuu’s untouched. It was a truly beautiful night, and Wamuu was quite taken with the view.

“So, what’s troubling you, Wamuu?”

Wamuu flinched at the suddenness. What?? How could he know? He hadn’t even drunk anything yet! Had he been obvious?

“Oh…” He wasn’t ready to have this talk. Leave it to Master to charge headfirst into a potentially difficult conversation. He thought quickly. “I was merely wondering...what happens after we obtain the red stone.”

“Ah.” he seemed satisfied with the answer. “Well, I’d imagine once we’ve achieved our goal and are made properly invincible, Kars and I will travel at our leisure. See the world in a new light. Maybe take an overseas trip that isn’t miserable.” he winked at Wamuu over his cup before taking a sip. “You and Santana are welcome to join us of course, but ultimately, your eternity is yours to spend as you see fit.”

The two went quiet again, a little less comfortable this time. The last part of his reply seemed to hold some weight to it, a certain melancholy. They were both already missing Santana, which made the possibility of parting ways sting more than it normally would have. In the silence, Wamuu was surprised to find himself compelled to speak truthfully after all. He still hadn’t touched his drink, and yet whether it was the ambience of the place or his master’s subtle change in expression, he couldn’t fight the urge to confess.

“Master...what if I didn’t want to be an immortal being?”

Esidisi looked at him in surprise, and immediately Wamuu regretted not keeping his mouth shut. He had to be livid, how could he not be? He just admitted that he didn’t want the glorious life they were working so hard to achieve, and partially for his sake. He must seem so selfish. He tried to backpedal.

“H-hypothetically.” Nice save.

Esidisi looked intently at the man beside him for a time, then relaxed his face. “Of course he doesn’t.” he thinks. “This earnest and honorable fool would never have an earnest and honorable battle again. It would utterly take the wind out of his sails.” As a warrior, he understood. Esidisi had had countless battles over his long life, some of them exciting and perilous, most of them far too easily won. And though he still enjoyed the thrill of combat, he’d long made his peace that there were few of this world that could measure up.

But Wamuu was still young, and had done most of his living by their side. No doubt, he’d need to have many more encounters before he could be satisfied. He put aside his disappointment and spoke evenly.

“Well, Wamuu,” he turned forward again and took another sip. “It’s as I’ve said. Once the stone is ours, you may live your life as you please.”

Esidisi didn’t seem upset, but Wamuu was still uneasy. “And...Lord Kars?”

Esidisi stilled. Ah. That might be a different matter. Kars wouldn’t be too thrilled to hear this. Esidisi knew it came from a place of love, of course he wanted Wamuu to live forever with no threats or fears to burden him. They both did. It would be giving him everything. It would be giving him the whole world. He wouldn’t understand why he would reject such a gift, just so he can play around with some lesser beings, and at the possible cost of his life at that.

“Hmm. I won’t lie to you, Kars will likely be furious.” Wamuu knew the answer, but his heart sank anyway.

“But don’t let it torment you. You know how he can be. He’ll come to accept it in due time, and sooner rather than later. He cares for you deeply, after all.” he claps a warm hand on his back. “And anyway, knowing Kars, it won’t be long after conquering the sun before he needs something new to obsess over. Maybe his next mission will be building you the perfect opponent.” he grinned.

Wamuu smiled. He didn’t know whether the older man was joking or not, and he had a suspicion he wasn’t so sure himself, but his words cheered him considerably. He was glad that he came out tonight.

“You know, Master, I’m somewhat surprised a fierce warrior such as yourself would be so willing to give up his combative lifestyle for an eternity of peace and tranquility. With all due respect, it doesn’t seem like you.”

Esidisi chuckled. “Who said anything about peace and tranquility? Believe me Wamuu, even in paradise, if there’s trouble, I’ll find it.” His voice and his smile soften. “Besides, even if I’ve already fought my very last battle, a whole lifetime of them can only pale in comparison to an infinity with my mate.” Wamuu made a commendable effort to keep his nose from wrinkling. “Maybe someday you’ll find someone for whom you feel the same.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. He thought for a second. “Honestly, I think I’d rather spend the remainder of my time with you and Lord Kars.”

Esidisi barked a hearty laugh. “Don’t be so quick to decide that, Wamuu! That’s a long time, you may very well be sick of us by then.” He smiled at him warmly.

Wamuu smiled back. He doubted it.

It was then that Esidisi noticed Wamuu’s cup, still filled to the top. With an exaggerated sigh, he held out his hand. “Alright Wamuu, give me the drink. You haven’t touched it all night.”

Wamuu looked at the cup, then back to his master. An impish smile formed on his usually serious face. Suddenly, on a whim of rare playfulness, he jerked his head back and gulped the whole thing down in mere seconds! It was not a small drink.

Esidisi was stunned for the second time that night. He stared at him in disbelief before erupting into a fit of raucous laughter. “‘Atta boy! ‘Atta boy!! Let’s have another!” he shouted while slapping him vigorously on the back. “Maybe you can taste it this time!”

Wamuu wasn’t usually one for drinking, but he had a wonderful time that night.

