#it bores me to read the same thing over and over in difficult publications from different interviews

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

As someone who wants to go into journalism specifically focused on features/profiles, it irritates me to no end how actually good and engaging questions about a subject’s work (that they are currently promoting!!) will get sacrificed for a question that’s based around a meme/doesn’t have any real connection to their work and that they have heard repeatedly.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!” 

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place. 

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding. 

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to  theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.” 

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.” 

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between. 

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room  having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?” 

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it. 

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it. 

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it. 

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length. 

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

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[accio-victuuri]

xiao zhan - GQ February issue cover story Q&A 📝

They have experienced real things. There is no camera facing you. Without lights, you are living your own real life.

GQ: When did it become clear that you wanted to be an actor?

Xiao Zhan: When the public paid more and more attention to me, I want to say, why can’t I do it? I think I can. Sometimes I get shaken and think it’s so difficult. Why can’t I do it? For example, when it comes to lines, why are my lines just not good? Why can’t I speak well with others? Is it because I'm from the South? I don't think so, and then I think, how can I say it well? I can do it, let's give it a try.

GQ: In your opinion, what are the professional standards for actors?

Xiao Zhan: First of all, being professional is an unavoidable topic. You can have a non-major background, but you must have excellent professional skills. This is what I want to do, this is who I am. I feel that I am not enough, and i’m too far behind.

After becoming professional, attitude is very important and whether you love it is also very important. Do you just treat it as a job, or do you really like it? These are two concepts. When you see it as a job, you may not be able to go very far. But if you really like it, you will cry for it and laugh for it, which may be the motivation for you to stick to it.

I also have a strong body (laughs). I used to not feel tired when I was in my twenties, but now I feel very tired after staying up late. It's a terrible thing to be. A strong body is important, it is your foundation.

GQ: When you acted in which role or drama, did you feel recognized?

Xiao Zhan: When I was working on "The Wolf" at the beginning, I was under a lot of pressure. My acting teacher would give me a lot of advice and guidance, and I would constantly overturn my own performance every day. t was a period of confusion. After you get over it, you will find that you have grown. When you start acting later, you will gradually find a little bit of feeling, and then step by step — this is a cumulative process.

I feel that I have acted too little. Compared with some of my predecessors, who have acted in many works in their thirties, my current works are still too few and I have not accumulated enough.

GQ: Are you anxious?

Xiao Zhan: Yes, because I think (improving acting skills) is a cumulative process. You can’t make a big step forward with just one movie. This is difficult for me to happen. So you have to keep filming, but you have to keep filming good films and don't consume yourself.

GQ: What are the considerations behind the expansion of the three film and television dramas to be broadcast in 2023 from costume dramas to period dramas and urban dramas?

Xiao Zhan: Actually, I didn’t think anything about it. It just happened naturally. I didn’t deliberately change the themes that I had acted in before. I just read the script and the script was handed to me at the time. I felt attracted to a certain script at the moment, so I chose it. It just happened to be a subject that I had never acted in before.

GQ: Do you feel tired after always acting in costume dramas?

Xiao Zhan: There are many types of costumes. Don’t divide them into costume dramas and modern dramas. It’s nothing more than putting on a hood and changing clothes. In fact, the core is the same, but also just completely different.

GQ: Once your drama is aired, will you follow it?

Xiao Zhan: I won’t follow it, but I will watch it, and I will choose the scenes that I care about to focus on, so I can find problems for myself.

GQ: Will you be able to watch the barrage?

Xiao Zhan: I used to really know how to do it. I felt very happy and laughed with everyone, but now I can’t do it.

GQ: What kind of role do you want to play now?

Xiao Zhan: If I could choose, of course it would be the best one I haven’t tried yet. I need freshness. If I ask you to do the same thing every day, you will be bored.

GQ: What kind of actor do you want to be?

Xiao Zhan: I want to be an actor that the audience can like.

GQ: Have you already done this to make people like you?

Xiao Zhan: No, no, I think it’s far from enough. I once thought about whether to be an actor with a personal style or to be an actor that the audience likes just by looking at you. At present, I want to be an actor who makes the audience like you. Maybe everyone is not your fan, or even not particularly interested in you, but you know that he has a drama, Do you want to watch it? His dramas are all good. I want to do this. This is my current goal. Is it possible to become the actor I like? This is a rule.

It’s a long road, take your time.

GQ: Who are your favorite actors?

Xiao Zhan: There are many. For example, Zhou Xun has always been my favorite actor. I recently watched her play ("Waving in the Poison of Anger"), and it was really great.

GQ: What are your career plans in 2024?

Xiao Zhan: Make more movies and work with more good teams. This is the only goal at the moment, and I won’t consider other things for the time being.

GQ: Do voices on social media bother you?

Xiao Zhan: It doesn’t bother me. It’s been so many years and I’m still worried. I’m still alive. (English) It’s really okay. Just like I know exactly what I'm doing, every time. To make a choice, you have to clearly know what you are doing, what you want to give up, and what you want to make. So, fortunately, the team may have more troubles.

GQ: Your personal life has not been affected?

Xiao Zhan: Very normal! I can go out for a ride or a walk. When you walk on the street, no one really cares about you. It's really not what everyone thinks. Like this, then I can walk around freely,

GQ: Is this an escape moment for you?

Xiao Zhan: It’s time to relax. Why do you want to escape? I am also in the third dimension. Where do I want to escape? This is my life. I am the same as everyone.

There are many things I particularly want to do, such as taking the subway and shopping in shopping malls, which are very similar to when I was in school, and maybe I will do them in the future.

GQ: Do you miss the ordinary life very much?

Xiao Zhan: It’s not that I miss it, it’s that I think I should do it. It’s because of my popularity. I will really take the subway, maybe tomorrow. It’s so normal. I used to take the subway every day. for me there’s nothing I can't do. What do you think I can do? Say hello and leave. It’s just that I don’t want to cause confusion and trouble for everyone or cause a bad reaction.

GQ: You have not appeared on variety shows in recent years. Is this a conscious choice?

Xiao Zhan: Because it’s not suitable. With my personality, people get tired in variety shows. I want to take care of everyone’s feelings, which makes me very tired. Now that I know this is the case, If there is a result, then just don’t do it.

GQ: What was your original intention in entering the entertainment industry?

Xiao Zhan: I really came in inexplicably and ignorantly. I used to watch talent shows and interview the top contestants. How did i get to this point? I accompanied my friend to participate in the selection, but my friend failed and I was selected. When I was a child, I thought these things were far away from me, but when it comes to myself, it is really like this. I think it's amazing. I participated in the draft and got to where I am now. It's amazing. Life is really interesting.

GQ: What things have you not thought of before after entering the industry?

Xiao Zhan: It is a very cruel thing not to eat wantonly. When I see my former high school classmates who have children and gained weight, I will sigh, I want this too— eating recklessly, their living conditions make me feel that if I had not chosen this path at that time, maybe we are all the same, having to socialize and endure hardships — rushing to design at night, you don't know how tiring it is to do design, but life is like this, there is no way.

GQ: How did choosing this piece change you?

Xiao Zhan: Maybe I lack a lot of life experience. In this regard, my classmates and friends are far better than me. They have experienced real things. There is no camera facing you. Without lights, you are living your own real life.

GQ: Are you an emotionally stable person?

Xiao Zhan: It's relatively stable, but once I touch some points, I will become very unstable.

GQ: For example?

Xiao Zhan: It’s just... some things that cannot be said. Haha, maybe when something incredible happens, you will think, what are you doing? I will be very angry when something happens. Maybe it's some privacy issue. If this point is exceeded, I will "run away".

Everyone has their own boundaries, and some people have no sense of propriety. I stay away from such people, but when the boundaries are broken again and again and the bottom line is touched, I will get very angry.

GQ: You once said that you have a particularly strong side in your personality. What do you mean specifically?

Xiao Zhan: In principle, I am a very rigid person. If I insist on something and I think it is right, it will be difficult to be convinced. For example, if I want to be an actor, I don’t want to do anything other than being an actor. If you come to Siam, let’s debate. No one is right or wrong, the team is also for your own good, Isn't it a good thing to have a lot of work? But for me, I have to subtract because some things are really not what I want.

GQ: Do you have a perfectionist side?

Xiao Zhan: I just want to do it well, just try my best right now. Maybe the result is not good, but what should I do? This is all I can do.

GQ: Can you accept failure?

Xiao Zhan: I can accept it. I might not have been able to accept it a few years ago, but 30-year-old Xiao Zhan has learned to accept it (laughs).

-END.

[bao3bei4]

ON THE TSHIRT METHOD TO WRITING ESSAYS IN YOUR OWN TIME: 

i have had a couple people mention to me that they would like to write essays too, but they are a little out of practice. so i thought i should gather some scattered thoughts into one place. this is not a systematic guide. i am young and inexperienced and still working out things for myself, but this is my basic process and some things that have helped me, summarized. 

my biggest single piece of advice is to write with your proverbial pussy. you are not writing for a grade so don't act like it. forget rigor, forget academic style, etc. read what you're interested in, and write following up on the threads that you're interested in. don’t sweat the details. just do you.

if you still need more advice..... here’s a long winded post. 

step zero: if you have no clue what you want to say yet 

read. and read a lot.

but be realistic. be kind to yourself. your attention is a precious resource, and it is getting eaten up by shit out of your control all the time. if you’ve had a busy day, you may still have the brain power left to read. i almost never do. lol. so make sure to carve out time on a day off, if possible. otherwise you might end up completely fried, reading the same sentence over and over, and ending up scrolling on your phone LMAO. <-- painful lesson also to this end, if you haven’t picked up a denser book in a while, start with shorter articles, especially ones written more recently. if your attention wanders, try getting a physical book instead. the most important thing is just starting things you’ll actually read.  i’ve seen a lot of people (and been that person) who was like. “oh i’m going to start with THE canonical text in a subject i’m interested in” which makes sense right? but that book is inevitably long and dense and convoluted and boring. you can come back to it later. this shouldn’t feel like a chore! 

genuinely this is the most helpful thing you can do is just. read anything. it may be difficult at first (or always), but it is still the easiest way to engage with the foremost experts from around the world and the entirety of written history on any subject you are interested in. there’s not really a substitute to this. 

note: you may say that people can and do come up with brilliant ideas independently of their access to written works. this is true! but if you are one of them, you should skip this section/post, because you already know what you want to say.  okay that was a little too facetious. let me revise: when i say that, without reading, it will be hard to come up with more complex ideas than what you have now, that isn’t necessarily pejorative. maybe your current ideas and impulses are original and meaningful and complex. if they aren’t, however, you don’t have to resign yourself to it.  your experiences in real life are the most valuable thing you can bring to the table, but it can be very difficult to articulate and contextualize them without community—whether that be irl, or the simple textual company of other writers. you can let other people help you and teach you.  basically, this is a long winded way of saying something extremely simple: reading is not the only way to gain knowledge, or even the best. but it is an extremely consistent and relatively egalitarian way.** **scihub and libgen and sometimes the public library are your friends. (my local library’s book coverage is spotty) who cares about piracy. LMAO. 

you may surprise yourself by how nicely you fall into little spirals. you read one thing. and you are enamored with the way the author approaches their subject. so you end up reading everything else they’ve written, and then you start on the authors they list that inspire them in their interviews. maybe you just read one article that’s a little dry but it cites something else that seems far more interesting. read that next. and so on. 

if you are struggling to read that’s okay. you have options. start a book club (or just get a friend who also wants to read more). if that sounds like too much work, pick a friend to keep updated on all your new facts. you just want to get used to reading something, and telling someone your favorite parts again. skim books. skip the boring parts. drop them entirely and find a more interesting one. no one’s going to quiz you. this is for your own enjoyment. 

also important here: read books that make you want to write. sometimes this is because the methods and/or prose of the author are so exciting, you want to do something just like that. sometimes it’s because the content is so exciting, you want to say something about that too. sometimes they speak so powerfully to your own life, you want to tell people this is me!! i see this!! there are books i just enjoy reading, sure, and i do read them. but you know how, like, a good movie makes you want to tell stories too? good theory should do that too, in my opinion. 

step one: you have some ideas now. 

these ideas don’t have to be set in stone. but you should have an idea now of what you might talk about. personally, for me, i have two interconnected types of essay ideas. 

interventions. this is like [tumblr voice] Why Is Nobody Talking About This. i see some sort of hole. maybe i know how to fill it, maybe i don’t. 

free associations. basically i read one thing, or some analysis of one thing. and then it reminded me of another thing. and i’m like. i want to tease apart their connections, their similarities, and their differences. 

there are more types of ideas, i’m sure. but these are the ones i consistently have. with me, the second kind is more common. very rarely do i find that my thoughts are that original. rather, i’ve found that one of my strengths as a writer is being able to make connections that other people haven’t made, or haven’t made in depth before. IN MY OPINION. 

so i find it quite flexible. maybe i watch a movie, and it reminds me of my own life, because i think two women in the movie could be sad queer freaks. and i’m a sad queer freak. or it could be that i think scum villain could be analyzed through the framework of freudian psychoanalysis. you get the idea. 

at this stage of the process, i don’t have a thesis, necessarily. but i have a couple phrases i’m drawn to. i have a bullet point or two. i have vibes. 

to use an example from this blog, one of my friends hui once mentioned that that one fan image was going around again. we were going ughhh it’s victorian not chinese! together and they said “you should write a meta on it.” i wasn’t sure quite yet what i had to say. but i knew a couple things. 

this is, incidentally, because i had done some research into chinoiserie before, because i had cited the zuroski book for a paper i had to write for an english class some years before on pride and prejudice and its use of descriptions of material culture, an essay that in turn was inspired by my random yet deeply felt conviction that jane austen hated me personally and wanted to kill me.  this is why i encourage reading a lot. i think. 

to work on this stage, make lists. lots of them. i have a .txt file where i keep every essay idea i have. a lot of them are a sentence. or they're lists of books or theorists i think i could make something out of. or they're theses that feel true, but i’m not sure why yet. 

it took me a while to get to this point. just like with writing fic, there was a period when i first started where i was like. i only have one idea. i’m going to write it, and then i’m never going to write again. and then i had just one more idea. after a while. eventually you will find you have so many ideas and the world is full of possibilities. it’s a muscle you have to flex. like reading. and telling people about what you’re reading. 

actually, i feel like there was a step 0.5 here that i completely skipped. 

step zero point five that i skipped: how to generate ideas

my very truly complete “first time writing something semi-academic that was original” (with a loose definition of the word original) was literally just me reading literary criticism of one book, and saying “i think this author’s thoughts can be applied to this other book” and found some textual evidence that supported that the process could be replicated. 

this is like, writing with training wheels on. eventually i got better at it (see aforementioned chinoiserie essay. i hope you agree.). but that was a good place to start for me. it made the proverbial blank page less intimidating, knowing i had a scaffolding. 

i suggest trying this. see how it goes for you. read around until you find some piece of criticism, or just some theory about how something works, that you like. and using your newfound hammer, go look for some nails. 

note: i know this expression is meant to like. be a negative thing. but you do have to start somewhere. it’s okay if it sucks. it’s just for your practice and your enjoyment. 

be cautious of stances. weak writing (in my OPINIONNNN) tries to unilaterally defend or condemn a behavior. what you need to do is treat your writing as a bit. and then you need to run with it. you need to take it farther than what is reasonable. if this bit is truly actually deeply true, then what does it mean about yourself? it’s like using a new set of pronouns as a joke or something. you know what i mean? (that was an example of what i’m trying to communicate here)

what else is key to look out for... look for oppositional pairs or tensions. look for perverse incentives and vicious circles. look for embarrassing ideas. that is, what would be extremely embarrassing if it was true? (or to admit that it was true) you may go—tshirt, here you’re just describing things that are sexy. yes, exactly, that’s the point. you want things that thrill. 

just keep reading and making notes until everything echoes with something else. now you’re ready for step two. 

step two: refine your ideas further. 

let me do this by demonstration. once more extending my earlier example of my chinoiserie essay, i knew that i really wanted to take zuroski’s points and basically... steal them. this is called “citation,” i guess. but i thought the following insights were useful to me: 

british women were invested in chinese material objects 

they incorporated them into their own subjectivity

past a certain point, they no longer “consumed” these signifiers, but these signifers became theirs 

critique of one was able to stand in for critique of the other

and from being on fandom twitter, i already had the following insights: 

people deliberately blurred the lines between china and england when it came to fans and tea

people also liked talking about victorian modesty when it came to china 

so it seemed like victorian england and china had a privileged relationship, in a lot of people’s minds in fandom. 

so it didn’t really seem a stretch to say... how can we look at one history, and apply it to our present? 

it was a bit of the combo of the two: i saw something i didn’t see people were talking about, and it reminded me of something else i’d read before. 