EXTRA

The door opened with a loud bang, and Esidisi entered with a flourish. He found Kars in the middle of the room, comfortably laying on some blankets and looking over some scroll he managed to get his hands on.

“Why! Is that Kars, the brilliant and gorgeous love of my near-immortal life? Or is that simply the most exquisite and oddly colored mop I have ever seen?”

Kars huffed a laugh and looked at him with a sly smile.

“It’s Kars.” Esidisi said simply, kissing his cheek and making himself comfortable against Kars’ back.

“Your flattery needs work.” he turned back to his reading, still smiling.

“Really? I thought that was pretty good for me.”

“You’ve had better.” he glanced behind him. “Where’s Wamuu?”

Oh. That was a good question. Esidisi opened his eyes in realization. “Huh...he was right behind me…”

Kars sat up in alarm just before hearing a thud at the entrance. There he was, perfectly safe and completely hammered, lying right in the doorway.

“...Wamuu? Are you alright?”

Wamuu giggled drowsily in response. He raised his arm in the air and swung it in a circle a few times before giving a thumbs up, before dropping it over his face.

Kars gave Esidisi a look. “What?? There was no stopping him Kars, the boy practically drank the whole place dry!”

Kars got up with a sigh. “Oh, no he didn’t Esidisi, don’t fib.

“He did!”

Kars crossed the floor and leaned down, giving Wamuu a shake. “Wamuu.”

Wamuu opened one eye and looked at Kars. He gave him a broad and goofy smile.

“Luvff you Daahd…”

That’s both masters he’s stunned tonight. Kars’ eyes widened and he pressed his lips together in shock. He was certainly not expecting that. “O-oh!” was all he managed. Wammu didn’t hear his master’s uncharacteristically inelegant reply, he was out again almost immediately. Kars could feel Esidisi beaming at him from across the room, and he was sure he could tell he was fighting a silly smile of his own.

“You both are incorrigible.”

#jjba #battle tendency #pillarfam #fanfiction #WOO another fic down and i even titled it this time WOOT WOOT #yeah i think this might be a lil corny but what can i say im a corny binch #CORNY BINCHES RISE #theres some #esikars #in there 'cause of course there is #but mostly its just windy boy and lava dad bonding hours #<3

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redgillan · 4 years

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 1

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,183

Warnings: none

A/N: This is brand new and probably one of the softest series I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it, these two are going to fall in love so hard!

“I don’t feel good.”

You started rocking back and forth, your breathing coming too fast and too shallow. A drop of sweat rolled down from your armpit, making you hyperaware of the fact that you were looking like a mess. You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead and groaned; your hairline was wet.

Looking at your dress, you felt bile rise up in your throat.

You should have worn the blue dress. Blue was a nice colour, everyone loved blue. Blue made people calm and at ease. No, instead, you had taken Natasha’s advice and put on the tight orange-red dress that clung to your body and made your breasts look incredible.

But now the dress stuck uncomfortably to your body, the space between your breasts was wet and glistening. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. Red was the colour of passion, of anger and danger, and you just had to deal with your poor life decision.

Although deep down, you knew it wasn’t about the dress, or its colour.

“Relax,” Natasha said, sipping her lemonade. “I’m here, it’s going to be fine.”

“I am not fucking relaxed, Nat,” you repeated with a scoff. “I’m at a bar, about to meet a potential sugar daddy; that’s not what normal people do on a Friday night.”

“You’d be surprised,” she sassed. You gave her an unimpressed look. “Look, you can live with me for as long as you like, and you can work odd shifts at the hotel for the rest of your life if that’s what you want. But I know you, you’re an artist, and artists need freedom and benefactors. Sam is the reason I finished paying my tuition. You can call him my sugar daddy, but I prefer the word scholarship.”

Yeah, it was only a matter of perspective –and vocabulary. Some may call this whole thing brilliant, others stupid. You weren’t quite sure what to think yet.

“And this guy’s legit?” you asked for the nth time.

“Yes, Sam says he’s a great guy; sweet, handsome, thoughtful. He’s the whole package.”

“Mmmh.”

You eyed the pair of napkins the waiter had placed on the table along with your drinks, and wondered if it would be appropriate to stick them under your armpits to sop up the sweat trickling down your sides.

“Oh, fuck it,” you grumbled, reaching for the napkins.

You patted your armpits dry while you anxiously scanned the growing crowd. It was a high end bar, definitely not your usual hang out spot. The patrons were dressed in designer clothes and wore jewellery that cost more than your three years of art classes at the School of Visual Arts.

“Do we really have to stay sober?”

Natasha cocked a brow at you. “You don’t drink.”

You only groaned in response.

“I know how you’re feeling, I’ve been there, too,” she replied. “It’ll be like a normal first date. You’ll get to know each other, see if you guys hit it off, and if everything goes well you’ll talk about the arrangement. You can’t give consent if you’re under the influence of alcohol, so drink your lemonade and stop fussing, yeah?”

Like an obedient child, you brought the bent straw to your lips and took a quick sip of the icy refreshment. You toyed with the straw and watched the ice cubes slowly shrink. It was strangely soothing.

“They’re here.”