something that helps me a lot is tweeting about my essay ideas. if you have me on my private account, you already know this. it forces me to explain myself to someone who doesn’t know what i’m talking about in a very succinct way. oftentimes, i tweet something out while i’m brainstorming, and then i steal the phrasing back into my essay. see? tweets can be writing too. 

this is microdosing on step zero’s “read something and practice telling a friend about it.” now you’re writing something and telling a friend about it. 

step three: okay now you can like. open a google doc 

make an outline. i know i know i know. i’m sorry. you can start just barfing thoughts if you want, but eventually everything that was on the top of your head will be out. and now you can start thinking about structure. the reason the outline is important is because it makes clear the logical progression from one idea to the next. 

i know i usually bounce around in my writing (a tendency which has been magnified here because this is so casual LMAO), but i always want to make sure that my points are substantiated. if we want to talk about how a causes b, we should prove a, we should prove the causal link, and only then can we infer b, for instance. it doesn’t really matter what order that happens in (or even that we set about it that way), but the more complicated your idea is, the longer checklist you need. it’s just a checklist. that’s all. 

as you start writing, you’ll probably need to read some more. you’re going to want to say something you think is true, but you’re going to realize that you haven’t proved it (or you can’t). go look to see if someone else has proved it. 

maybe you’re right. add that evidence in. maybe you’re wrong. now your essay has a new direction. there is a living thing beneath you. actually, on that idea— 

i tend to structure my outlines (if i’m not sure yet what my point is) by pasting a bunch of quotes in a document, and reorganizing them until they make sense, they seem to flow. and then i start explaining why, until i realized i have begun to walk off in a new direction. always embrace that new direction. eventually you will find that you have not been taking twists and turns, but actually you were dizzily walking along a straight path. (unless you have been unfocused and you are trying to say too many things at once. ask a friend to read your essay if you’re not sure which is the case.) 

quotes are the smallest unit of your analysis. work with evidence. or, at least, i do. it makes writing an essay like solving a mystery. the idea of just spontaneously generating something new fills me with terror. rather, i want to autopsy something, trace its steps, and then discover how it came to be dead. this may not be true for you. but it’s true for meeeee and this is my post. 

tl;dr

0. read something and tell someone about it/post it out

0.5. come up with a bit and run with it

1. think "why is no one talking about this" or start free associating

2. come up with weird connections and tell someone about it/post it out

3. collect all of your posts and ideas into a gdoc and organize them.

anyway i like reading posts like this because i’m incredibly nosy. so i tried to write out the sort of thing i like to read from other people. i don’t suggest you actually try to replicate it (if anyone would even want to.) practically basically i just encourage you to try any single part of this that you think was interesting or relatable or helpful. personally, i suggest reading a book and posting your favorite lines from it. if you do this a couple times, i think you will find the seeds of an essay waiting for you in your own posts. 

[soleilnomoon]

geto suguru x fem reader | issa toxic affair, y'all.

6.2k words (i know, i know), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst city, angst angst city biiitch (yk the vibes) & smut (obvy); feat. cute stuff like a lil' degradation, toxic ass relationship, a lil infidelity, obsessive love & jealousy, lovers 2 exes 2 enemies 2 lovers, public indecency, hand job, oral (f receiving), knife play, a lil bit of blood kink, alcohol, geto is a certified asshole & but reader gets him back, yandere reader bc i love being toxic, gojo makes an appearance! also idk other stuff probably idr ok; also reader is black bc i said she is. this is for @510hz's how to be a heartbreaker collab event (ty so much for letting me participate, i had fun truly). this was inspired by mariana's "power & control"; there's also a lil inspo from "the glory" in there, you'll see. it took me forever but i survived, i hope y'all survive reading this 🤭 (if u see typos/grammatical errors no u didn't)

“you horrify me. but at the same time, / i horrify myself. we are horrible.” – hélène cixous

there’s a name for the disease you have; it’s called foolishness, or, in layman’s terms: love.

your mother warned you long ago, to guard your heart — to ensure that no man could penetrate the thick walls encasing it — yet there you are, a silly, pathetic thing scurrying behind a man who would readily cast you aside if it suited him. you truly did resist him at first; you rebuffed his advances with polite smiles and curt responses, yet he persisted daily and, in hindsight, obsessively.

it’s in his nature, after all.

a man like geto suguru simply does not concede if his pride is on the line — and your initial rejection did, in fact, bruise his ego; although, he’ll never openly admit that.

when he does manage to wiggle his way into your heart, with his charming smiles, small gestures that you somehow misinterpret as kindness, you steadily fall for him. it’s not your fault, not really. geto is just that damn good at figuring people out; and with you, it wasn’t difficult. he found it remarkably easy to sway you, he almost felt bad.

almost.

the first few months are pure bliss; he picks you up promptly for dates, takes you to nice restaurants in the city, pays for spa days and shopping sprees — buys you things you never really allowed yourself to buy on your own, surprises you with lavish floral arrangements that make you cry needlessly over how tragically romantic he’s being. and, suddenly, your heart, which was so strongly protected, becomes vulnerable and falls under his control. it flutters around helplessly in the gilded cage he’s crafted for it — a too-tight fit, where every time you exhale you feel the thick bars pressing tightly and you suffocate — but still, love makes you think that all of this is worth it in the end.

as long as geto calls you his, that’s all that matters.

when he calls your phone, you pick up on the first ring, eager and desperate —to hear the dulcet tones embedded in his voice, the words saccharine and carefully picked; things you’ve always wanted to be told, he whispers them all to you before you fall asleep.

but the thing about geto is, boredom is never too far away from him.

it wraps itself around his arms one morning, slithers along and drenches his skin, completely warping his sense of morality — making him much more severe and uncaring than he normally is. all your cute, quirky traits become bothersome to him; he tires of your laugh, doesn’t care to see that sparkle in your eyes whenever he shows up at your front door, and listening to you drone on and on about things that you like bores him to tears.

when he fucks you, it’s impassively, as if it’s something he needs to tick off his list of weekly duties, rather than something he chooses to do because he genuinely wants to be intimate. you don’t question it at first, but it becomes painfully obvious — and awkward — when he leaves every time, not bothering to kiss you goodnight or even look your way. your mind is cruel one morning, when you reflect on how sex with geto is mostly about him getting off and not you; it never bothered you before, but as the months go on, it starts one of many tiny cracks in his veneer.

the rejection is unbearable — tangible in the way it makes you sluggish and depressed — but you deal with it; you must, after all, he’s the love of your life. you simply can’t imagine being with anyone else now.

geto becomes the very man your mother warned you about, but you ignore it without question.

love is work, you remind yourself for the umpteenth time as you sit in the back of your favorite restaurant, checking the time repeatedly and seeing that he still hasn’t shown. you’re in a modest dress with a slit down the side and you’ve already downed two glasses of wine without him. it’s been forty minutes, the server keeps checking on you, giving you pitying looks despite your smiles and insistence that your boyfriend is definitely on his way.

but the longer you sit there, the less sure of that you are.

eventually you leave; they don’t charge you for a thing and you thank them for their kindness — pity, really — and head home. you try calling geto and get his voicemail again; so you leave yet another teary message, this one more incoherent than the last two, and toss your phone onto your vanity before crying yourself the sleep. you don’t know what to do with this feeling — the hopelessness is eating you alive; or maybe it’s just the wine making you overly sensitive.

geto knows he’s an asshole and relishes in it.

he has his notifications silenced while he’s downtown with a few close friends, partying in an exclusive lounge, drinking until his head grows heavy. he doesn’t remember how he gets back to his place, and barely remembers who he fucked that night, but he does have the common decency to kick them out come morning. he’s hospitable like that. his head throbs as he scrolls through his phone, promptly ignoring the twelve texts from you and the fifteen missed calls. gojo called him heartless last night, which he thought was ridiculous — he has a heart, it just doesn’t always work properly; geto now assumes gojo was referring to his mistreatment of you.

something about that nags at him a little, so he decides to play nice and call you back. the phone continues to ring as he lounges on the plush couch in his living room, causing him to frown; very strange. you normally pick up for him right away, but you’re not answering. he should be concerned, but he chalks it up to you sleeping and decides to try again in an hour.

after his third time calling, annoyance turns into anger which fuels his petty jealousy.

what could you possibly be doing that would require you to ignore him — him — of all people?

“y/n,” he says as calmly as he can while his hand grips his phone tightly, it’s his fourth voicemail, but he doesn’t really care. “i don’t know what game you’re playing at, but i assure you… you won’t win.” he doesn’t elaborate past that, and instead throws his phone at the nearest wall — not bothering to pick it up once it clatters onto the hardwood floor. his anger surprises him; subduing certain emotions is an art for him, so all of this feels very new and uncomfortable.

he tells himself this weakness is only temporary, and that you’ll come to your senses too. except, you don’t. you don’t call him back; you don’t bother texting, and you don’t listen to his voicemails until three days later. when geto finds you, you’re in the middle of rewatching your favorite show for the tenth time, eating leftover pizza in your pajamas.

with his nose wrinkled, geto shuffles through your apartment, taking note of the pile of dishes in your kitchen and the way you’ve completely let go of yourself. he’s appalled that a woman like you has succumbed to the frivolities that accompanies hurt feelings. he even says as much to you when you fail to greet him or acknowledge his presence.

it's when he turns off the tv, that you blink several times, sluggish and confused before realizing that the beautiful man before you is not a figment of your imagination.

“suguru,” you sound his name out like it’s unfamiliar, your tongue thick from keeping quiet these past few days; your mind’s a mess, you’re still reeling from the betrayal of him clearly abandoning you, discarding you like you’re just a toy that he’s long forgotten on the street. he snaps his fingers impatiently in front of your face to get your attention again.

“wh-what is it?”

he frowns again. “what do you mean ‘wh-what is it’?” his mockery of your voice and his accompanying sneer is unbecoming of him, you think, but you don’t say that out loud; instead you put down the pizza you were nibbling and yawn languidly.

“you don’t have to be an ass,” you remark carefully, finally glancing up at him as though you’re seeing him for the first time. love muddled your vision, but now you can see geto suguru for all that he is. a liar, a conman, a shitty human being; but most importantly, he’s still the love of your life. you take that last bit seriously; maybe a little too seriously.

but love has a way of making you foolish in ways that are incomprehensible to others.

geto narrows his eyes at you before his lips twitch and he laughs at your insolence. “okay, that’s fair. i did stand you up, after all.”

you turn back to the tv and shrug, flicking a few crumbs off your shirt. “doesn’t matter. what’s done is done.”

for some reason, your apathy agitates him greatly. your tone is off — detached, devoid of the usual joviality that you have whenever he’s around; he figures that he deserves that, but he knows you won’t be mad at him for long. you never are.

“don’t get ahead of yourself, y/n,” his words drift through the air, venomous and well-practiced — he’s mastered the art of tearing down others without even trying — his annoyance reaches its peak when you ignore him and he exhales loudly, as if the entire situation has bored him to death. “since you obviously don’t give a damn about my presence,” he starts, not bothering to hide his malice or irritation, “i’ll give you what you want.”

which is space. permanently — at least, that’s what he thinks you want anyway. he slams the copy of your apartment key onto the coffee table — something that would’ve made you flinch days ago, but you’re so numb you barely notice.

it’s unbelievable that after a year, this is how you treat him; maybe it’s for the best that he’s breaking up with you. after all, he’d never be able to tolerate you having the upper hand in the breakup. still, it does concern him a bit that you’re not reacting in the way you usually would; did he honestly break your heart that badly that you’ve taken to retreating to the far recesses of your mind? not that it matters to him; you served your purpose and wore out your welcome eight months ago.

he just needed a reason to end it.

once he leaves, you feel like you can breathe again. and after a few minutes, you realize what just happened. you scramble off the couch, heart beating rapidly, palm slick with perspiration as you yank open the door and call out to him.

but he’s long gone; already driven off, ready to take on the world without you.

you wear your rejection like a bruise that won’t ever heal; each word said, each call and text ignored, is like a punch in the same spot over and over.

will you ever be able to move on properly?

it’s not really his problem if you can or can’t get over him, as he’s already moved on within the hour. the thing about geto is, he always assumes he’s the one in control — that he holds all the cards in his hands; but he isn’t. he forgets that you’re entirely too observant for your own good, curious, resourceful, and lethal when provoked long enough. you foolishly grab your car keys and drive to his place in the middle of the night; you ignore traffic lights, drive faster than necessary, swerve in and out of traffic as a fit of madness course through your veins.

love continues to delude you into thinking that there’s a way to fix it all; there has to be, it’s the only thing you can believe in right now.

you think about ringing his doorbell, think about calling and texting, think about just banging on his window and demanding he let you in. but you don’t. instead, you lean against your car, dark, heavy clouds looming over that part of the city as rain comes down hard and practically oppressively.

but you don’t move.

you stand there, shivering; soaked from head to toe, hands balled into fists — his last words playing over and over in your mind, like a song you can’t seem to forget. and every time you hear his voice, your heart shatters a little more; you imagine he’s having fun inside, laughing with gojo and whatever new flavor he’s decided to whet his appetite with. you want to give him the benefit of the doubt; maybe he’s having a bad week? maybe he didn’t mean to break up with you; but the longer you try to convince yourself, the sharper his betrayal becomes.

the truth is bitter, inedible, and harsh; it clamps around your mind as the remnants of your heart morphs into ash.

you bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood, but you don’t feel it; how can you, after all that’s happened?

eventually, you hop into your car and drive to your best friend’s house — she’s the only one you can go to, now that you’ve realized that geto is serious about leaving you. after pouring your heart out and downing a few more glasses of wine, your best friend takes you by the shoulders and shakes you repeatedly.

“y/n,” she says calmly, eyes soft and warm, “honestly, babe, you need to move on from him. is he worth all of this trouble?” you consider her question, roll your bottom lip in between your teeth before answering properly.

“of course, he is,” you say quietly, and then a little louder, “my love for him is so strong that i actually think i hate him.” you’ve never seen your best friend so speechless in your life, but there she is, unable to formulate an appropriate enough response to talk you out of this.

but the thing is, as soon as those words leave your mouth, it finally clicks; all the pieces to the jigsaw puzzle set perfectly in place. how could you have been so foolish?

you love him so much that you hate him, and your hatred is so strong that it can only be perceived as love. it’s irrational, maddening, incredibly toxic; but you revel in it. you know what you need to do, you just need time to do it.

days blend into weeks, and weeks to months; you sell your soul to get back your dignity, that determination that geto stupidly overlooked continuously fuels your quest for revenge. you disappear from the city, change your phone number, leave your apartment, and become a nonthreatening ghost from geto’s past. he forgets about you every time he sleeps with someone else, forgets about you whenever he goes on vacation, forgets about you as he whispers the same sweet things to another over and over and over again.

his ego is something to be marveled, and he feels a little unstoppable these days.

six months later, geto finds himself at a stuffy gala — one that his company’s holding to legally siphon money from the upper 1% under the guise of philanthropy — and spends most of the night dodging gojo’s questions over another failed relationship.

“you really don’t think you’re the problem?” gojo says in between sips of champagne, eyeing his best friend through his dark shades, and smiling as if he already knows the answer to that particular question.

geto lets out a frustrated groan and rolls his eyes. “i’m not doing this with you.” because the last thing he needs, is gojo killing his buzz. he glances at the people in attendance, dark eyes flicking over each guest, seemingly uninterested in any of them until you walk in.

he’s not sure it’s you at first, as your beauty captivates him in a way that doesn’t make sense to him. you’re in a pair of heels that look equal parts elegant and enticing, a shimmering, gold gown with a plunging neckline and incredibly high slit. the color offsets the warm undertones of your rich, brown skin that seems silky and otherworldly under all the lights in the room. geto blinks several times, almost as if he can’t believe that it’s you. and, if it wasn’t for gojo making comments about how he didn’t realize you had curves like that, geto might’ve believed you were a figment of his imagination.

how the tables turn.

your date escorts you to a table towards the back, one that’s close enough that geto can watch you properly. something about you is different. he’s not sure if it’s the confidence you exude as you smile coyly at some of the other guests, plump lips curving upward whenever another man asks to make your acquaintance. you keep your head held high, graceful, as if you belong with that crowd — even though geto knows you don’t. you’d never be able to come to an event like this on your own, but he isn’t upset about that.

what he’s upset at, is your date’s hand lingering on your thigh, thumb caressing your knee as he leans over to whisper something in your ear; that’s your cue to smile demurely and swat at his hand. the laugh is well timed — you even throw your head back, offering geto a full view of your elongated neck and round breasts that cling to the fabric of your gown. you excuse yourself under the guise of going to the restroom, and walk past geto without glancing at him — it’s difficult, you so badly want to turn and watch his reaction, but you keep strong, hips swaying as you take the first hallway on your left.

he’s not sure if it’s curiosity, jealousy, or insanity that drives him to get out of his seat and stalk after you. geto was done with you, he knew that — you knew that — but there he is, chasing you like some lovesick teen that can’t seem to get their unrequited crush out of their head. thankfully, the hallway is empty, so when he rounds the corner, he finds you standing there, checking out your reflection in your compact mirror. you feign surprise when you realize someone’s there, one that morphs into temporary confusion before you smile sweetly at your ex-boyfriend.

“well, isn’t this a fun surprise,” you say airily, a sly smile tumbling onto your lips as you make your way over to him. he’s somehow forgotten how to breathe while simultaneously forgetting that you always looked like this — overwhelmingly beautiful and alluring — he just insisted you dress plain on purpose. you like that he’s speechless; you like that his eyes haven’t left you since you walked into the gala. when you get close enough that he can see just how long and thick your lashes are, he finally snaps out of his stupor — somewhat.

“y/n,” he says belatedly, a bit of awe and amusement coloring his voice, “i’m surprised to see you.” what he really wanted to say, was that he’s trying to remember why he broke up with you in the first place — because nothing comes to mind. not when you reach your hand to delicately tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, not when you intentionally place your hand on his chest, and call out his name softly, almost like a whisper before you take a step back.

“i changed my number,” you say in order to drive the point home and pluck your new phone out of your clutch. “and i moved, but i’d love to catch up with you.” he doesn’t say anything when you type your contact information in his phone and when your lips brush against his cheek, he’s reminded of just how much he adored you initially. he wants to ask why you’ve suddenly come back, but the words stick to the roof of his mouth — thick and impossible to remove, slowly rotting through his common sense. it must be some absurd act of possession that has him pull you close enough to brush his lips against yours; you relish in the nostalgia of the moment, with memories of him kissing you spontaneously during your dates — after all, you’ve been in this position so many times before.

the difference? your claws are sharper, dipped in one of the most potent poisons in the world — hatred.

but you have a role to play now: the naïve ex-girlfriend, who knew nothing of the world before meeting him. geto’s ego knows no bounds when you part your lips for him effortlessly, back arching as he runs his hand down it; his fingers are cool against your exposed skin and you shiver from the contact. he smirks at that, liking that he can still get that sort of reaction out of you. time is essential now, so you kiss him suddenly — your lips soft, supple, and sweet as ever.

geto uses that opportunity to slip is tongue inside of your mouth and familiarizes himself with your taste. you whimper softly and he smirks, thinking that he’s somehow won you over all over again, especially when you drag your nails down the back of his neck, scratching his skin without a care. they’re much sharper than he’s known them to be, and while the sting is tolerable, it’s also annoying. yet he can’t seem to pry himself away; your body feels perfect against his, and you surprise him once again when you rub your hand against his cock. geto’s never known you to be that bold before — and in public too? your kiss transforms into something much demanding, and before he realizes it, you’ve unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.

a heat passes through both of you — and you almost forget yourself as you fall into a familiar dance, kissing him fervently as you wrap your hand around his cock. it stiffens almost immediately, a painful reminder that he’s still impossibly attracted to you, despite what he told himself months ago. you get drunk off of the power you hold over him — the man who mercilessly crushed your heart and left you alone to deal with the aftermath — and have to remind yourself that you’re only supposed to tease him a bit.

his breathing grows uneven, and it’s comical how he’s forgotten that anyone can easily walk in on you two — he just doesn’t care. he’d fuck you in front of everyone just to prove a damn point. your hand strokes faster, twisting as it moves up and down his thick length, his skin hot and smooth, keeping you in a daze. it’s always been like that with you — getting so hopelessly caught up in him that you forget anything else exists.

a voice in the back of your mind tells you to slow down, but you ignore it — the thrill of feeling each jerk of his hips has you moaning into his mouth, breathlessly kissing him like you have all the time in the world.

except you don’t.

the reality of that hits you faster than you’d like, so you bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. you pull away after, almost innocently and lick the blood off of him. the move practically pushes him over the edge, and he has to tell himself that he shouldn’t try fucking you in that hallway. you do your best to catch your breath and blink slowly as you both look at each other. to give yourself a bit of an edge, you swipe your thumb against the tip of his cock and admire the precum on your hand. you bring it up your lips, tongue gliding against your skin to savor the taste of him. it’s a polarizing and captivating experience; something about that makes him want to kiss you all over again, but he refrains from doing so, instead focusing on tucking himself in and fixing his clothes properly.

if you were cruel, you’d take a picture of this moment — of geto with a slightly heaving chest, flushed cheeks, confusion etched on his face as if he doesn’t understand why he let himself get carried away like that. your lipstick is smeared prettily against his lips — red, intoxicating, and ominous.

you smile at that; happy that you’ve successfully integrated yourself into his life again.

“let’s… pick this up again sometime,” your voice has a strange lilt to it — coy and musical, dangerously sultry. his heart skips a beat, and he thinks he’s gone mad; geto doesn’t swoon or obsess the way others do for him. but you’re different now, much more interesting, and mysterious. he knows there’s something wrong with this picture, but he can’t seem to connect the dots just yet.

he doesn’t get another chance to talk to you, as your date keeps you busy most of the night; you don’t bother looking at geto until the end of the event, where you wiggle your fingers at him before leaving.

as soon as you get into your date’s car, you get a text message from a number you’ve memorized by heart and smile as you mentally list all the things you need to do before your revenge can be complete.

little does he know, you haven’t moved at all; you still own your old apartment, but you don’t stay there. you temporarily moved into your childhood friend’s place — a ritzy, luxurious high-rise apartment by the beach — while they travel for work out of the country. it’s all for show, of course; you need geto (and gojo, by extension) to think you’ve somehow elevated yourself financially, that you’re successfully integrated into similar social circles, that you can casually score invites to lavish events that cater to the wealthy elite. after changing out of your gown and into something comfortable, you decide to pay a visit to your old place; it’s mostly empty, save for your old bedroom.

you poured your savings into surveillance equipment, have monitors set up around the room, have hundreds of candid pictures of geto and the people he frequently associates with over the past six months plastered all along the walls. you’ve scribbled out his face in most of the pics, and have drawn lines and arrows, written incoherent notes to yourself — making connections and scenarios so that your contingency plans are unshakeable.

geto texts you again and you smile to yourself, loving the way you’ve already slithered into his mind after one brief conversation with him. he doesn’t realize you’ve been watching him all this time, doesn’t realize that you placed cameras in his home, doesn’t realize that you have unfiltered access to his computer and phone — it pays to have friends who dabble in those things.

you make some tea before sitting on the cushy computer chair as you watch geto stress over you not texting him back; you chuckle and spin around in your chair, elation building up in your chest, rattling that gilded cage around your heart. he’s so stupid, it’s almost too easy; you open the text thread with him, start typing out a bogus response for a few minutes, then delete it and leave him on read.

it takes him half an hour to really lose his mind over you not texting him back, and all you can do is laugh until tears fall out of your eyes.

you want him to fall so hopelessly in love with you, that you become his very reason for living and breathing. then you want to carve out his heart and leave him behind. a perfect plan, really; there are some kinks you still need to iron out, but you know, in time, that everything will go as planned.

uneasiness settles into geto’s stomach over the next few weeks; you barely text him back, and when he calls, you’re always busy. it’s foolish the way he’s pining after you; he knows it’s just because he hasn’t seen you in a long time, but something about you is just so… different. the way you abruptly cut conversations short with him, how you keep rescheduling lunch and dinner with him; how you intentionally let yourself be seen on social media with various men and women. and even when he wants to delete your number and block you, he can’t seem to do it.

because there’s no logical reason why he should be upset. you two aren’t dating anymore, this is just his lust-ridden brain taking hold of his common sense. or, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

when you do manage to see him for dinner one night, you tease him mercilessly and without remorse. at first, geto thinks he has control over the flow of the conversation. you keep blushing whenever he strokes your palm, giggle appropriately when he bumps his knee against yours, and act demure when he gives you permission to order anything off the menu. and you do; the guilt you used to feel is nowhere to be found, instead you thrive in the high that accompanies spending his money frivolously.

in return, you slide your foot up along his leg — slow and tenuous, the first course in your act to capture his heart completely — flirt heavily without restriction and encourage him to keep ordering drinks. geto grows tired of dragging things out and insists you continue the evening back at his place.

“oh,” you say softly and, after a long drawn out moment, your lips curve into a knowing smile.

after you’re both full and pleasantly tipsy, he takes you to his place; in his mind it won’t be long before he has you begging him to fuck you — and then he can finally be rid of this ridiculous obsession. you barely make it through the door because his hands are all over you, tugging roughly on your dress to take it off of you. if you weren’t so determined to see this through, you’d laugh — at his eagerness, at his annoyance with the matter, at your uncanny ability to fool him into thinking that you really want him back.

you lay on his bed, legs spread wide, arousal dripping from your folds as he kisses along the inside of your thighs. normally, geto is an incredibly selfish lover — but tonight, he busies himself with devouring you entirely. almost like he’s trying to make up for lost time. your skin is littered with bite marks and hickeys, but you don’t mind; a few battle scars are necessary in the long run. an unprecedented hunger takes hold of his mind — drives him to eat your pussy with vigor and passion. you roll your hips forward, nipples hard as you moan his name loudly.

he likes how you’re falling apart for him — and only him; you tug on his hair roughly, nails raking against his scalp when he flicks his tongue against your throbbing clit. you forgot that when geto puts his mind to something, he really puts in work; his cock is stiff, but he chooses to ignore it for the sake of watching you writhe on his bed, hand pulling on his bed sheet as soon as he slips his lithe fingers inside of you. he pumps them in and out, fast and hard; you bite down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming, but you lose your composure quickly.

the orgasm leaves you panting and whimpering, softly moaning when geto continues to lap at your pussy, despite how sensitive you feel. you get on all fours without prompting and rub your ass against his cock. the sight is erotic and has him gliding the tip of his cock along your wet pussy, an act that wholly surprises him, even more so when he barely gives you warning before driving his cock inside of your tight hole.

again, he wonders what is different; he’s fucked you more times than he can count, and yet this feels completely new — as if you’re not you, but someone else. and he’s so close to the truth, yet so far away that you try your best not to laugh, even as he powers into you over and over, his cock thick and imposing as his pace picks up.

he knocks his hips against you, strokes lethal but pleasurable. you hiss when he grabs a fistful of your hair, but you let him do it anyway — you want to bide your time before the big finale, of course. geto’s mind melts the longer his cock is inside of you, your plush, warm walls tight around him, squeezing in a way that has him moaning your name out loud.

it surprises him, actually, but he doesn’t stop himself; if anything, he’s more invigorated as he continues to fuck you like you’re the only one he ever thinks about. and, while it probably is true, you also know geto more than he knows you. he pulls out of you suddenly, half in a daze and entirely hooked on your body, and slaps your ass before telling you to ride him instead.

it's almost too easy at this point because this is exactly what you want.

you take your time climbing on top and rub your pussy along his length, grinding and rolling your hips teasingly. his frustration gets the best of him when he grabs your hips to hold you steady.

“y/n,” he warns, voice low and husky. you like him like this — too consumed with lust to realize just how much danger he’s in.

“i’m sorry, baby,” you say almost a little too convincingly, lifting up before sinking down slowly, his cock filling you up in the best sort of way. he’s in heaven, clearly; the way your cunt keeps sucking him back in, your arousal dripping onto his skin — your pussy is the gift that keeps on giving, he tells you offhandedly. you laugh and laugh and laugh, determined to snatch his soul out of his body every time you impale yourself on his cock.

his nails sink into your skin when he holds onto your hips, lifting his upwards to thrust inside of you deeply.

“you know, suguru,” your voice is breathy and hypnotizing, his eyes are glazed over and unfocused; you place your hands on his headboard, under the guise of holding on so he can fuck you properly, but really you’re reaching behind to grab the knife you’ve taped to the back of it. “you’re a shitty person.��� there’s confusion etched onto his pretty face, and you chuckle darkly  as you buck your hips against his and brandish the knife in front of him.

he'd noticed that it went missing from his set days ago, but figured he’d misplaced it.

“where did you get that?” he grunts when you clench your pussy around him, still riding him as if this is a common occurrence for both of you.

you continue talking as if he didn’t ask a valid question and gently tap his cheek with the flat part of the blade. “you broke my heart, turned my love into ash,” you ride him harder, your ass bouncing on his hips, and he’s much more aroused than he should be. which is alarming because he isn’t stopping you at all. “and you went about your life like i never mattered.” that part still hurt, and you don’t think as you hold the knife to his throat, the blade sharp enough that it knicks his skin when you lean forward.

he knows he should tell you to stop, but for some reason, it’s as if he’s paralyzed by your confession. he deserves it, he knows that, but you refuse to have any sort of sympathy for him. a bit of blood drips down his neck and you stab the blade onto his pillow, nearly missing his face. he actually fucking flinches and it makes you laugh again.

“you’re so fucking stupid,” you almost pity him. almost.

geto’s life literally flashes before his eyes. he’s never seen you this ruthless; the soft, demure woman he knew before is gone — in her place, is someone cold and demanding, someone who won’t hesitate to maim him if he toes the line.

his skin blanches and he swallows hard, words lodged deep in his throat. he doesn’t know what to say to you. “i—”

you run your tongue along his jaw, and grin triumphantly when he shivers uneasily. “you don’t get it, do you? you’re mine forever.” he wants to ask what you mean by that, but you don’t give him the chance. “i hate you so much, that i want to watch the life drain from your eyes.”

it’s morbid and unreal, but it feels right. “that’s also a form of love, right?” you’re not making any sense, and you don’t care; you’ve deviated from your plan — you intended to drag things out, but once he started fucking you and acting like he was running the show all over again, you snapped. “you’re mine forever, understand?”

he had every opportunity to grab the knife, to shake you off of him, but you keep moving your hips, keep moaning for him, and keep kissing him like you want to breathe in his essence. he’s trapped and probably will never find his way out; he realizes now, that your return wasn’t a coincidence. it was planned. it’s fear that keeps him on that bad, that lets you keep fucking him until you’re satisfied, and when he finally cums, you smile wickedly and pick the knife up again.

“there’s no one who will love you the way i do, baby.”

[acorrespondence]

32 and 23 :)

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

Oh this is very difficult because I write fiction pretty much exclusively on my phone! I don’t require a consistent writing space, and pretty much the only constant between my many writing environments is a way to avoid or block out distracting sounds. I’ve written in my bed across 4 different houses and apartments, on couches in the same, on trains and buses and in the passenger- or backseats of cars; on porch swings, tree swings and fire escapes; even in hammocks in the woods. For me, being distracted by things around me is actually a pretty important part of my writing process—or maybe it’s more the ability to use those things to distract myself. I like to be surrounded by interesting things to focus on when my mind wanders or when I need to puzzle something out or take a little brain break.

Near where I grew up, there’s a little public park at the base of a dam. It’s not a park in the traditional sense; there’s no grass, and the area around the river is steeply inclined and thickly forested. Huge rocks jut up from the base of the falls, and continue down along the river, and in the summer when it’s dry, or when the dam hasn’t been running, the water collects in the deepest crevices and leaves most of the bedrock bare. Deep gouges scar the stone, vestiges of the dynamite boring holes they used to level the ground there and give the dam waters somewhere to fall. The river splits around several towering shelves of rock that stand much higher, and on one of those shelves lies a giant felled tree, a good six feet of trunk hanging out over the river, lifted some fifteen or twenty feet above the riverbed. I used to walk out onto the log and sit or lie at the end of it and write. I also liked to climb down and sit on the lower rocks close to the water. I’ve always been drawn to moving water, mostly for sensory reasons—the sound of it, the reflection and refraction of the sunlight as it tumbles over itself and the rocks and roots in its path. Anyway, that’s probably my favorite place I’ve gone to write.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

Another hard one! Usually the reason I’m struck by lines in fics and novels and poems is inextricable from the context they’re written in, so isolating them from that context takes away some of their power in my mind. My brain is always trying to make connections—I dislike simplification. So if something specific strikes me in a piece of writing, it’s usually in a specific context or in connection to something else. I’m also not a very inventive or innovative person. Most of my creative output is more focused on synthesis and reframing. I guess what sticks with me more are conceptual threads shared across multiple perspectives, the little things that connect stories and memories and pieces of writing that maybe on the surface don’t seem to share much in common—and often these things end up threaded through my own writing.

One of my favorite poems is “The Hour and What Is Dead.” Here’s the first stanza: “Tonight my brother, in heavy boots, is walking / through bare rooms over my head, / opening and closing doors. / What could he be looking for in an empty house? / What could he possibly need there in heaven? / Does he remember his earth, his birthplace set to torches? / His love for me feels like spilled water / running back to its vessel.” In high school, we read Beloved by Toni Morrison, along with its companion essay, “The Site of Memory.” That essay contains the following quote: “You know, they straightened out the Mississippi River in places, to make room for houses and livable acreage. Occasionally the river floods these places. ‘Floods’ is the word they use, but in fact it is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, that valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place. It is emotional memory—what the nerves and the skin remember as well as how it appeared.”