And just like that, your panic returned full force. You snapped your head up and tried to smile when you saw Sam approaching your table. You set your drink down on the coffee table and wiped your clammy hands on your dress.

Natasha stood up and gave Sam a kiss. While she wiped off a smudge of lipstick she had left on his upper lip, you glanced at the man behind Sam.

He was tall, muscular, and had a mysterious air about him. He was dressed casually, in black jeans and white t-shirt with a maroon bomber jacket that suited his pale complexion. The left sleeve of his jacket was tucked inside, empty.

Even without being an expert in behaviour analysis, you could tell he felt uncomfortable. He bowed his head to hide his face and kept looking around as if someone was going to attack him or as if he wanted to know where the nearest exit was.

Sam whispered something in the man’s ear and clapped him on the back before he turned to you.

“Okay, we’ll let you guys get to know each other.” Natasha looped her arm through Sam’s, and gave you an encouraging smile. You heard Sam whispering to his friend again. “Buck, seriously, you look like someone shoved a broomstick up your ass. Relax, man.”

“We’ll be over at the bar if you need anything.”

She gave you a thumbs-up as Sam led her across the crowd, toward the bar. With an authoritative look, Sam pointed to the seat across from yours and mouthed ‘sit’ at his friend who rolled his eyes and ground his teeth in response.

“Hi,” you started, trying to sound cheerful but the slight tremble in your voice gave you away.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he cut you off, “you seem like a nice girl but I’m not looking for anyone, least of all a sugar baby. I told Sam it was a stupid idea, but he never listens. This has nothing to do with you, I’m sure you’re great. I’m really sorry, I hope you’re not disappointed.”

He had barely made eye contact with you during his long-winded speech but you did notice that they were blue. Now that you knew this wasn’t going anywhere, your shoulders lowered and you felt yourself smiling.

“Of course, I understand. I wasn’t particularly thrilled, too. No offense.”

He bent his head and ran a hand through his hair, his lips curved up in a soft smile. “Is your friend as meddling as mine?”

You let out a loud laugh, your eyes widening. “More! If meddling were an Olympic sport, Nat would have more medals than Michael Phelps.”

His shoulders shook in a soundless chuckle but he still wasn’t looking at you. “So why’d you agree?”

You took your glass of lemonade and played with the straw while you searched for an answer that wouldn’t sound too desperate or dramatic. You majestically failed.

“I guess I felt like I had nothing to lose.” You shrugged. “It’s like when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff and you only have two options; jumping off the cliff or getting eaten by a pack of wolves,” you said, checking them off on your fingers as you enumerated them. “You have to choose the lesser of two evils.”

He frowned, a curious glint in his eyes and a hint of a smile curved his lips. Your eyes widened when you realized you might have offended him.

“Not that I think you’re evil,” you rushed to add. “What I meant to say is that sometimes you don’t really have a choice. And when you have no other option but to jump, well... your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.”

He slowly raised his eyes to meet yours, a form of understanding in the depth of his icy blue eyes. He was truly handsome; a little older than the men you usually went out with, but he had kind eyes and very, very nice lips. You looked away, feeling a little foolish.

“Wow, I’m fun at parties, uh? Guess you dodged a bullet,” you laughed, cringing a little as you said it.

He returned a tight smile, loaded with something sad. He looked at you a moment longer and you held your breath, suddenly hoping he would stay and chat. A solemn expression crossed his face and he seemed to go through some kind of inner struggle before he reached a decision.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, shaking your hand before wishing you goodnight. You watched him leave the bar, his shoulders hunched forward, looking as tense as he did when he entered.

That tiny flicker of hope left with him.

“Hey!” Sam called out, a deep frown on his face as he approached you. “Where is he going?”

“It didn’t work out,” you answered with a shrug.

Sam deflated. “I bet he didn’t even try.”

“Does it really matter?” you replied, shrugging into your coat, something way too thin for the changing weather. “He’s not ready, and honestly, you can’t blame him. This sugar daddy-baby thing isn’t for everyone.”

“I know that,” Sam argued, blowing out a frustrated breath. He turned to Natasha, silently pleading with her to understand, but she was as clueless as you were.

There were lots of reasons Sam wanted Bucky to meet you, and none of them included sex. It was difficult to explain his motivations without betraying his friend’s trust; without telling you too much about Bucky.

“I’m not trying to find him a girlfriend,” Sam continued. “He needs more friends, and he has connections to help you in the art world. I thought you two could help each other out.”

You wrapped your scarf around your neck and grabbed the backpack you had shoved under your seat. It contained your work uniform, clean underwear, toiletries, a bottle of water, your wallet, and a couple of granola bars. Your whole life was in that backpack.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you said, adjusting the trap of your bag. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” You turned to Nat. “I’m going to stay at the hotel tonight, my shift starts at 6 so you’ll have the apartment to yourself.”

Without waiting for an answer, you disappeared into the crowd and headed for the door. Outside the wind was blowing, the cold air biting at your face and bare legs. You took a deep breath, watching as the cold air turned your breath into white smoke.

People were milling about, taking pictures of the skyscrapers, walking hand-in-hand and marvelling at pretty much anything. New York was full of contradictions; kind and hard, smooth and rough, poor and rich. It was exciting to live here, it was exciting to see how people lived together despite their differences. For an artist such as yourself, it was a gold mine of infinite inspiration.

In front of you, a taxi drove closer to the curb, then slowed as a man stepped onto the street and opened the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw you standing there. Sam’s friend smiled at you.

He noticed your light coat, your backpack and your scuffed ankle boots. It was hard to believe that under your coat, you were wearing a sexy little number. He imagined that this was more your style, and he liked it. It was fresh, laidback, casual. He could even see a few drops of paint on the toe of your boots, a smattering of orange and blue.

“Hi, again,” he said. “Wanna share a cab?”

You nodded eagerly, your face half buried in your scarf. You were positively freezing, you didn’t even think twice about following him. He let you climb in first and jumped in after you, angling his body to hide his missing arm.

You gave the driver the address of a Holiday Inn in the Flatiron District and sank into the seat. It dawned on you that you didn’t even know his name. Sam had called him Buck, but you were pretty sure it was one of those nicknames only long-time friends are allowed to use.

“Bucky,” he said with a genuine smile after you told him your name. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening. How long are you going to stay in town?”

“No worries, you didn’t ruin anything. And I live in New York. I live with Natasha.”

“Aren’t we going to a hotel?” Bucky asked, looking out the window with a frown.

“Yup, I work there. Breakfast attendant. I figured Sam and Nat would like some privacy and sometimes my co-worker at the front desk let me borrow a room for the night.”

The car pulled to a stop at the curb and you reached into the front pocket of your backpack to retrieve your wallet. Bucky stopped you.

“Please, let me pay,” he said. “As a sorry for dragging you to a bar and leaving without even telling you my name.”

“Ouch, yes, when you put it like that it wasn’t a great night,” you said with a crooked smile. He responded with an exaggerated cringe. It made you laugh. “Hey, it wasn’t you who dragged me to a bar, it was Sam. You can always tell him to pay you back.”

His eyes brightened. “I definitely will.”

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you giggled, closing the door behind you. You walked up to the big automatic doors and waved goodbye one last time.

“’Night, angel.”

Bucky asked the driver to wait until you were safe inside before driving away. As he watched you, he thought back to what you had said earlier.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

This time, it made him smile.

part 2

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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straydawg-writing · 3 years

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦.

- 𝓚. 𝙯𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙮𝙘𝙠

• hunter x hunter series

⋯✰⋯

Chapter 2–

You knew that if anyone outside of this car saw you right now, you might just pass away. To put it simply: You were sitting on Killua's lap.

All because Kite's truck only fit seven people.

The way this predicament came about would have been comical if it weren't for your burning embarrassment. Unfortunately, you could remember very clearly how it all unfolded:

"Hmm, it seems that there aren't enough seats for all eight of us, so one person will have to squish in," Kite said, opening the car door to check the seats.

"Who's the smallest one here?" Gon asked. All seven pairs of eyes turned to look at you.

Great. The benefits of never having had your growth spurt.

Killua was the one to open his mouth, snickering, "Obviously it's Y/N. She's like a midget!"

"Killua, you are literally an entire 2 ½ feet shorter than Kite over there," you defended yourself.

From a distance, you had guessed Kite was around 6'3. Once you got a closer look at him, you discovered that he towered over you like a skyscraper. Your curiosity got the best of you and naturally, you had asked him what his height was. The man was a whopping 7 foot 10.

"It's okay Y/N, you can squish with me," Gon offered.

Killua shook his head. "No way. Squishing will just make everyone uncomfortable. It's better if only one person suffers. Y/N, you can sit on my lap."

He had left no room for argument. Sighing, you knew that even if you tried, you had no say in this anymore. You would just have to suck it up for the next 4 hours.

Now you were here, sitting on him, worrying about whether you were cutting the circulation off to his legs or not. Or perhaps you were too bony and it was hurting him.

You could feel his warm breath on your neck, and it sent goosebumps across your entire body. This was beyond awkward.

"Stop it," Killua muttered, right in your ear.

Oh, you'd done it now, hadn't you? Killua was gonna push you off onto Gon instead.

"Stop what?"

"You're so stiff, just...relax," he paused, "I don't mind sitting this way."

Hearing his voice so close to you sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Maybe this was okay.

You untensed, trying to adjust yourself to a more comfortable position, but the bumpy car ride wasn't making it very easy. Kite ran over a rock, and without a seatbelt it sent you jerking upwards. Thanks to his fast reflexes, Killua gripped your waist, holding you tightly to his body.

"The seatbelt won't reach over the both of us, but this'll keep you from flying."

"Heh, thanks Killua. I think we should reach the beach in a bit..." you said, hoping that the thought of it being over soon might offer him some relief.

It doesn't matter who it is, being this close to someone could send anyone into a frenzy. You were hyper-aware of every one of his fingers grasping onto your waist. He wasn't lying. He was keeping you right there.

You'd just have to stop thinking about it, you told yourself. Or else you'd go crazy.