These two excerpts and the connection between them caught in my mind, and together led to this piece of narration from one of my current WIPs: “Raylan . . . scoots over. ‘Come on then, get up,’ he says, resigned, and reaches out to steady her as she climbs up on the bed. She scrambles in beside him, Boyd following after. Raylan loses his breath a little, winded, as she burrows her head under his ribs, the place she’s always trying to get to—like spilled water running back to its vessel, though it’s hardly where she came from. Boyd moves nearer, closing her in like a comma between parentheses. They sleep.” This paragraph in my fic is in conversation with both those other excerpts, and mirrors their themes of love/memory/familial relationships. My intention with the story as a whole is to explore inherited trauma, inter-generational relationships, systems and cycles of violence/crime/poverty/abuse, and the idea of Harlan living on in Raylan (and Boyd) and passing to his children through him—how it’s reflected in this child who had never stepped foot there in her life prior to the beginning of this story. It’s just one line, fleeting and fairly inconsequential, but I think something about it brings to mind these themes. Several people remarked on having enjoyed that line in particular, so at least there’s that.

So, whenever a line sticks with me, this is what my brain does with it. I know no one reading the story is going to make these connections, but they both fit in with the themes and ideas I’m constantly preoccupied by, and therefore constantly worrying at in my writing. And I do feel like it helps me to clarify those themes for myself and anchor them in the story, even if the references aren’t recognizable to readers.

(Questions here)

[lundetodd22]

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The Niche Formula: How to Quickly Find Your Niche

(Interests/Expertise) x Intersection

I’ve spent my life as a generalist. There are advantages to this for sure. I’m never bored. Easily entertained. Interests abound. 

The downside is probably bigger than the upside.

Like — iceberg-below-the surface-of-the-sea bigger. 

Distraction.

Lack of focus.

Confusion.

Incompletion.

Wondering like a Took, from here to there and back again.

It’s a problem.

There’s always pressure to “niche down”. It’s what the marketers and the content creators are always telling us. Narrow your focus.  Specificity is power. And, as someone with knowledge and an interest in marketing, I must concede to this truth.

I read Range by David Epstein a couple of years ago.

It helped me come to terms with my own free-range tendencies. 

Here’s a line from for the introduction:

“We learn who we are in practice, not in theory.”

Christopher Lee, the actor who played Counts Dracula and Dooku, as well as Saruman, was also a singer in a beautifully weird gothic metal band.

Steve Martin is a funny guy, an actor, and an amazing banjo player.

Dorie Clark is a business consultant and author who writes musical performance art.

It is possible to be more than one thing at a time.

Here’s the catch: It is very difficult (I argue, impossible) to do more than one thing at a time.

The key to niches is understanding where your interests intersect with your expertise. 

Interests vs. expertise. 

I am interested in quantum physics. (I’m not lying. The little I understand about it is absolutely fascinating. I recommend reading the 4% Universe and The Fabric of Reality, if you want to get your feet wet on the subject. Range, man. Range.)

However, I have absolutely no expertise in quantum physics.

I have a lot of expertise in public speaking and rhetoric. 

But I don’t necessarily have an interest in making that “my thing”. 

Interest is innate. You either are or you’re not.

Expertise is gained.

Currently, I may not be an expert in quantum physics. I could take some classes, go to school, and write some papers on the subject, and became an expert in quantum physics.

This is true for any subject you are interested in. 

This leaves us with three questions for determining a niche:

What are your interests?

Where are you an expert?

Where are they intersections?

Interests

 If you are free range like me, this can be a long annoying list.

Quantum Physics

Books

Writing

Fantasy Fiction

Story Structure

Technology

Web design

Productivity

Leadership (Particularly the development of leaders)

Guitars

Songwriting

Travel

Culture

Organizational health

Foreign languages

Film editing

Photography

Celtic Spirituality

Videography

Gardening

Sound engineering and recording

Podcasting

Vinyl

Theology

Apple products

I made this list in less than two minutes. I’m also not finished yet.

But let’s stop here. You get the idea.

Some of you have a much narrower focus of interests, which means you are probably a much saner person. Kudos for that.

But no matter how long or short your list may be, remember this. You can’t do it all.

Culture tells us the lie that we can do everything we set our minds to. It’s a lie. We can’t.

Oliver Burkeman calculates that we all have about 4000 weeks to live. Total.

That’s not a lot in the grand scheme of things.

He argues in his book of the same title that real freedom and productivity happen when we embrace the reality of our mortality. 

“The average human lifespan is absurdly, terrifyingly, insultingly short. But that isn’t a reason for unremitting despair, or for living in an anxiety-fueled panic about making the most of your limited time. It’s a cause for relief. You get to give up on something that was always impossible—the quest to become the optimized, infinitely capable, emotionally invincible, fully independent person you’re officially supposed to be. Then you get to roll up your sleeves and start work on what’s gloriously possible instead.”

As someone who’s well over their halfway point (2875 weeks old, at this writing), I comply – and resonate.

Be interested in as much as you want to be. But remember, it’s not possible to act on all your interests.

Now you go: Inventory your interests!

Make an exhaustive list of all your things. Have fun with it! Look at your list, remembering, no matter your age, it won’t be possible to do it all. That’s okay! Now move to the next question.

Expertise

Choose your expertise from the items on your interest list.  Where are you a pro based on your experience and education?

FeetNote: It’s possible to have expertise in an area you don’t have interest in.  I’m an absolute expert at untangling Christmas lights.

It’s not something I want to call a niche. You get the idea.

Right-now expertise: experience

Circle all the things on your interests list that you’ve spent a lot of time doing in your professional life.

This will be a much shorter list:

●      Leadership (Leadership development has been my entire career)

●      Culture (I used to live and work cross-culturally, and continue to have a lot of cross-cultural interactions)

●      Productivity (I have an entire story here, but this is a huge part of the training I do)

●      Organizational Development (not as long of a history here, but is much of what I do with Growability®)

●      Christian Spirituality (This is my educational, as well as vocational, background.)

Everything else on my list remain interests. They might be potential hobbies or research areas. They are most likely not where I will gain professional expertise.

With an exception.

One-day expertise: education

Do you have any interests so compelling that you’d like to invest the time and money necessary to gain expertise?

I love music (a lot!) I can play some guitar and really wanted to be in a band when I was younger. However, at this point in my life, it’s not something I feel good about devoting the time and money needed to move beyond a hobbyist level.

The same is not true for writing.  I take the time to write this newsletter every week because I want to be a better writer. I spend time punching ideas into a word processing document because I’m doing what it takes to gain opportunities to write at higher levels. To do so will take a sizable time investment. Get in your reps. That doesn’t happen over a weekend. 

Which of your interests (if any) would you like to invest in at a professional level?

Circle those, too

Now comes the fun part.

Intersections – The Multiplier

Pick three areas of both interest and expertise. Connect them.

Here’s mine:  I work at the intersection of leadership, spirituality, and organizational development.

This is where I spend my time and energy: 

Aiming my career and my content at helping leaders and potential leaders know their purpose, build community, and experience God through the process.

Your interests divided by your expertise, multiplied by their intersection equals your niche!

Your niche is your idea machine.

This is the power of the multiplier. When you multiply your interests that have been divided by your expertise, you have more than a niche. Every intersection is another area for you to solve problems and provide value! Productivity is the intersection of leadership and organization. Community is the intersection of organization and spirituality. The rhythm of Celtic spirituality is at the intersection of leadership and spirituality.

See how that works? Intersections can multiply a niche into a hundred interesting directions.

Here’s why niche matters:

Your niche is your market.

That’s the thing about niches.  It’s where you are most uniquely you. And it’s where you find an audience (or customers, readers, donors, etc.)

Niche-finding is a worthwhile process.

It’s also worth noting that things can change. This is not the same place I would have landed 10 years ago. It may or may not be where I land 10 years from now. But here I stand at the end 2022. 

 Find your niche!

●      List your interests

●      Circle your expertise

●      Create your unique intersections

That’s your corner. Your neck of the woods. Your unique piece of real estate in Internet (or wherever!) It’s the place where you can be most generous for the common good.

Let me know in the comments where your interests and expertise intersect!

What’s your niche?

[moemammon]

could i please request the obey me ! boyfies with an s/o who is like & chubby ? they get insecure about it (like being tall + chubby) and really are body-insecure to the point it’s like super frustrating too bc they want to express themselves through their outfits but absolutely hate clothes shopping and will break down bc of the amount of people, the clothing sizes, and being upset after trying things on... thank you so much!!

The Demon Bros react to a Body-Insecure GN!MC

(Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes. This is something we hear all the time to the point that it almost feels dry and cliche. But! Just know that there's NOTHING wrong with the way you look, despite all the media we see centered around the world's idea of beauty. Beauty is subjective, and not eternal. Just be you. The best 'you' you can be!)

Lucifer

Do you REALLY think an age old demon would see anything wrong with what you look like? He's constantly surrounded by beauty, anyway, in the form of demons and angels alike

Besides, Luci isn't shallow enough to base his affections for you purely on how you look, so you don't even have to question that.

But he does recognize that you don't see yourself in the same like as he does, and he's so, so patient with you. After all, he can't have the love of his life doubting their self worth. The Avatar of Pride won't be having that.

Lucifer takes the time to tell you, everyday, what you mean to him. In the quiet moments when you two are alone, he'll guide your gaze to meet his own, and starts going down the list of the things that make you beautiful.

"To think you'd be self conscious about something like this.... Do you think I'd settle for anything less than perfection? Let me remind you again why I love every inch of you, MC."

Mammon

Taking up modeling gigs means Mammon's seen just about every body type under the sun, so do you seriously think he's that worried about the way you look?

He's a little slow to read the room, so it takes him a while to realize that you're self conscious. But when he tries taking you clothes shopping one day, and sees you're on the verge of tears after trying on two outfits, he gets the clue.

NOW he's being extra as hell in showing you how much he likes you. You start waking up to texts telling you how beautiful you are (with the obligatory threat that you'd better not show his brothers), he keeps putting his arm around you in public, and when he can muster up the courage, he'll even tell you in person how good you look in the outfit you're wearing.

He even starts sending you links to websites he visits to buy clothes. There's some good ones that have a wide range of customization options, and a pretty diverse size chart! It's not so bad if it's online, right?

"Anyone who's worthy of being around THE Great Mammon is worth a million grimm, understand? I don't really get all the fuss about yer body, but... I think ya look fine the way ya are. So smile a little more, alright?"

Levi

Levi can relate when it comes to body insecurities. He's a layabout, and the only exercise he gets is when he's forced to get it. He doesn't think he's much of a looker compared to his brothers, either.

So when you tell him how you feel about the way you look, he gathers up every ounce of otaku™️ strength to tell you that there's nothing wrong with your height, or weight.

He DEFINITELY values personality over looks, and even then it's not like he finds you unattractive. Seriously, he doesn't get your worries at all. Are you sure you can see properly..? They say staring at screens too long can mess up your eyesight, so maybe he should stop forcing you to watch so much tv with him?

And guess what? Levi can sew. Go ahead and bring him the clothes you wanna wear, and he'll get em fixed up for you! Or if you want something custom made, he's got you! Leave it to the master weeb and his endless cosplay knowledge! ✨

"L-Like in anime! It's boring to see the same body types all the time and it's nice when they change it up, s-so....Uh.... Anyway, I like everything about you, okay?! Your body is fine the way it is!"

Satan

According to his nerd calculations, you have no reason to be insecure.

Jokes aside, Satan listens to your concerns and handles them gently. No two people look alike and the world is full of different body types, so who's to decide what is and isn't beautiful?

As he sees it, you're healthy and happy, and isn't that all that matters? He can't take away your anxieties about shopping, but he CAN help you find things you would like to try out. He's pretty sure he has a book that teaches a spell for altering clothes in an instant....

Satan tends to think on the logical side of things, so you can trust that he isn't just saying nice things to spare your feelings. He means every word when he tells you how perfect you are in his eyes.

"Of the billions of people on earth, do you really think anyone can say what 'beauty' is? MC, you're perfect the way you are. Should I write a book about all the wonderful things I love about you?"

Asmo

If there's anyone who can appreciate all body types, it's Asmo. What can you expect from the Avatar of Lust, who's seen all there is to see? If anything, there's more for him to love~!

And his affection for your body isn't even entirely sexual. It's all about aesthetics! He loves every dip and curve of yours, from head to toe!

He knows you find it difficult to find clothes that suit you, so he's started having your clothes tailored. You're a little confused when he randomly starts taking your measurements one day-

Later, he returns to you with all those outfits you kept staring at a little too long, all tailored to your body type. Asmo has CONNECTIONS, baby. He's gonna make sure you find everything you could possibly want. He knows how crucial it is to express yourself through what you wear!

"Didn't I tell you you'd look great in that? I'm never wrong when it comes to fashion! And MC darling, you look as stunning as always! Ooh, I just love the way this accentuates your body~!"

Beel

Beel only has food on the brain, so he's the least likely to care for appearances. He loves you for your heart, because that's what matters the most to him. And when you're happy, he's happy!

He loves the look on your face when you smile at yourself in the mirror, and he wants to see that more often. So when you express your insecurities about your body, Beel has a plan of action in mind.

He hoists you up and settles you onto his bed, first grabbing your thighs, your hips, your torso, your arms, and ends all the touching by cupping your cheeks. His hands are warm with affection, and you could already feel yourself melting into his touch.

He looks you in the eye with that deadpan expression of his, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, and a potato chip to your lips.

"No matter how you look or what you wear, you're still the same MC that I love. Every part of you is just fine, so why do you worry so much about it? I'll remind you over and over if I have to."

Belphie

Um??? That means he has more to hold?? when you guys cuddle?? You're warm, you smell nice, and he loves you. Literally where is the downside to any of that???

Belphie takes your worries with a grain of salt, but he knows how insecure you are so he doesn't brush them off. He DOES however tell you that you're worrying yourself to death.

Also, do you really think a man that sleeps all the time is going to have washboard abs? Belphie definitely has a little chub here and there under those baggy ass clothes of his.

Speaking of clothes, he thinks you should just wear whatever makes you comfortable. You're wearing those clothes for yourself, aren't you? So just wear what you like.

"There you go again, talking badly about yourself. Geez.... I guess I'll just have to hold you in my arms until you realize how silly you're being. Come here."

[luvyanfei]

anon said. how about fluffy hcs with xiao, zhongli and xingqui taking their s/o out on a first date?

XIAO.

he already finds it difficult just to ask you to hold him without losing his cool, so how can he possibly bring up the idea of inviting you on a date? actually, he probably never knew the word ‘date’ even existed until he heard a passing couple staying over at wangshu inn dreamily talking about how they wish they could go to see the lantern rite festival in liyue harbor together for their first date. a first date, huh? now that he thinks about it, xiao never did properly try to court you, did he? it was always you who approached him first, who held your hand out to him, who confessed that you love him. you’re already giving so much dedication in this relationship. it’s the least he can do to return your affections, not just because he’s feeling a bit indebted, but because he’s your lover. unfortunately, being the awkward yaksha that he is, xiao overthinks the situation and complicates it more than he should.

every chance he gets is blown up by his anxiousness. whenever you come and visit him at the inn, you almost think that he’s angry with you from the way he throws you vicious glares. unbeknownst to you, xiao is actually making that tense face because he’s trying very hard, too hard in fact, to think of the best way to ask you out on a date and seeing you just makes him all the more nervous. he regrets it every time you step into the elevator while giving him a goodbye wave and saying you’ll come visit again. sure, he gets another chance to try and ask you out again, but he also has another chance to fail as well.

when you visit him for lunch, xiao quickly rehearses the words he wants to say to you in the back of his head before coming to greet you. ‘i overheard from a guest in the inn talking about a lantern rite festival. if you mortal, no, [name], desires to go, i can possibly set aside time to accompany you.’ keep it cool, yet short. taking a deep breath to compose himself, xiao walks over to greet you, er, well actually, you’re the one doing the greeting instead, and you settle down to eat. the sweet taste of the almond tofu that you generously bought for him blossoms in his mouth and he loses track of time till your departure. before you leave once more to allow the poor yaksha to wallow in his self-regret again, you stop yourself and turn around to face xiao. tucking your hair behind your ear and giving your best, most radiant smile you can offer to him, you shyly ask if he’d like to tag along with you to the lantern rite festival. “we’ve never been on a date before and i’d love to go to the festival with you and release xiao lanterns together.”