Trying to relax back into Killua like he had asked, you let your mind wander to the reason you were driving in the first place. The day before, the three of you had decided to stick with Kite and help him investigate the Chimera ants. The beach you were headed to now is supposed to have a clue about where the ant queen is located, so you could bring an end to the destruction before it starts. During the car ride, you had learned they were a truly deadly species. One bite of an innocent passerby, and they had the means to bring the entire human race to extinction.

You felt like something was starting. And your intuition was rarely wrong.

Gazing at Gon who had been talking with Kite for a while now, you noticed how his eyes crinkle into little smiles whenever he talks. You knew that having Kite around, his father's best friend, surely excited him to the bone. Gon was just oozing with optimism, without even trying. You could tell that just by being himself, he was keeping the spirits up of all eight in the group, not allowing any room for doubt or fear to creep into anyone's minds.

At that moment, you swore that whatever happened, you would be there to protect Gon and Killua. Even if it costs you everything.

Hopefully, this wasn't one of your friends' last few moments of tranquility. But if it was, you were determined to spend it well.

Resting your head against Killua, you hoped that he wouldn't mind if you indulged in this for just a moment. You were tired, having not gotten much rest since completing Greed Island and meeting Kite.

It didn't take much time for you to fall asleep to the rise and fall of Killua's steady breathing and his sweet vanilla scent. If you'd been awake, you might have even heard his heartbeat racing beneath you.

⋯✰⋯

You had finally reached the beach.

Killua had nudged you awake once you'd gotten there. You remembered how his blue eyes stared back at you as he poked your face, calling you an idiot for falling asleep, and you chuckled.

There was one thing you were clueless about; Killua had made sure not to move even once the whole rest of the car ride. He was nervous that he might disturb your peacefully sleeping form.

You were still pretty groggy as you looked out at the sea, the bright sun reflecting on the ocean's surface. You wanted to wiggle your toes in the sand, but you were there for a reason. To find anything that might lead to the Queen.

You searched in bushes, behind rocks, under seashells, and even used your nen to sift through as much sand as you could. So far, the group had ruled out the forest and deemed it difficult to know if the ant even ended up on the same island. That's when they decided to release the hellhound. Well- it wasn't a hellhound. It was the little dog you played with yesterday. Along with Gon.

Gon was following behind the dog on all floors, sniffing the ground as he went.

"He can do that?" You asked no one in particular.

"His nose is as sharp as a dog's," Killua responded, watching Gon with an amused look in his eye.

A couple minutes went by with no luck. The only thing the dog had found was a tree to pee on. It looked like the ant wasn't going to be on this island, though Kite had an idea.

"It may have washed ashore somewhere else. Which direction do the currents flow here?" Kite asked the two that had brought us down to the beach. One was short with brown skin and grey hair that sprouted up like hay, while the other had large glasses and two front teeth poking out from his mouth.

"The direction is reversed between day and night. And it also changes with the seasons. I've even heard it's different on certain days. So it'll be tough to pinpoint a location..." said Chipmunk Teeth. That's what you'd call him, since you hadn't gotten his name.

So basically, no one had any idea on how to find the Chimera Ant Queen.

"Continuing to search blindly is pointless. We should return to YorkNew and see if we can find any new leads there."

You heard the group around you agreeing with Kite. He and his friends began walking back to the truck already, but you stayed put. You would catch up to them later.

The ocean reminded you of your home. You thought you should say goodbye to it first.

Ripples of water lapped gently at your feet. You always had a connection with nature. Having lived in a small village located in the middle of a jungle most of your life, the earth had become your dearest friend. One of your earliest memories was from exploring the coves back at home. You stretched out your arm across the water, and watched the liquid softly rise to your hand as you called it.

That's why you chose this nen ability. It tied you to the elements. When you fought with it, together you were one body.

"Y/N, come on! Kite's threatening to leave without you," Gon waved you over. Taking one last look at the sea, you turned away.

The sun was already setting by the time you left for the city.

⋯✰⋯

Going back to YorkNew was the right decision. Now you all knew where to look.

Kite had discovered that the possibilities of the Chimera Ant landing in NGL were the highest. Apparently, NGL was a country populated with people who wanted to get away from machine civilization and live in nature.

You loved nature too, but you thought that was a little extreme. There was a reason you had to leave your beloved jungle behind.

"There may very well be a giant swarm of Chimera Ants already hunting humans down. If that's the case, my top priority will be saving them. You must be able to protect yourselves," Kite warned us.

"And if I am the one in trouble, you should escape without me."

At that, Gon and Killua looked unsettled. But backing down now was not an option.

"Got it," you said, breaking the silence and offering a kind nod to Kite, "and until the very last moment, the three of us will have your back."

"Yeah!" The other two boys concurred.

Now, you sat with Gon and Killua on an airship to NGL. The three of you were sitting on a bench, looking out of a window that framed velvet-peach clouds displaying brilliant silver linings.

Gon was reflecting on their last conversation with Kite.

"You said that Ging had a reason for bringing me and Kite together," he rested his arms and head on the window-frame.

Killua broke his sight from the clouds and looked at Gon.

"Yeah, I did."

"You're probably right. I don't know the reason, but I can't give up halfway, no matter what's going on. Otherwise, I'll disappoint Ging... And I'd never be able to forgive myself either. So I won't run away," Gon continued, resolved with his decision.