... what? how? his mouth almost opens up in disbelief, as he struggles to keep a stoic expression. ex-excuse him?! that’s supposed to be his line! he’s in shock at how easily you were able to say something that he’s been having trouble sputtering out. you mortals never fail to surprise him. he shakes his head and bitterly scowls, that you almost step back in fright. almost, until he starts speaking, that is. “why is it you? i should have been the one to ask you on a date first, not you!” he’s almost on the brink of tears from the frustration he currently holds on himself. 

a relationship is always about give and take, no? it’s like when zhongli has so kindly decided to save him from the clutches of the cruel abuse he endured endlessly, of course he was forever in debt to rex lapis. surely, it’s the same with you, isn’t it? when xiao tells you this, you immediately start laughing. you calmly explain to him that your relationship isn’t like a form of contract where he’s expected to always repay you back for every gift you give to him. as long as he’s there for you, that’s more than enough of a reward, you say, before plopping a chaste kiss to his cheek.  

“finally, you’re here. what took you so long?” xiao speaks to you with indifference concealing the relief that you actually came. he trails his sharp eyes to inspect your dressed up form and blushes slightly. “you look nice.”

immediately, your eyes widen at his underhanded compliment. did- did you hear that right? biting his lower lip gently, xiao clasps your hand in his, ignoring your astounded reaction, as he squeezes it reassuringly while watching the colourful fireworks light up the murky night.

without thinking, he turns to you when you’re focused on the display of bursting lights reflecting in your eyes, and murmurs to himself softly, “i hope you’ll spend the rest of your time with me, for however long it’ll last.”

XINGQIU.

of course, a date with xingqiu has to be extravagant and sophisticated to the last touch, right? guess again. he may come from a wealthy family, but that doesn’t mean he shares the same interest a selfish, pampered noble may have. he prefers something more simple, yet sentimental. confined in his household with nothing to do but bury his head in a book, he’s picked up some ideas for your date from the romance stories he’s read. surprisingly, they’re all rather cliché.  

the first thing he makes you guys do is go out in the blazing summer day to get yourselves a cool beverage. he explicitly asks the cashier to give him one straw [do they even exist in the game?] and smiles slyly as he thanks them and brings the drinks to you. when you ask about it, thinking that maybe he forgot, all he does is smirk before saying, “there’s no need, my liege. we can share, unless you’d rather melt in the sweltering sun, that is.” he winks teasingly. you... don’t really have much of a choice in the matter. as you stroll around the harbor together, you take turns drinking from the only straw and a wave of consciousness washes over you gradually. wait, isn’t this like an indirect kiss? you place a hand to your gaping mouth after sucking on the straw that xingqiu pressed his lips on merely seconds ago. you should know by now, how bold he is underneath his polite façade. 

after you finish sipping your drink - tediously at that, you both agree on going to the library to read books together since the heat is pretty unbearable to do anything enjoyable. xingqiu recommends you to try reading some of his personal favorites and you do the same as well. he’s thrilled to have a reading buddy now since it’s boring being here by himself. 

while you’re immersed in the novel that you randomly picked from the bookshelf, every now and then, xingqiu will look up from the pages of his book and faintly smile to himself, glad that you’re enjoying yourself.

the sun was setting and the stars started to appear in the pastel pink and orange of the evening sky. you place back the last book and stretch your arms, before turning to xingqiu. sighing, you give him a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek and softly say your farewell.

as you’re about to make your leave for the day, xingqiu halts you with his words, “wait. there’s something i need to do before we can end this date.” nonchalantly, he plucks a book from its shelf, opens its pages, and uses it to block the sunlight drifting through the transparent window glass, effectively shielding his vision from the public eye as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss.

his free hand finds its way combing through the back of your head to deepen the kiss. when he’s satisfied enough, the boy detaches his lips from yours and lightly rubs the flesh of your cheek with a finger, while placing the book down on a nearby table. you keep your eyes fixated on him as he licks the edges of his lips.

“that felt nice,” xingqiu murmurs, “you’re so sweet, i’d hate for anyone else to savor in this pleasant moment with you other than i. shall we continue this again on our next date too?”

ZHONGLI.

the first thing he does is make sure to bring mora, this time. it would be highly inconsiderate of mr. zhongli to have you pay for the expenses of this fine date. he’s one to take things nice and slow. sure, time is unfortunately measured and limited, but he wants to make the most of it with you, a mortal who, just like any other being, has a beginning and end to your life. zhongli wants to shower you in all the beauty and joy this world has to offer while you’re still here with him.

he may be a gentle-spoken and polite individual, but please don’t mistaken him as being shy in any way. he shows up to your residence one afternoon and presents you a bouquet of your preferred flowers while he asks if you would consider accompanying him on a date. you take the bundled up flowers, carefully stroking a petal as if it’s made of fragile glass and accepts his proposal with open arms. 

he takes you out to an expensive restaurant in the night of liyue and helps you select the best dishes. after you’re finished with your lavish and sophisticated meals, zhongli ushers you outside where you’re greeted with fresh air, a contrast to the suffocation you felt back at the restaurant. sure, the place is grand and your hunger is well-satiated, yet despite wearing your best clothing, you felt out of place there, like a commoner surrounded by nobles. 

when you express your earlier discomfort to zhongli, his eyes are filled with shame and he’s already apologizing like the gentleman he is. guiltily, you tell him it’s fine and you ask if you can show him something before you have to head on home. he ponders in thought before agreeing, walking hand in hand with you to your unknown destination. 

the chilling night breeze bites at your bare skin as you instantly shiver. this doesn’t go unnoticed in zhongli’s sharp eyes and he’s already unbuttoning his jacket. he drapes the coat over your shoulder blades and rubs his gloved hands on your cold fingertips to preserve warmth. “are you feeling cold perhaps? maybe we should head back?” you stop him before he can guide you back to the harbor. 

“i’m okay now. thank you for your concern.” you say to ease his poor mind. he nods and you both continue on. the walk uphill takes a while, but it’s worth it when you finally reach the top. your eyes widen in amazement as you witness the glimmering stars splayed across the pitch darkness of the sky. “zhongli, look. do you like it?” he simply nods, but all of his attention is focused on you.

zhongli grins down at your childishly excited face, pausing for a hesitant minute before he carefully places his hands on top of your shoulders. you look up at him in confusion and is about to question him, but any sound that comes out is cut off by his lips ensnaring yours in a kiss. you’re astounded by his intimate move, but you revel in his touch in a matter of seconds. 

he hopes, as he tightens his hold, that you’ll stay with him always, till your last breath. 

tagging. @scarymoosh

[melting-tofu]

Pocky game - ft. Kaeya, Venti and Xingqiu

[ Anon requested: hey sorry if you're getting this request again. my wifi crashed when i submitted it, and i don't know if you got it, so i hope you don't mind me sending again. request: hcs or scenario of Xingqiu, Kaeya, and Venti(separately ofc) playing the pocky game with a really flustered s/o? (s/o is gender neutral)

sorry if this is weird 😖 but i only saw one pocky game hc and s/o was assertive and i was like "this isn't me at all" ]

i love writing shy s/o hdhdhxbn

this is likely my last post of this week, and maybe for a while too, but stay tune as i will return after nearly 3 weeks and update as fast as possible! :D if i have time i will try to write something (likely the requests i haven't done) during this time too, but ngl i have exams to deal with, i've been staying up late recently and the illness is starting to scold me-

Note: gender-neutral reader

-> Masterlist

--------

Kaeya:

。You walk in on Kaeya oversleeping at his desk...

。He can feel your presence so he immediately wakes up and smiles at you

。He will ask what are you doing here in somewhat flirty tone I can't imagine ;;

。Little you feel shy to answer so you nervously apologize and back off

。That's when he notices a box of pocky hidding behind you

。He instantly gets up and snatches it from your hand

。"I guess a little game for break time is fine~!"

Sitting you both on the couch nearby, Kaeya teasingly put a pocky on between his lips and stares at you with a dangerous devilish gaze. It's way too scary to look directly at, but also scary to advert, you feel your cheeks burn up as you try your best to slowly inch closer and bite on the other side of the pocky. He closes his eye and leans in, you just have to do the same. Your body is trembling, the closer you two are, the hotter your face heats up.. When you're about a centimeter apart, he snaps his eyes open and wrap his hands around your waist to pull you close, closing most of the gap between you and smirks. He takes another bite and his lips ghost over yours. You panic and jump out of his grip, your face as red as a tomato as you cover your mouth to shout "I-I'm sorry! I can't- can't continue this-" and run away, leaving him all alone. He doesn't seem angry, his arms go to cross in front if his chest and he gives a warm smile again. "Don't ever start a game that you can't play again, (Name)~"

Venti:

。Cheeky bastard who bursts of laughter when he sees you drop your pocky box by accident

。You are simply on a picnic with him so he won't ask why you brought it

。Bringing his head to rest on his hand, he teases "What's that interesting thing you've been hiding from me? Care to elaborate?"

。You open up to answer, no words can be heard

。He chuckles and pull you down on your back, himself hovering above you

。"How about using actions to explain instead?"

。Then quickly shoves a pocky in his mouth, the end-

Venti smiles mischievously to wait for your reaction. And of course, your first one is to blush madly and look away. He hums in discontent, bringing a hand up to poke at your cheek to make you gasp and look back at him. He feels your cheek hot against his fingertip but he doesn't mind and happy that you finally munch on the other side of the pocky. He bites down and inches closer, creating fictions against your lips. You're trapped under him so you really can't lean in- it makes him have to bend down to push the snack closer. He grins mockingly as if he can make it slip any moments and you may choke- Slowly the gap between you closing, along with your face getting flushed more and more. His lips brushes against yours, you panickingly try to push him away but he has already pinned your hands above your head. Taking this opportunity he catches your lips in a passionate kiss...

"...Would you like to do this again sometimes or right now?"

Xingqiu:

。Not this time again where Xingqiu drags you to the library and traps you there until he's done reading

。You may read something too but you don't feel like it

。He usually doesn't do this when you're bored, but he thinks maybe torturting you a little would be fun-

。He still looks after you, but most of his attention is paid to the book and not you

。It gets you extremely bored and tired

。So you take out a pocky and hang it between your lips to kill the time

。Then it catches his attention

。He intendedly closes his book loudly for you to hear

。Your eyes lit up as you think he's finished

。Turning to him, he quickly bites on the other side of your pocky

Xingqiu has a scary stare to you but still patiently waits for you to continue. Oh? So he is ready to leave you all alone for the precious book he was reading but he can't get over his jealousy when you don't pay attention to him anymore? Xingqiu is such a difficult person to comprehend... You're confused for a good amount of time before biting and get closer, feeling your face heats up. His eyes close as if to enjoy this as he does the same. His arms slowly get to pull you closer, leaving you completely flushed. You take another bite- only for him to cheat a bit and take a bigger one. He opens his eyes and smiles dangerously to distract you before closing them again. His hot breath tickles your skin as he breaks the pocky to lure you in a kiss. As always: you're shy to be affectionate in public, so you struggly to resist and push him back before covering your face that is now as red as a tomato. He giggles and stands up, offering his hand to you and smirks "That's enough reading for today, let's go back! I hope you don't mind finishing that little game when we arrive."

[brandyllyn]

Corroboration

Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!Reader [no use of y/n]

Summary: Celebrating a new job and trying to keep your relationship a secret from Frankie. Maybe you two should have just stayed in - you always had more fun there.

Theoretically Part 2 of Validation but can be read as a standalone.

My Masterlist

Word count: 5600 (Again. Jesus Christ.) Read it on AO3.

Rating: NC17 (Explicit)

Warnings: language. alcohol. bondage. smut. PiV sex. Oral (m receiving). toys / masturbation.

Awesome gif credit to @nickblaine [please let me know if you’d rather I not use! I’m still learning gif etiquette.]

Santiago was not going to make it through tonight.

It was supposed to be a night to let loose. You had just gotten a job offer and your sister wanted to celebrate. Of course that meant that her husband was there which is how Santi found himself on the other end of Frankie’s assessing gaze on the outdoor patio of a local taqueria. Santi did not know how to properly convey 'I absolutely have not been fucking your sister-in-law' with his face, but he was pretty sure he was doing a piss poor job of it.

It also didn’t help that you kept rubbing your toes along his ankle.

You weren’t supposed to be teasing him. He’d been clear about that the night before. Clear about the promise (now broken) that he had made to Frankie to keep his hands off you. You had rolled your eyes at his confession, pointing out various things such as that you were a 'big girl who could take care of herself' and that Frankie 'wasn’t your dad and even if he was it was none of his business.'

The statements had eased Santi’s guilt a little bit. Your hands wandering into his pants had blown any remaining concerns out of his mind completely. But that was when he was at home, with you curled around him and the taste of you fresh in his mouth. Here, in public, with his friend’s eyes boring holes into his brain, it was different.

"A pitcher for the table?" Andrea, Frankie’s wife, asked. Santi nodded at her. "And tacos?"

"Steak and chicken?" You asked and Santi nodded at you too. Anything to avoid Frankie’s eyes.

"We’ll go put the order in," Andrea said, leaning over and kissing Frankie on the cheek, not seeming to notice her husband’s preoccupation. She grabbed your hand and you gave Santi a wink before following.

Santi watched you walk away, appreciating the sway of your ass in your jeans. He shifted in his seat when he remembered what you were wearing under them. How you had sashayed out into his living room - wearing nothing but stockings, heels, and a garter belt - and walked over to his refrigerator while he was trying to remember what order breathing went in.

"Come here," he ordered and frowned when you laughed, passing out of his reach as you went back towards your room with a sparkling water.

"We don’t have time."

"I won’t take long," Santi promised, already pushing away from the table.

But you laughed again, backing down the hall and away from him. "I just wanted you to see what I was going to be wearing tonight. So you can think about it and what we might want to do later."

"I want to do it now," he growled, sprinting down the hall and then pulling up short when you closed the door in his face. When you came out twenty minutes later he had been expecting a dress. Maybe a skirt. What he was not expecting was you in a nice button down and jeans.

"I thought you were going to wear the stockings?" He asked with a disappointed sigh.

You smiled and took his hand, pressing him to your thigh. His fingers ran over the slight bump for a moment before he realized what he was feeling. He looked down in amazement but they were invisible, his only indication what his hand was telling him.

There was something about it that just set his mind reeling. There was no purpose to it, you were wearing it because you liked lingerie. And suddenly he thought back to every time he had ever seen you in jeans, wondering if you’d been wearing lace and silk next to your thighs then. As you left with Andrea he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on where the straps down your ass would be. Tracing the lines with his eyes and licking his lips unconsciously.

"Hey, pendejo, what did I say?" Frankie’s voice broke into his thoughts.

"What?" Santi tried to keep his tone level, ripping his eyes from you and turning to Frankie with what he hoped was a befuddled look.

Frankie wasn’t buying it. "I said don’t fuck my sister. That includes eye-fucking."

"Oh come on," Santi groaned, rolling his eyes. "I was just watching them leave."

"You were doing more than that," Frankie pointed at him. "She’s new in town and I don’t want her nursing a broken heart first thing."

"What makes you think I’ll break her heart? If we fucked it doesn’t have to be anything complicated." Santi made a point to emphasize the 'if'.

"Ahh," Frankie choked out, "you will not have my sister in-law as your fuck buddy man."

"She’s a grown woman," Santi finally snapped. "If she wants to fuck around with someone I think that’s her decision isn’t it?"

There was a long pause.

"Cabrón… you already did it."

Santi held his hands up, "Now Frankie it’s not what you think…"

"I think you did exactly what I asked you not to and fucked her."

Santi paused, glancing to the side for a second. "Okay, it’s exactly what you think but the circumstances aren’t-" He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, Frankie had shoved the table to the side and was coming at him. "Calm down it’s not-"

"I asked one thing of you, tu hijo de puta, and you couldn’t fucking keep it in your pants," Frankie growled and lashed out, catching Santi in the gut before he could duck away from the hit. Santi felt the breath leave him but he spun on the balls of his feet and caught Frankie in a bear hug.

"Hermano listen I-"

"Don’t fucking call me hermano, tarado," Frankie bit out, his elbow catching Santi and he was forced to let go.

"It’s not that big of a deal," Santi tried again. It was difficult to hold up his end of the fight when the thing he wanted most was to not be fighting.

"She’s too good for you," Frankie told him.

Santi’s hands dropped to his sides. "Well that’s a shitty thing to say."

Frankie raised an eyebrow, "You forget I was there when you were fucking your way through Syria with Blackwater."

"Oh fucking-a, man," Santi groaned. "I was twenty-eight and fresh out. You can’t hold that against me."

"I absolutely hold it against you," Frankie threw another punch, glancing off of Santi’s chin. Santi felt his head jerk to the side and he took a stumbling step back, catching himself on a nearby heating unit.

"What the fuck Frankie?"