There was a moment of silence as the three of you let his words sink in.

You admired Gon's determination, but you hated that Ging had a son risking his life just to avoid disappointing a dad he's never met.

"Man, you had this totally serious expression, so I was expecting something big. But it's just business as usual," Killua smiled.

"Huh?" Gon's mouth hung open. "I thought about this a lot, I even ran a bunch of mental simulations! And I liked what Y/N said earlier, about having Kite's back until the very end."

"Think all you want, but you'll still be Gon. If someone said to abandon them, you'd never do it," You lightly punched his shoulder.

He pouted, cradling where you hit him, and you rolled your eyes.

"Drama queen."

Gon chose to ignore that and turned back to Killua. "Then what would you do?'"

"I'm a spontaneous guy, so I'd think about it once the time comes."

"So, you'd run away?" Gon questioned.

"Depends. I can't say until it actually happens."

"Say for instance..."

Killua threw his hands up, beat, "I can't tell you what I'd do in a hypothetical situation!"

"Then, what about you Y/N?"

"Gon!" You whined.

Truth be told, you hadn't thought about what you would do. It depended like Killua said. But you did know one thing...

"I would never leave you two behind. Even if that meant I'd have to die."

⋯✰⋯

#hunter x hunter #killua x reader #killua zoldyck x reader #hunterxhunter fanfiction #hxh #self insert #y/n #hxh fanfic #chimera ant arc #kite #angst #fluff

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namjoonchronicles · 3 years

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bones | nj

↳ pairing namjoon, reader

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 3.0k

↳ summary namjoon’s only dream is to change the world, and sometimes when he couldn’t, he would turn to no one. even as it eats him up, spit him out and left him lifeless. the greatest mistake in love is to hand someone else the responsibility to your happiness, but is it really a mistake?

↳ warning depression; loosely inspired by the recent the return of superman show

↳ song shawn mendes ‘wonder’, maggie lindemann ‘couple of kids’

↳ author’s note new year greetings came four days late this year, sorry about that... i was searching for a suitable theme to write, so i opt for a non-serious one. i planned to engage in a 7-day writing challenge this week, starting with namjoon on monday. wish me luck! and happy reading! <3

“Please turn them off…” the deep grovel of his voice took you by surprise. It wasn’t like you to not have noticed when he walked in. The television had the show ‘The Return of Superman’ playing. By the sound of the troubling huff he let out, as he stood, hanging his long coat on the coat hanger, it seemed like he had a rough day. He didn’t look at you in the eye when he walked in, and it seemed like he would like to disappear today. You blinked to the view of his back disappearing into the hallway to the right, heading to his home studio. Hanging your face down to your lap, you pointed the remote to the screen and it turned to a black screen. Long story short, the kids in the show wanted to see him. And long story short, they weren’t able to reach a meeting point resulting in the kids meeting another artist instead. By the looks of it, Namjoon isn’t taking it lightly. By the looks of it, he seemed a little disappointed. And for that, you don’t really know how to interfere, or if he wanted you to.

Namjoon and you really stood in the grey area sometimes, when it comes to trespassing each other’s boundaries. It’s really difficult to read him sometimes, because he keeps so much to himself. It was something you both mutually understand when you both ended up together. The go-no-go point had always been a grey. There’s so much at stake and your intricated mind combined with his sometimes doesn’t allow room for negotiation. When something like this happens, you have to analyse where he stands. And sometimes you miss your hit. The more time you miss, the more frightened you are where the next one comes. They say, if you don’t have to watch your words with someone, you’ve found the right one. But when it comes to Namjoon, you refuse to say the wrong words because you don’t want to hurt him. Not after all he’s been through. So you took light, careful steps towards the door to his home studio. Watching him bended over his chair, mouse running wild. His face shone by the light from the computer screen.

“Hey,” you softly whispered. Leaning your face against the door frame, hand clasping the edges of the door.

He hollowed his cheek, tutted his tongue out and said, “Hey” to the screen instead. A short silence followed. Then,

“I didn’t know they were coming to see me. They lied to those kids saying they’ll meet me, and they didn’t. They must have felt so betrayed.” He hung his head low. He rubs his nose. “What can you do? It’s a show… It doesn’t make you a bad person,” your voice, gentle, persuasive as ever. It was the only way you think would get to him.

Since when did it matter what others think of him? You would be foolish to say that. Knowing Namjoon as long as you did, you know criticism no matter how constructive or harsh, they dent the same deep to him. Be it his music, be it his words. Silence from his side, yet again. Moving away you decided to say one last thing for his consideration.

“There’s always more than one way… My husband used to tell me,” you shut the door behind you, a lopsided smile on your lips.

Stunted by the pitch darkness he sat in, your words resonated in his mind and he looked down the keyboards and grinned. You are right, there’s always more ways than one.

More ways than one. To say that Namjoon had a perfect childhood would be vastly inaccurate. His brilliant mind was not without a cost. You both hid behind words you didn’t say. The pain that felt so familiar and the fear that is mutual. For a while, he somehow convinced you to push through. And with him, the glass is always half full. And by glass full, Namjoon’s quiet determination and drive would inspire you to keep going. When he is sound asleep at night, the dim light draws the shape of his body, you would place your palm on one side of his face, thumbing his cheek, just to feel him there. His breathings would slow down. His most vulnerable state, and just hours ago, he was reading to you a poem he wrote. The stirs would stop and you pulled the blankets further up his chin. You brushed his bangs back and placed a kiss on his forehead, letting your lips linger a second longer than usual. It just felt a while. Like it was a dream.

Gravitating towards Namjoon, it only seemed natural. The bike nights rides along the Han River, he bulleted through the summer night breeze while you opened your arms wide sitting behind him. The moon and the stars were witness to it all. He blew air bubbles to the sky while you tried to catch them all with your open palm. Sitting on the grass, his arms around your waist. You were falling heavenly, recklessly. Sharing lilac cotton candy, and meeting each other's lips through it. He tasted like cotton candy, sticky and sweet. You could feel him smile against your lips. “We can’t save everyone, Joonie,” you spoke softly, “Those we can, we could…”

With his shut eye, he said, “I did all that I could… but why didn’t it feel enough?”

It’s a terrible thing to feel helpless. To feel restricted, to feel limited. The barricades are held up and for someone like Namjoon who is adamant to strike barriers head on, there seems to be places he couldn’t break through. And that feeling is discouraging. It is limiting and groundless. Namjoon is determined to make changes in the world, wherever it fits. There are places he couldn’t go though, despite the remarkable footsteps he had already pioneered. Namjoon is brave, relentless. He refused surrender and the louder his voices are, the more shackles they put on his ankles. It is only due time that he would explode. He just had hearts too big for his body, and if you think he doesn’t have more to give, you’re wrong. He is as possessive to the things that are his, you just need to name it.

Possessive. The word would seem so harsh. But it was everything Namjoon is. You had just bawled the night away for having to marry a family friend’s son who had gotten divorce from two of his wives. You had never been so scared because not only was the man twice older than you are, he was also your tutor when you were 15. He had been eyeing on you since then, and it disgusted you so. With no words from Namjoon for days after you told him the story, your faith in him was fading. You felt so unprotected and sold away by your own parents. No one cared. The next day, the predator will come and he will take your hand in marriage whether you want it or not. You considered running away. But where would you go? Anywhere would have been just fine.

That same night Namjoon stormed into your parent’s house, drenched in the rain, pounding on the door. Then you heard your father open the front door to the porch.

“I may not be the son-in-law you dreamt of, nor am I a perfect son to my parents. I have nothing to give her. I am not adequate but I have dreams larger than myself, and that dream is to have your daughter as my wife. I am not the son-in-law you want, but I am the husband your daughter needs. My name is Kim Namjoon and I cannot let her marry anyone else but me.”

His wedding vows were immaculate. The night before your wedding, you asked him, “You want to take care of my heart?”

“Absolutely,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation and crinkly eyes, with a big smile.

When you think about those impeccable moments, you know his devotion is pure. That’s why loving him is easy and difficult.

What do you like most about me? What an odd thing to ask. Watching the people cross the road as the traffic light turned red for them. The fine dust reading shoots off the roof again today. The wedding ring on your ring finger, curled around the steering wheel of your worn out car. The diamond catching the light, decorating the roof of your car with little rainbows. You smiled to your chest then to the side. When is it ever not strange when it comes to Namjoon. Of course he had to ask you the easiest yet the most difficult question as you were rushing out the door with minutes to spare. Hopping on one feet, holding on to his stomach to keep your balance.

But you couldn’t forget those eyes. Those pleading eyes. Felt like it mattered to his life what your answers were.

The light turns green. You dropped the brakes and gently pressed on the accelerator. It could have been easily his heart, or his mind, mostly both. And possibly everything in between; no, most definitely everything in between. Or is it his arms, that feels like an asylum or a fortress, depending on the situation? Or his lips, with the things it says or the things it does? Or his ears that continue to earnestly listen to you whining or screaming or the static silence he demanded to make sense of?

Why did it have to be what he offers you? Why can’t you love him for what he didn’t offer you?

The answers aren’t simple at all.

And as the answer you said loomed over you, hours on end at work and through lunch and important meetings, you feel like the clock is ticking in your ear. Why didn’t you look at his expressions when you left? What were you rushing for? You made it on time but you left things unsettled at home. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right at all.

“Namjoon, you’re a firework.” The words you threw ringing in his ear like it was only yesterday, since he said he wanted you. It was the most remarkable, most detrimental, most damaging words he had ever heard someone say to him. It didn’t help that he was deeply enthralled by you. He was broken, so beautifully broken. The way his edges are both sharp and blunt and in patterns unique to him; he was a deliberately planned masterpiece. He understood what you said; and you talk in riddles he is fluent in. You hide in metaphors and intricate words of a poet. Your true feelings never fully revealed. Sometimes he feels like he is walking in circles, or falling in a bottomless pit. Sometimes he feels like he’s found home away from home and finally talking in a language someone spoke.