Oh thank you sweet Mary, Santi thought, turning to see you and Andrea standing a few feet away holding a pitcher of beer and a set of glasses. He met your eyes and tried to let you know through telepathy that your little secret was out. He watched you rush over, setting the pitcher down and reaching up to tilt his face to the light.

"What the hell happened out here?" You asked, looking over at Frankie while you stroked your thumb along his cheek. Santi clocked Frankie’s expression and caught your hand in his, pulling it down. But Frankie saw it, and his eyes narrowed on Santi. The other man opened his mouth but his wife cut him off.

"Francisco Luis Morales," the glasses clanked as Andrea set them down, "do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?"

Frankie’s head whipped around to her, "What? No. Baby I-"

"Then what the fuck are you doing getting into a fight out here? And you," Andrea turned on Santi and he found himself standing up straighter. She pointed and Santi flinched, "Were you just going to let my husband beat the shit out of you?"

"Like he could," Santi snorted but when he caught Andrea’s expression he quickly schooled his features into seriousness. "No ma’am. I mean… yes ma’am?"

She glared at him before turning back to Frankie. "I’m waiting Francisco."

"Pope slept with your sister," Frankie blurted out, fingers spread wide as he held his hands out to her.

"I know," Andrea replied, arms crossed and ignoring his reach. "And?"

Frankie gaped at her, looking like a fish caught out of water and Santi had to hide a snicker. Your elbow jabbing into his side made him turn and glare at you but you didn’t look at him, just continued to stare at the couple in front of you.

"What do you mean 'and'?" Frankie spluttered.

"And… what’s your point?"

"Pope slept with your sister," he said it louder this time and Santi heard you groan and saw you cover your face with one hand.

"Tell me when this is over," you whispered to him.

"Wanna just sneak out?"

You jerked your head to his, "Can we do that?"

"No." Frankie and Andrea said the word at the same time, in wildly different tones. Both yours and Santi’s eyes snapped back to them.

"We are celebrating," Andrea said, poking her finger into Frankie’s chest. Turning, she put her hands on her hips, "Everyone sit down."

It was the same tone someone might use on a poorly behaved dog and Santi had to resist the urge to just sit directly on the ground. Instead he moved back to the table, nabbing the pitcher on the way. He noticed that you didn’t seem as phased by your little sister’s tone, giving her an eye roll before sliding onto the stool next to his.

"Here," Andrea passed out the glasses, taking the seat on the other side of Santi. "When Frankie gets his act together he can join us." She shouted the last part. Frankie was still standing a few feet away, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides and his brow furrowed beneath the bill of his ball cap.

"What gave it away?" You whispered in a low voice.

"You playing footsie with me under the table," he whispered back.

You scoffed. "Did not."

"Mmhmm," he hummed with a sarcastic raise of his eyebrows. "Said you couldn’t keep your eyes off me either."

"Oh please," Andrea laughed, filling his glass with the pale lager. "You two were obvious from the moment you walked in. Even if she hadn’t told me I’d have known."

"You told her?" Santi asked accusingly and saw you shrug.

"Of course I did. She’s my sister."

"Am I the only one who didn’t know?" Frankie grumbled, settling into the seat next to his wife and grabbing the pitcher, pouring himself a full glass and then downing half in one swallow.

"Yes," you and your sister reply in the same beat and Santi snorted, not bothering to hide his grin when Frankie glared at him.

"So this is-"

"None of your business," your voice cut Frankie off and from the jerk of his body his wife kicked him under the table at the same time. Santi raised his eyebrow at his friend and couldn’t resist a smug smile.

The evening passed uneventfully after that. He limited himself to one beer, knowing he would need to drive you back home, and laughed along as you and your sister tried to one-up each other with stories of your childhood. He kept an eye on Frankie, thankful when he saw his friend begin to relax, joining in on the playful ribbing and offering a few stories of his own.

At the end of the night he tucked you into his truck, buckling you in and smiling to himself when you stole a few kisses while he leaned over you.

"There you go," he said, patting your thigh, "safe and sound."

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, not reacting when he closed the door. He shook his head with a soft laugh and turned to walk around the truck and grunted when he ran directly into Frankie.

"Oh fuck, not again man."

Frankie glared, raking a hand along the back of his neck. "Just don’t hurt her okay?"

Santi closed his eyes for a minute, shaking his head. "I would never do anything to intentionally hurt someone. Not like that."

"I know," Frankie mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I’m not worried about what you’ll do intentionally."

Santi nodded. "I get you. I do. But whatever is going on, it has nothing to do with you." Frankie sighed and Santi held his hand out. "I’ll see you soon?"

Frankie took his hand and pulled him into a hug. "See you soon, hermano."

Santi let out a sigh of relief and returned the hug, following Frankie around the truck and giving Andrea a wave goodbye before climbing in and starting it. Your hand reached across and slid into his immediately and he gave it a squeeze, smiling at the soft look on your face.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked as he backed out of the spot.

"How Frankie was kicking your ass."

Santi scoffed, carefully checking the road before pulling out into it, turning his hand in yours and reaching across so they rested on your thigh. "Not in a million years. I wasn’t engaging."

"Sure you weren’t," you giggled. "I saw what I saw."

Santi rolled his eyes. "Believe what you want."

"Pobrecito," you cooed, turning in the seat. "I still think you’re tough. All… manly."

"You better," he let go of your hand to squeeze your thigh hard, hearing you squeak. "I’m all man for you."

You laughed, giggling to yourself as he pulled into his driveway. He pulled you over to him when he threw the truck into park, pulling you across the console and pressing his lips to yours while your laughter bubbled around him.

"You’re giggly when you’re drunk," Santi said with a smile, squeezing your thigh with one hand before letting himself out of the truck. He could see your lopsided grin and how you struggled with the seatbelt as he walked around the hood.

When he opened the door you tumbled out and into his arms, your hands fisting into his shirt. "M’not drunk," you protested, nuzzling your cheek into his neck.

"Mmhmm," he responded evenly, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you inside the house. "Sober as a nun. That’s you."

"I wouldn’t say that," you mumbled, cursing softly when your shoulder hit the wall. He muttered a quick apology and maneuvered you into the house with more care. He leaned you against the kitchen island, holding you steady with one hand for a second.

"I’m going to get you some water," he told you and waited for you to gain some semblance of balance before getting down the glass and filling it. When he turned back he found you were staring at him, chin propped on your hands, eye blinking slowly.

"You’re beautiful," you sighed, eyebrows drawn together.

Santi grinned and handed you the glass, leaning over the other side of the island. "Takes one to know one."

"No," you shook your head, taking a gulp of water and then setting the glass to the side. Earnestly, you took his hands in yours. "You’re like…. Really fucking beautiful. Gorgeous."

Santi felt heat rise on his cheeks and hoped he wasn’t blushing. It wasn’t every day the sexiest woman alive told you that you were beautiful. Even if she was hovering somewhere around tipsy.

"Your eyes. Your hands. Your mouth…." You sighed dreamily. "You’re so fucking hot."

Oh, well, this was nice. He knew he was reasonably attractive, he had a mirror and fairly good luck at bars. But it was still very nice to hear it said out loud. He opened his mouth to ask you more, see how long he could drag out this lovely moment of you stroking his ego, but your next words cut him off.

"Fuck, the things I’d let you do to me…"

Santi short-circuited. That was the only real way of explaining it. His heart stopped and every drop of blood he had rushed to his cock. He could feel his breath ghosting over his parted lips, his hands clenching on the counter. As he watched, you reached out and ran your thumb along his lower lip and then you fucking moaned, your eyes fluttering shut and he had the sudden flash of understanding that you were imagining it. Imagining this hypothetical list of things.

"Like what?" His voice was lower, raspier than he intended and your own lips parted when you opened your eyes.

"What?"

You looked lost, confused. Gently, he reached up and took your wrist in his hand. His fingers were long enough to easily encircle the fragile bones while he held you still and placed a kiss on your palm. "What would you let me do?"

He could tell the question was too much the moment it left him. You bit your lower lip, brows drawing together as you swallowed. He quickly reframed it. "What do you want me to do?"

Oh that was it, you melted, leaning across the counter towards him and he met you partway, brushing his lips along yours but pulling back when you tried to deepen the kiss. With the hand not holding your wrist he reached out, cupping your jaw and running his thumb along the arch of your cheek.

It was your turn to hold his wrist in your hand, to turn your face into him and press a kiss to the center. But you also flicked your tongue out, lips moving along him and drawing his thumb inside your mouth and Jesus fucking Christ sucking on it.

"Everything."

The word was muffled, mumbled around his thumb. The syllables stuck in his mind for a moment, skittering across the edges of his reasoning before settling into the space his question had left. He groaned, pressing down on your tongue. "Querida, I don’t think that’s an offer you want to make me."

You watched him, teeth scraping along the fleshy pad of his thumb as you pulled away and raised an eyebrow. Slowly, you pulled your hand from his and unbuttoned the first button of your shirt.

"I know what everything means Santi." Another button. "And when I say I want to do everything with you," another button and he could see the edge of your bra, lace cupping your perfect tits, "I mean it."

Santi was around the counter in a flash, hands pulling your hips flush to his, mouth slanting across yours. You barely had time to press your hands to his shoulders before he consumed you. Tongue stroking into you, walking you backwards until your shoulders hit the far wall.

You met him kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders with a low moan. He gripped the edges of your shirt and pulled, listening to the buttons skitter across the floor before shoving the cloth down your arms and twisting the fabric in his hands, trapping your arms behind you.

There was no hesitation, no questions, you just leaned your head back and offered your neck to him and he raked his teeth along the soft flesh. "Everything?" He mumbled into you.

"Everything," you gasped in return.

He grinned at that, nipping at your collarbone, pulling down on your arms so you arched further into him. His knee shoved between your legs, pressing up between your thighs and he felt the jolt that went through you. How you shifted your stance so he pressed exactly where you wanted him to.

In his mind’s eye he could see it, see how wet you were getting for him. The way your thighs would tremble. The… fuck he’d forgotten the stockings.

He moved abruptly from you, spinning you around and forcing you ahead of him down the hallway and to his bed, not stopping until your thighs hit it and he could push you down face first. He let go of your shirt to work on your pants - noting that you didn’t even try to extricate yourself from his makeshift bindings.

Your pants and underwear came off together and he stepped back to admire the sight of you. The straps of the garter belt ran over the curve of your ass, taut lines to the black stockings you were wearing. Tilting his head he smiled and then bent to the floor, carefully setting your feet back in the low heels you had been wearing.

Oh that was nice. The heels made your ass tilt up, and he only needed to kick your feet apart to have your pussy bared to him. With quick movements he undid his belt, pushing his pants down far enough that he could release his cock. His fingers pressed into your dripping cunt and he clenched his jaw when he heard you moan his name. With his free hand he jerked your arms free of your shirt, he didn’t need it to hold you captive, quickly gathering your wrists in his hand and pressing them to the small of your back.

Head tilted back, eye closed, he pressed the head of his cock inside of you. Thankful for earlier communications that meant that he knew he could be skin to skin with you and not need to worry. Thankful because it meant he could lose himself in how fucking wet you were for him. How your cunt wrapped around him like a glove as he sank inside you with a loud groan of your name.

You had said you wanted everything and he gave it to you, holding your hip in one hand and your wrists in the other as he lost himself inside of you. This one was for him and him alone - he had plans for the evening and knew that you would not be left wanting - but right now, right now he needed to fuck you and he needed to come and he wanted you full of him when he-

He hunched over you when his orgasm washed over him, mouth trailing across your spine, holding your wrists in what must have been a painful grip but you didn’t struggle. Just arched your back so he sank deeper inside of you and whispered his name like a prayer. He stayed like that for a minute, letting your muscles work on him, feeling how you squirmed slightly beneath him as your body absently chased its own release. Finally he lifted himself, pressing his hips harder to you even as he felt himself softening.

"Do not move," he warned and slipped free, pressing your wrists down. He waited, watching to see if you would disobey but you didn’t. He staggered slightly when he crossed the room, his legs feeling weak from the strength of his orgasm. But he caught himself with one hand while opening the nightstand with the other, finding what he was looking for quickly. Turning, he tossed the pile of laundry from the chair in the corner and sank into it, spreading his knees wide and looking his fill of you. You remained bent over his bed with your legs spread wide in those stockings and heels with his cum slowly dripping out of you and your wrists crossed behind your back.

Fuck he was the luckiest man in the world.

"Come here," he said in a low voice, watching you tense and then slowly push yourself up. Your hair was disheveled, it looked like you’d already been fucked once which… fair. He crooked a finger at you and pointed at the space in front of him, between his legs. You sank to your knees gracefully, leaning your head against his thigh and closing your eyes and it was such a tender gesture his heart stuttered for a moment. He reached out and softly pressed a wayward bit of hair back across your temple.

"I’m going to fuck you again," he murmured and his lips twitched when he saw the slow smile crawl across your lips. "But you’re going to have to get me ready."

You nodded, opening your eyes finally to look up at him from under long eyelashes. "Yes."

"Good girl," he praised, pressing his thumb to you and opening your mouth slightly. With his other hand he lifted his limp cock and rested it on your plush lips. You pulled him in immediately, tongue swirling around the head and he bit back a curse at the sensations on his still sensitized skin.

He reached for one of your hands, pressing the object he had pulled from the nightstand into it. He smiled when you glanced at it and raised an eyebrow at him. "I want you to come with my cock in your mouth."

You moaned and he grunted, shifting lower in the chair so you could work him easier. From the corner of his eye he watched your hand move to between your legs, heard the soft click and then the gentle hum of the vibrator. He knew the moment you touched yourself - you sucked so hard on him he saw stars.

"That’s it," he sank his hands into your hair, "that’s it. Oh fuck yes."

His body wasn’t ready for another round but it didn’t really matter. Your mouth caressing on him felt like heaven regardless, watching you move and squirm as you brought yourself closer and closer to an orgasm. You whimpered around his cock, easily taking all of his softened length into your mouth.

When you came the back of your throat flexed with your muffled cries and he felt his cock stir. He held your mouth on him while your body writhed and you drove yourself as high as you could. The sight of you, the sounds you made as he grew harder in your mouth and you struggled to continue to take him, fuck he should have asked if he could film you.

You had said everything.

He groaned and pulled you from him, lifting you up and leaning forward so he could kiss you. Your jaw was slack, your mouth lazy as you returned his attentions.

"Can you make it to the bed?" He asked and grinned when you slowly shook your head. "Come on," he stood, lifting you with him and wrapping an arm around your waist when you sagged against him. "I got you."

He laid you gently in the middle of his bed, slipping your heels off and placing a kiss to the soft stocking covering the arch of your foot. Once you were settled he stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head, quickly shucking all of his layers until he was naked. His semi-erect cock bobbing slightly and he wrapped his hand around it and stroked himself while he looked at you sprawled across his bed. You looked ready to sleep and he lightly slapped the inside of your thigh.

Your eyes flew open and you gave a wide smile when you saw him. "C’mere," you hummed, holding your arms out and he slipped into your embrace. He gathered you to him, fingers tangling into the straps of your garter belt as he covered your mouth with his. He heard you moan when he pressed his cock to your thigh, your hand reaching down but he caught it, quickly rolling you fully onto your back and pulling your arm over your head.

"Give me the other one," he murmured, lips trailing over your neck. He adjusted himself when you pulled your arm from between your bodies, raising it up next to the other. Wrists crossed and arms loose. "Can you keep them there or do I need to tie you up?"

He didn’t miss the jump of your heartbeat, the way your breathing stopped for a moment or the low moan you tried to bite back. "I can keep them there."

Grinning he pulled away, sitting back on his knees and shaking his head at you. "I don’t think I trust you."

You arched your back, closing your eyes and making a soft noise that made his blood boil. He was off the bed and back with his belt in the space from one heartbeat to the next, kneeling near your head and leaning forward to wrap it around your wrists. You could get out if you wanted, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to give you something to fight against. Something to strain and pull on while he…

Your lips closed around his cock again and his chin dropped, hands fisting into the sheets. Looking down he could see how you twisted to take him, the blissed out smile on your face while you sucked on the tip of him - all you could reach. Cradling your head he held you still for a moment while he slowly slid forward, pushing into the back of your throat and feeling you choke. He pulled back just as slowly, using his thumb to wipe away a tear that had gathered at the corner of your eye.

He shifted down the bed, using one hand to wrap around your throat and tilt your head away from him, dragging his teeth down your neck. His other hand palmed at your breast, pulling at your bra until the material was pushed down and there was nothing to stop him from moving down and drawing your nipple into his mouth. He bit softly, then harder, feeling how you writhed under him and finding the pressure that made you gasp. He pinched your other nipple at the same time, pulling sharply and listening to you yelp at the stinging pain.

Shifting his body further over yours, he pressed his knee between your thighs, felt your wetness smear across his skin. His mouth shifted to the other nipple, soothing the pinched flesh with his tongue before biting it as well.

"Santi!"

He chuckled, grinding his leg up into you. "We’re barely into everything, querida. Do you want me to stop?"

"Never," you sighed and his heart flipped over in his chest. He lifted himself so he could kiss you, running his hand down and snapping your garter against your thigh. When you yelped he grinned and slipped his hand beneath it, massaging your skin.

"I said I was going to fuck you," he growled in your ear, nipping softly at the lobe. "But it seems like maybe you don’t want me?"

"I want you," you said immediately, turning your head and pressing your lips to his. He returned the kiss, moving his hand so it rested between his thigh and your cunt. His fingers slipped into you with no resistance.

"Are you sure?" He teased, lightly playing with your clit. "You haven’t changed your mind?"

"Santi," he pulled back at the seriousness of your tone, eyes searching your face. Your arms lowered, bound hands coming to rest behind his neck and he could feel the edge of his belt on his skin. "Please."

"Beautiful lady," he whispered, nuzzling his nose to yours. "I’ll give you everything."

He shifted his body, sliding his cock inside of you slowly, his forehead pressed to yours. He swallowed as you stretched around him, biting his lip and moving his arms beneath you to hold you close. The lace at the top of your stockings scratched against his thighs when you wrapped your legs around him. He was as bound as you were, held tight by your legs on his waist and your wrists behind his head, sinking down into the warmth of your body.

A soft puff of air caressed his lips and then your mouth touched his in the lightest of kisses. Moaning to himself he rocked into your body, licking at the seam of your lips and tangling his tongue with yours.

He had said he was going to fuck you but you were proving him a liar. He was making love to you, his body worshiping at the altar of yours, laying down everything he had as an offering to you. He wanted to do more, touch caress and stroke your body - but he would have to move from your embrace to do so. Move from the warmth and softness of you and he just couldn’t make himself. Instead he changed the angle of his hips, dragging himself along your clit while he pressed into you in long strokes.

Your breath caught in a tiny gasp and he dropped a kiss to your throat. He whispered sweet nothings to you. Telling you how beautiful you looked, how well you were taking him, that he was in danger of falling desperately in love with you. He made his confessions in Spanish, the words falling onto your skin and settling there even as your muscles clenched and you held him tighter and cried out his name in a long broken sob while you shattered around him.

Your orgasm triggered his own and he groaned when he spilled inside of you, coming so hard he blacked out and sank his weight down onto you without thought. He barely felt you shift, changing the position of your arms so you could card your fingers into his hair. You pressed a light kiss to his temple.

"You would be a very easy man to fall madly in love with Santiago Garcia," you whispered into his ear and for the first time in a long time - the thought doesn’t frighten him.

[michaelgovehateblog]

Piggy in the Middle

Queen Elizabeth x Michael Gove, Michael Gove x Matt Hancock, 1500 words

“Michael Gove and Sarah Vine to divorce.” She knew it was bad, but Elizabeth’s heart couldn’t help but skip a beat when she saw the headlines. She had spent years forcing herself to ignore how she really felt about Michael and pretending the flirty looks and comments they shared were meaningless or all in her head; after all, they were both married, and publicly at that, especially in the case of her and Philip. And it’s not that she didn’t love Philip, because she of course did, but there was something about Gove and his pig-like face that just drew her in. And now she was rid of Philip, and Michael and Sarah were splitting up – maybe there was a chance for them.

Not that they would be able to go public with it if anything even did happen between them. As far as the country knew, Elizabeth was still mourning Philip, just putting on a brave face and soldiering on without him. The public probably wouldn’t be able to deal with her moving on so soon. She sighed – her life as a parasite was so difficult.

Elizabeth was so lost in her thoughts she almost didn’t hear the knock at her door, and subsequent voice.

“Your Majesty? It’s 12, we’re scheduled to leave now.”

“Of course, I’m coming now.” She responded, and stood up to leave, making sure to glance in the mirror to check she still looked presentable. Everything was still pristine: icy white grey hairs all perfectly in place and nude lipstick completely un-smudged. She was wearing a long royal blue (her signature colour) coat with large buttons of a slightly softer blue colour, all of which were done up. This was worn over a classy floral-patterned dress, which wasn’t visible under the jacket. Perched on top of her head was an elaborate hat made from material the exact same colour as the coat and adorned with white and blue flowers. The shoes she wore were a standard pair of elegant black heels and the look was finished off with a pair of black gloves.

Satisfied the outfit was perfectly uncreased as always, Elizabeth left the room to head to the whatever event it was this time, she didn’t really care. Mostly she just showed up at these things for a bit of good PR and so people would continue believe she works hard and really cares about the common people (Which she didn’t obviously. Why would she.) Although, she was certain that someone had told her that this event would have many politicians also in attendance, so she was hopeful that she might encounter a certain cabinet member.

As per usual, Elizabeth was finding the event mind-numbingly boring, just endless shaking hands with forgettable people she was supposed to pretend to be interested in. But then she spotted him. And at the same moment she saw him, Michael glanced in her direction and they were making direct eye contact. She gave him a shy smile, which he returned as he started walking towards her, not breaking eye contact.

“Your Majesty,” said Michael, extending his arm to shake hands, “How are you today?” They shook hands, Michael noticing how dry and wrinkly Elizabeth’s felt, and her in turn mentally noting the bizarre clamminess of his, both of which only increased each person’s attraction to the other.

“I’m doing wonderfully,” she responded, “And thoroughly enjoying this lovely event.” she made sure to add, aware of how many people were probably in earshot. “But what about yourself? I heard the news. It must be a difficult time for you.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing this; he couldn’t believe that the Queen actually cared enough about him to pay attention to the news about him and his (soon to be ex) wife. He had always felt there was some kind of connection between the two of them but told himself he was imagining it – what other option did he have. But unusually for his cowardly personality, he got a sudden burst of confidence, and was shocked to hear himself talking.

“Ma’am, I think I need to step outside to get some fresh air. Would you be interested in joining me for a walk?” He hadn’t had confidence to do anything like that since his coked-up days of 20 years ago. Well, he always said 20 years ago, but those close to him, such as Matt Hancock, knew he was prone to enjoy a smidge of the substance of an evening.

“Yes, I would enjoy that a lot.” replied Elizabeth, much to Michael’s delight. He offered out his elbow, purely out of politeness, of course, which she accepted, outwardly calmly but very eagerly inside. A walk outside would probably mean time properly alone, where other people couldn’t hear them, something they had probably never had before.

They continued small talk for a while, about the event and such, until they were far enough away from the general crowds for more intimate conversation.

"How have you been coping, Ma'am, without the Prince? Such an unexpected shame, his untimely demise like that. It was truly a shock to all of us."

Right, 'untimely'. Elizabeth often forgot that Philip's death was supposed to be something entirely unexpected for her, not something she knew would happen down to the exact time and place.

"Missing him, of course, but life has to go on. And it's strange to remember that I am single again, after all these years. That's not been the case since I was 13 and Philip was an adult."

"Yes, it's the same for me, minus the questionable age difference. I’ve been married to Sarah for so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to meet other people - and be with other people...” at these words the two made eye contact, neither knowing what to say aloud but having an entire unspoken conversation.

“Mr Gove… Or Michael, may I call you Michael? Would you be interested in visiting the Palace for dinner sometime soon? I could give you a personal tour of the grounds.”

“Yes, Ma’am, of course you can call me Michael,” Almost unthinkingly, the pair faced each other and reached for each other's hands. “And I would be honoured to visit the palace, Ma’am.”

Elizabeth let out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding, “Please, no need to bother with the formalities, at least not whilst nobody else is listening. Call me Elizabeth. Now, we should probably head back inside to the event, we’ve been out here a while, people will be missing me. They basically worship me. But I’ll get someone to contact you about your visit to the palace - I’d do it myself, only that sort of thing is far beneath me.” A smile spread over Michael’s pig-mannequin hybrid face as they made their way back inside.

What they hadn’t realised during their encounter, was that it wasn’t as private as they had thought; in fact another politician had been lurking and watching the entire scene.And he wasn’t happy about what he saw. As soon as Elizabeth and Michael walked off in separate directions, Matt Hancock quickly grabbed Gove by the arm and dragged him into a quiet corridor.

“Hancock.”

“Gove. I saw you outside just now, heard you talking with a certain monarch. The two of you seemed quite friendly.”

“Oh. Right. I hadn’t thought anyone else had been outside. You won’t - you won’t tell anyone what you saw or heard, will you?”

“I won’t. But only because it’s you, if it had been anybody else, I would be telling the sun immediately. The queen’s new love interest, I couldn’t hope for anything better to get the tabloids off my back. But because it’s you - I couldn’t hurt you like that.”

“Matt, what do you mean? Why are you making an exception for me?”

“Govey, as if you don’t know. You must have realised how I feel about you.” Hancock stepped closer to Gove and in his mind’s eye, imagined the Sims social interactions menu, and pictured selecting ‘kiss’. (It was from looking at the characters in the game, after all, that he learnt to kiss in the first place. The mindset and techniques stuck with him.) To his delight, he felt Michael kissing him back. Matt deepened the kiss and their tongues battled for dominance. Suddenly, Michael pulled away and stared, speechless, at Matt.

After about half a minute unable to muster any coherent thoughts (not even coherent by conservative standards) Gove turned away and briskly walked to an empty room, where he could sit alone and process all of what just happened. Not only was he certain now that Elizabeth felt the same spark that he did, but Hancock, whom he had secretly had a low-level affection for for many years, had just snogged him out of jealousy? He didn’t expect to be wrapped up in a love triangle the very day his divorce was announced, and yet it seemed that was what was happening. His years of being an incompetent and sleazy politician had clearly earned him some admirers.

~~

If you made it to the end, I'm only partly sorry for what you just read. I would be willing to write a second chapter if for some godforsaken reason somebody actually would want to read one. This took me far too long to write for something that is honestly not that many words but I feel like it's understandable, given the subject matter. k bye

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

heyo your imagines are amazing and i like reading them so much. i really appreciate you for writing for Alice in borderland as there isn’t a lot of content out there~ can you please write an imagine for niragi where the reader has been at the beach for quite the time and when she gets to know niragi she somehow falls for him because she sees right through him, and that he maybe starts to develop feelings for the reader too because she’s fearless and very confident. if it’s not too much trouble, could you make it a bit suggestive as well? thank you in advance~~

Of course I can! I’m not the best at writing with suggestive themes so I’ll try my best! 😅 I’m sorry but I changed the story line a little bit for it to fit more, so I hope this is still kind of what you had in mind.

Unlovable | Suguru Niragi

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Niragi (ft. Ann, Aguni, Hatter, Mira, Chishiya, Arisu, Last Boss)

Summary: Niragi finally finds you, who loves him for who he is, well, not exactly. And he gets a bit too attached.

Warnings: toxic relationship, suggestive themes, a lot of gaslighting, obsessive themes, a little bit angsty, threatening, choking, swearing, name calling

Word Count: 3.2k

*reader is female

Author’s Note: Sorry this took a while to post. I was busy for the past couple of days so it’s kinda rushed 😣

“Y/N! Come quick!”

You jolted awake as Ann burst into your room, shaking the door frame from the force. You blinked your eyes to adjust to the light, looking at her dazed.

“What?” you murmured, sitting up and out of the comfy sheets on your bed. 

“The executives have called a meeting. They say it’s urgent,” she stressed, rushing up to the side of your bed and ripping the duvet off of you.

You shivered and sighed loudly in disappointment. “Why? It’s too early for this shit,” you whined, rolling back onto your side and closing your eyes again. These urgent emergency meetings have become ridiculous, always taking place in the morning when everyone’s still sleeping. You would gladly have quit having the higher place at The Beach if it meant for you to have some peace and quiet.

“Now!” Ann pushed again. You groaned in annoyance and got out of bed. She seemed serious, so you didn’t want to anger her more.

You both quickly made your way to the top floor where the meeting room for the executives was located. You noticed Ann’s heavy breathing and worried expression, making you anxious as to what she thinks could have happened.

Hatter had left the night before to replenish his visa, having a big celebration as he drove off with Aguni and a few more of his men. Things had been becoming more tense as time went on. It felt wrong watching Hatter drive away so reluctantly. You offered to assist him in his game, seeing as you earned yourself a high number at The Beach from clearing many difficult games yourself. But Hatter declined, insisting that he would return to The Beach safe and sound before you knew it.

But unfortunately, he was wrong.

You and Ann rushed into the large room. You saw Arisu and Chishiya standing near the end of the table placed in the middle of the room. You strolled over to them and laid eyes on the scene before you.

There, Hatter laid dead on the table. Limbs spread out lifeless, skin pale and dead. The horrific sight made you feel sick, making you cover your mouth with your hand. The scene almost felt unreal, this shouldn’t have happened. Hatter wouldn’t be dead if you just went with him.

Ann walked over to his body to examine it, but before she even had the chance to touch the bullet wound embedded in his bare chest, Niragi barged into the room with his usual cocky and obnoxious aura filling the air like a bad smell.

“Oi, don’t touch him as you please. You dissection maniac,” he growled.

Your eyes followed him closely. Now that Hatter was gone, people like him could start dangerous trouble at the hotel. But, as long as you said something about it, you would make sure Niragi wouldn’t start any fires that he’s not willing to put out himself.

After all, you were the only person who knew his true self, and how he perceived everyone around him. It was pathetic really. In a way you took pity on him. Such a simple tactic for the brain to protect itself, become a heartless and cold monster towards others so no one could ever do the same to you again.

With Niragi, unfortunately it was hunt or be hunted.

You kept your strong gaze on him as he lifted his eyes to meet yours from across the table for a hot minute. His dark orbs glistened as they locked with yours, making the tension in the room become thicker as every second passed. He smirked in your direction before turning away.

“He was shot by a gun,” Ann stated, breaking the thick silence in the room. She looked over the small hole in his chest in fascination.

“What will happen to The Beach?” a young man asked who was standing nearby you. You stayed silent, not wanting to start anything that may end in chaos. You always had good points and valid arguments, but sometimes you knew when the best time was to bring them up. This was not it.

“I mean it’s only reasonable for the strongest to become the new leader!” Niragi exclaimed over everyone. “We need someone who can take good care of The Beach and keep order,” he yapped on, swinging his sniper rifle all around making a few people flinch when he aimed it at them.

You rolled your eyes at his behaviour. Trust him to be the most opinionated.

“I say, how about Aguni as our new leader,” he suggested, leaning forwards onto the table and watching everyone like a hawk. Aguni held no reaction, keeping his usual cold stone expression while having Niragi speak for him.

After no one reacted, all looking down to the ground to avoid Niragi’s gaze, he stood up straight and pulled a bored expression. “That’s not a good reaction,” he mocked, “Last Boss?”

You glanced over to where the hooded figure stood, watching in fear as he unsheathed his katana sword and rushed over to Ann, holding the deathly sharp blade a few inches from her throat. Your heart leaped to your mouth. If he was to try anything, you were ready to start chaos.

But nothing of the sort happened. Ann simply sighed frustratingly and held up her hand obediently. Niragi hummed, approving.

“This isn’t a majority vote,” Mira hissed from next to him.

Niragi stood and leaned his face close to hers, holding the barrel of his weapon close to her face to threaten her. “But it is! Isn’t it? After all, you’re all free to vote as well.”

One by one, he slowly circled the table, each person being scared for their life the closer he got to them. But you remained calm next to Chishiya, knowing that considering the relationship you have with Niragi, he wouldn’t do anything that would hurt you. He didn’t have the guts to.

As he moved from Chishiya, he finally locked eyes with you. He quickly strolled up to your still frame, stopping suddenly very close to you in an attempt to make you feel threatened. ‘As usual,’ you thought to yourself. ‘The old “I’m taller and bigger than you so I’m stronger” stupid tactic.’

“And what about you princess? Care to raise your hand for a vote for Aguni?” he hissed into your face. You held your neutral expression, becoming bored from this act he was putting on. It was purely for show, and yet wasn’t everyone’s personality? But Niragi, his act of this scary psychotic man angered you to your core.

“What if I don’t?” you snickered, walking towards him in an attempt of intimidation. He took a step back in shock. “It’s not like you need my precious vote, you already have so many.”

Niragi’s usual cocky smirk melted from his face, turning into a frustrated scowl. You felt him put his rifle underneath your chin, forcing you to lock eyes with him. “Be careful with that tongue of yours sweetheart, you wouldn’t want to lose it,” he growled quietly.

His threat made you smirk, almost bringing butterflies into your stomach. “I think you should be more concerned about that head of yours. You wouldn’t want to get it stuck too far up your own ass.”