Firework. It could be a compliment and an insult. They are the prettiest in the darkest night, the glittering lights, the adrenaline inducing sound of explosion; always the highlight of a celebration, an achievement, the peak--everything good in life. But when the fireworks ended, the darkness loomed again, the adrenaline fell as the silence grew; anticipations dug its grave with each moment passing without sound--excitement, plummeting to the ground. Fireworks are temporary happiness. You said you were a mere spectator. It was both a compliment and an insult. Namjoon realised that what he projected wasn’t the same thing you were looking for. You wanted forever. He looked in your eyes the same way he looked at you when you left for work this morning; with longing he didn’t quite fathom the depth of.

When he sits in his room, getting lost in the words carried by the author, he forgets about all the things that worry him. With the desktop lit up of a wallpaper of you mashing his face between your hands, face so close to each other, smiling contently, behind him. This house is littered with love. They are in the walls, on the floor and all over the ceiling.

“I am terrified of you,” you said, laying next to him in bed one night. It felt like an untimely confession. The words he never expected from you. At first, he thought it was due to how intimidating he looks. He’s almost six feet tall, he frowns at everything, almost tactlessly blunt to anything about quality-- terrified is a weak word. He looks like he hates everything and won’t stay behind for anything that doesn’t interest him. But it wasn’t. Your fear was not from how he is built but the way that he stayed. You always expected people to leave after a certain time spent. But he just keeps coming back and everytime he does, you get scared.

“I had never had anyone stay that long before,” you looked up at the ceiling while he looked at you, counting your eyelashes.

“I don’t know what to do…” you turned to him and casted your eyes downwards, “People like you aren’t supposed to be with people like me.”

Everyone deals with pain differently. In the commotion of a subway station, in front of the crowded cafes, the congested road and the beeping from the cashier’s counter. These faces staring at the floor, these fast-paced steps, the little jogs to the closing elevator door. The beginning of the year always feels overwhelming. The expectation is high, the spirits and passion is off the roof. Guess it was the disappointment that scares you the most. How many years did January begin the same way and December had it all taken away or drained till you are hollow on the inside?

A pair of supple lips, butterfly kisses trail up your shoulders to your cheek, a pair of strong arms snaked around your hips, pulling you in a rib-cage squeezing hug. A smile grew on your lips.

“What are you thinking so hard of, it's’ not even noon yet?” the deep grovel of his voice disrupted your train of thoughts, much to your dismay. Then you switch to face him, pointing your index finger to the ceiling as his hand rests on your bum.

“There’s a time in your life that you’re scared of me pushing you away when you kiss me,” your eyes twinkle at him and he wanes in his stance.

“Why are you making me nervous so early in the morning?” throwing his head back, showing you his frustration, “We’re married now, you can’t push me away…I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

When the light caught his luminacing brown eyes, you thought about how astonishing it was; to be loved, to be understood, to be broken and healed at the same time--all by the same set of eyes. The way it catches the sun, rain and storm. There’s something a pair of eyes could say without words.

In autumn, when those eyes cried a river, head filled with broken dreams and dreaded nights, and you caught the net, the whirl of the still moments stole your spineless sanity. The dizzying concoction of despair and anger the year had. And in a few more days, the new year will come. With every year passing, the more you dreaded the things you didn’t do. You blame yourself for the things you couldn’t change. The year felt like a dream; floating in the air, weightless. With no stone to keep you in place, you wandered like a lost soul, the only thing familiar was those lumineering brown eyes. Those eyes, when you see them--home.

As he sat there, talking, endlessly, chuckling, showing you his phone screens and wishes he got for both of you, you drifted into space. You didn’t hear a thing he said, you just, existed. And you watched him, in all that he is. All the troubled nights he didn’t speak to you about, the pain he hid away, the things he didn’t say and everything he felt. Then you think about all the times that he saved you when you’re in pain. When his hugs were as strong as the deteriorating war in your head, when his whispers were louder than the demons, and the hand he held tighter than the things you couldn’t fight against. There’s forever in his eyes. And you hadn’t seen that in years.

In winter, when the cold is numbing and the only thing warm is his breaths, the world is white in snow and those eyes searching the crowds land on you and turn into a pair of crescents. No stones left unturned, the battles he faced-- Namjoon was the war you chose. It was then you realised that even if the world collides and the ground turns to skies, it's his hand you want to hold. Driving along the same route you came from, your tired eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror, you heard yourself asking, “What do you love most about you?”

Namjoon. Loving Namjoon is what I love most about me.

He shows you that no matter how self centred you were, you were capable of infinite love.

Namjoon might have lain awake for hours before you did. Arduously, he loved. Silently, he thought. In his mind, he would have kissed you awake. Then, when he asked you what you loved most about him, he least expected a deep answer, not at the time frame that was given to you. He felt found and kept safe. He found forever in you. No words would have sufficed.

“Bones.” “Bones?” “Bones… I love your bones. They make up everything you are.”

Curling his arms around your waist while you sleep soundly, he nudges his face in the back of your hair as he pulls you close. These bones love you too. Ferociously, immensely, profoundly. . . . . . Namjoon sent a video to the kids that wanted to see him that day. The kids are more excited than ever. They may not have met, but Namjoon’s sincerity flourished through the video message. You are absolutely right, there’s always more ways than one. We can’t save everyone, but we could save those we can. .

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