You flinched as you felt his rough hand shoot from his rifle to your neck, instantly tightening around your throat making you widen your eyes in surprise. You lifted your arm and gripped his wrist in case he tightened his hold anymore. The look on his face was deathly. If looks could kill, you’d be already a few years into the afterlife.

Chishiya stood beside you watching the whole scene. He knew better than to intervene, as he could tell that Niragi wouldn’t ever intentionally permanently hurt you.

Niragi held you still as he leaned down to your ear, his hot breath hitting your sensitive skin. “Shut your fucking mouth you brat. You wouldn’t want me to hurt you too much later, would you?” You cringed as you felt his tongue slide behind the back of your ear, the piercing making you shiver.

“Niragi,” you heard Aguni say, saving you from the public embarrassment of getting felt up by Niragi in front of everyone you knew. “That’s enough, I think she gets the point.”

Niragi grunted in annoyance before loosening his fist on your neck. You sucked in a huge gasp of air, coughing slightly. Chishiya placed a gentle hand on your back in a sign of care, hoping that you’re okay.

Niragi aimed his rifle lazily at Chishiya’s face. “She’s fine, don’t touch her. A little choking is nothing she can’t handle.”

Chishiya immediately took his hand off of you, being taken back by Niragi’s comment.

You stood up straight after recovering, laying your eyes back on Niragi as he continued terrorizing the executive members.

God you hated that man. You hated how much you loved him.

*************

The room was now empty, consisting of no one except for you and Ann, who was still looking over Hatter’s body for any other injuries. You watched curiously, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

“Seems a bit weird, doesn’t it?” you spoke up through the silence.

“What does?” Ann answered, not bothering to look at you.

“Someone with a hundred percent winning streak dies now? Just as the tension between the militants and the others was getting to its peak?” you questioned.

Ann rolled her eyes sarcastically and turned towards you. “Took you long enough to figure out. Really? You didn’t suspect that from the start? Even after that shit-show that Niragi pulled earlier?”

You were taken back by her sudden anger. Ann never became mad at you, even if she had a legitimate reason to. You looked at her as she stared into your eyes intensely before sighing and turning back to Hatter.

“Sorry Y/N,” she apologized. “I’m just stressed. This shit is getting too heavy to handle, and now with Hatter gone and Aguni in his place, who knows what will happen to people like you, me, Mira, Chishiya and Alice. They could kill us if they want to.”

Her words hit your heart heavily. It was true. Aguni and his militants were never a particularly predictable bunch. And you weren’t exactly on all their good sides, well, except for Niragi’s.

“Sorry Ann,” you muttered out quietly. You thought it would be best to leave her alone. She obviously was quite distraught from Hatter’s death.

You shuffled out of the room, head held low in despair. Who knew what would happen to this place now? It was like a ticking time bomb only no one knew how long there was left until it exploded.

As you walked through the large door frame that led outside of the meeting room, a sudden grip on your arm brought you out of your thoughts and made you yelp. You were yanked into a hard chest, being held close and tight.

“Hey love. How are you feeling?” the person growled. You looked to see it was none other than Niragi himself. Of course it was, who else would treat you so roughly?

You stared into his ominous eyes, trying to read him. He ran his hand down your back slowly causing you to shiver. “Niragi,” you breathed out. You pushed against his broad chest to separate you. “Sorry, but I’m not in the mood right now.”

You stepped away from him and tried to escape down the hall, but he grabbed your hand before you could go anywhere. “Bullshit. You’re never in the mood. And the sass you were giving me in there in front of everyone says otherwise.” He pulled you back towards him, pushing your head onto his shoulder and nuzzling into your neck. “I didn’t like how you treated me, it made me upset.”

He was lying through his teeth, knowing that making you feel guilty for defending yourself against him would bring him more of your attention. Simple gaslighting, worked every time.

You chuckled against him then leaned back and cupped his face with your hands. He held a sad expression on his face, obviously to make you sympathetic.

“You’re such a big baby,” you laughed. “Try to act so tough and dominant in front of everyone, but look at you now. Crying into my shoulder about your feewings?” you mocked him. Niragi scowled and pulled his head out of your hands. “Shut up, as if you’re any better.”

It was true. That’s why you both clicked together. He was a gaslighting maniac who knew how to put up a fake ‘nice guy’ façade around you and you were a tough and snappy woman, who felt much too much empathy for others.

That’s how you fell into his trap. He used your empathy to his advantage, making you fall in love with him so he could have what he’d always wanted. Someone who loves him for who he is, no matter how many masks he had to put on for them.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning up and pressing a small peck onto his lips. “Can you promise me something?” he suddenly asked after you pulled away from his face.

You grew anxious about what he wanted and nodded your head slowly in hesitation.

“When the chance comes, can we leave The Beach together? Like, run away?” he questioned, snaking his arms around your waist and squeezing tightly.

You laughed at his question, making him frown. He was being completely serious. “And go where Niragi? There’s not exactly a place we can go to.”

“Anywhere,” he answered sharply. “We could find a nice little hideout in Tokyo. Just you and me, no one else.” His grip on your waist tightened, making you flinch in his arms slightly.

He could see you tossing between answers. It wasn’t working, he had to try something else. He put on the fakest sad face he could do and pressed his forehead against yours while pouting. “Please? I promise I’ll take care of you.”

You practically melted as his begging. “Okay,” you sighed.

“Promise me,” he reminded you, running a hand through your soft hair.

There was a short moment of silence before you answered. “I promise.”

*************

You laid in your room with the sheets tossed lazily over you. Niragi was called to go talk to Aguni again before he went to sleep, so you were waiting for him.

Your eyes scanned your book quickly, wanting to finish the chapter you were on before Niragi returned. Because god forbid you having your attention on something that wasn’t him when he was around.

You glanced over at the door when you heard it creep open and Niragi stepped in, placing his sniper rifle carefully on the ground nearby and removing his boots.

“You took your time.” you teased, putting your book on the nightstand and sitting up in bed. Niragi groaned tiredly, stumbling over to your shared bed and collapsed dramatically face down onto the duvet. You giggled at him, running a soft hand though his midnight hair and pulling it out of it’s hair tie.

If he was a cat, he swore he could’ve purred at your touch. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Not having physical affection for years on end does that to a person.

He sat up and crawled over to you. He grabbed your chin and pressed your lips together roughly, running his tongue across your mouth as he did so. You groaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck, making him smirk against your lips.

After a few minutes, he detached his lips from yours and started licking and sucking your sensitive skin on your jaw, slowly making his way down your neck. He felt shivers run down his spine as you gripped his shirt in your fist on his back. He loved having this power over you, and having you accept him and love him enough to not fight back.

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes, giving him more access to your neck. As you did so, he placed a hand on your lower back and pulled you towards him, forcing you to lie down on the bed with him hovering over you.

He pulled away from your neck and looked down at you, admiring your anxious expression painted across your face. He chucked. “What’s wrong baby,” he cooed, leaning down and continuing kissing your collarbones.

His voice was dripping in sweetness, so sweet it could’ve made you feel sick. It sounded fake, but you didn’t pick up on it. It was a shame. You saw Niragi as nothing but a victim of his own mind, but you weren’t able to see yourself becoming a victim of it.

“I’m just...” you mumbled out, feeling weak and vulnerable under his touch. “I’m scared Niragi.”

He pulled back again and looked into your eyes with a worried expression. “Why are you scared? It’s just me and you here angel. You’re perfectly safe,” he whispered out, stroking his knuckles down your cheek lovingly.

You knew you loved Niragi, but knowing he can change his personality in a blink of an eye unsettled you. Who knew when he would do that to you? You heard him speak up again.

“We’ve slept together many times before, why are you becoming shy just now?” he teased, lifting a hand and slowly running it up along your tummy underneath your shirt. Your breath hitched as his cold hands made contact, making your stomach muscles tense.

“So sensitive,” he cooed again, snuggling his head into your chest, just above your breasts. “I love you.”

The confession made your heart skip a beat and you tensed. Niragi noticed this, making his body fill with anxiety. Did he say it too soon?

“Sorry,” he mumbled against your shirt. “That was a bit much, you don’t have to say it back,” he gaslighted.

“No,” you cut him off. “I love you too.”

Niragi’s heart filled with warmth and he felt all his nerves tingle around his body. He hadn’t heard that since he was a kid, and hearing you say it did nothing but make him more fall in love.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he sniffed out. You looked down to see him staring at you, tears filling his eyes. It made your heart ache.

He took his body weight off you and hovered himself above you again. “I promise, I won’t let anyone ever hurt you,” he mumbled, voice cracking slightly. His arms that laid on either side of your head acted like a cage. Whether you were trapped willingly or forcefully was beyond your guess.

As he leaned his head down again and pressed his still wet lips against yours, you felt his lanky arms snake around your torso underneath you, keeping you in place.

You laid there, moving your mouths together and holding each other as close as possible. It would’ve almost been romantic and loving if it wasn’t for the context. While one was preying on their victim to achieve what they’ve so desperately wanted their whole life, the other believed that that person was the victim themselves.

Such irony, to love someone who has a ‘unlovable’ personality, when it’s not even the one that you fell in love with.

The one you fell in love with was nothing but one of his many masks. And no one could determine whether he would ever take it off in front of you.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry this one was actually hard to write. It’s a bit all over the place but I hope it was still enjoyable to read! Also I’m not going to do a Part 2 to this fic, but if you want to read something similar to this kind of yandere theme with Niragi, read my other fic called You’re Everything You Once Hated. I’m going to be posting a Part 2 of that one soon.

[leo-interactive-fiction]

Something else I haven't seen before. What would the MC's parent from each background think of the ROs? Who would they approve of and who wouldn't they? I guess in the case of orphan MC, what would E's parents think? Since they kinda maybe vaguely adopted orphan MC?

Hmm, interesting! Since I did the opposite, I should have seen this one coming haha

-----------------------

Storm's comments:

E: "Rose has had that expectation for some time. This is preferable to the alternative. I know you will be in good hands. Rose raised them well."

R: Your father doesn't mince his words, a clear disdain evident, "Valleford. See that you don't take after your father, or there will be less than pleasantries next time we meet."

L: "Scio. I assume your father...?" Storm's lips pull in a small frown as L gives a small nod of confirmation, "I understand if you cannot forgive me. Your father is a significant asset to the Hospian war effort. If I find him, I will kill him."

V: "You've seen enough at your age," Storm says quietly, looking into the hollow glint in V's eyes, "I'm sorry. Those were battles that should have ended with my generation, not yours."

P: Storm's brow furrows as he makes a cordial greeting, "I assume your father is well? He does not speak of his second child often, but you seem more spirited than the other. That will make the greater difference when it matters."

M: Storm's brow furrows as he makes a cordial greeting, though there's little sentimentality in his voice, "I assume your father is well? He expresses confidence in your upbringing, but I can't say I share the sentiment. You lack something fundamental. Something to drive you to achieve more than what's expected of you."

Ra: Storm's eyes lock onto Raven with a harsh intensity, "Your eyes are filled with blood and you conceal weapons. Tell me your intentions or I will kill you right now."

S: "I admit I am unfamiliar with Orden. The conflict never reached that country, but I understand there are many hardships there already," Storm says, looking the brightly grinning student up and down before his lips pull back in small contentment, "You come out better than most. You have impressive strength."

F: Storm holds a frown as he takes in the vivid green hair, "Many allowed Frenza to claim their distance due to their significant contribution to Triaina's independence, but it doesn't absolve you of everything," he says in warning, "Don't step over the boundaries you've been afforded, or the military will have no choice but to respond."

------------------------------

Scurra's dialogue:

E: Scurra makes a grimace as he recognizes E, "Damnit, you've gone and done it now," he grumbles as he pulls out his wallet and hands a fold of bills to E, "Give that to your mom, will you? She's worse than a debt collector with bets..."

R: "Valleford! There's a name I haven't heard in a while. I knew they had a black sheep in the family, but I guess they couldn't take away the infamous good looks," Scurra chuckles, his eyes lightening reminiscently, "They've put me in a good bit of trouble on more than one occasion. I guess I should consider it a family curse now that MC is involved with you."

L: "Oh, I know those eyes," Scurra says wistfully, "Coming to find the world is a bigger place than you imagined, aren't you? It's even more expansive than that, too. I had that same look when I traveled overseas. I hope MC is being a good guide for you," he looks to you, and gives a knowing wink.

V: Scurra gives a meandering hum as he looks at V, "I've been all around, but I've only seen natural hair color like that a handful of times. They all had your same stare, too." He closes his eyes thoughtfully, "None as young as you though. I hope you're the last I have to see with those eyes. They're a bad omen."

P: "A fiery one, aren't you! Has no one ever told you not to say bad words in public?" Scurra laughs, "You should stop while you can. You're so transparent with your feelings that I almost mistook you for a window, so there's no point to pulling a tough act."

M: A small, genuine smile rises on Scurra's lips as he inspects M, "How interesting. You're so similar to your twin, but you're definitely the better actor. As I think about it, you remind me of MC's mother in many ways..."

Ra: "What are you doing here?" Scurra frowns, staring harshly at Raven. A silence passes and eventually he looks away, messaging his jaw, "Oops, guess I was mistaken. You looked a little like someone I know."

S: "You've got Orden written all over you, don't you?" Scurra says cheerily, "It's been a while since I've visited, but I have to say it gave me the most enjoyment. You all certainly know how to keep it lively."

F: "Your family has always been so hauty!" Scurra covers his mouth to suppress a chuckle, "But I think it would be a mistake to talk down to everyone you meet. I happen to be on great terms with your mother. If I took the opportunity, you two would have been siblings!"

------------------------

Xero's insight:

E: He smiles warmly to E, "It's good to see you again. I'm afraid there was little I could do for you: your mother has already found out about your relationship. I expect she'll make it as embarrassing for you as possible, if I know her well. I hope you're mentally prepared."

R: Xero studies R with a faint curiosity, "I'm afraid your father and I are on less than speaking terms due to some...past difficulties, but I understand you are more than simply your father's child. You may be villianized for your differing viewpoint, but aren't we all? I don't find it is so bad," Xero gives R a knowing small."

L: Xero's eyes widen upon seeing L, then falls into a soft smile, "To think history would repeat so aptly. To see you two now reminds me of my own school days," Xero closes his eyes and releases a light sigh, the smile still present, "I pray you'll also find the same happiness I did, and that it lasts longer."

V: Xero's grip tightens on an file in his hands as he sees V, his voice meticulous, "You are...Wolfe, correct? I'll admit the what I've heard and read of you is...less than appealing, but," he casts his gaze between you and the ex-Jagd member, a faint smile growing on his lips as V steps cautiously between you. "You seem to have a strong sense of duty. I hope you will be a good pillar for MC."

P: He looks disaprovingly, "In my field, words are paired with intention. To speak is to lay bare your thoughts. Why would you neglect your intent by forcing a negative connotation where it doesn't belong?"

M: He seems slightly more on edge than with P, "I don't believe I should offer my approval to someone unwilling to determine a focus. It's a testament to your negligence."

Ra: Xero crosses their arms, his face skeptical,"Marriage? Your lack of detailed forethought and hyperfixation gives me the impression of an unhealthy mind. As it stands now, I will refuse to give you my blessing."

S: "I'm afraid I'm ignorant to everything Orden related," Xero says sheepishly, "I am happy to learn all that I can, though. Perhaps you would like to bring your family at some point? I would be happy to host them here." Xero smiles warmly, clearly unknowing of the chaotic rabblerousing he's invited into his home.

F: "Ah, the royal line," Xero says in recognition of F, "Your own mother was a classmate of mine as well. To think one of her children would grow so closely with mine. Please give her my regards, would you? She has always kept herself closer than others, so I was happy when she took an interest in my friend. He's a lucky man."

---------------------

Mr. Razor's thoughts (if he was alive)

E: He bows his head gratefully, "Thank you for taking care of MC all this time. Your selflessness has saved me a lot of worry, and I doubt I'll have any more leaving them in your hands."

R: Razor's eyes bore a hole through R, "To defy your father was a considerable risk. And not knowing what the academy had planned for you, you still allowed yourself to be incarcerated for an indeterminate amount of time," Razor taps his fingers to his chin, a smile spreading over his lips, "I enjoy those that stick to their principles, but what say we work on your jailbreaking?"

L: "Your father's quite an important man. He's lucky I was never contracted to kill him," Razor says matter-of-factly. A chilling air of silence deafens the room until Razor holds up his palms, "Just kidding. I've never killed anyone. They all died mysteriously."

V: "How's Jagd doing?" Razor narrows his eyes keenly on V, "I'm surprised they were able to bounce back after what I did to them. I guess they filled the empty spaces with whoever was able...or moldable."

P: Razor smiles sadly, "It must be difficult to be given another person's expectations and do well with them. You're like a fish trying to climb a tree. But I enjoy how far up you've climbed despite that. Would you like a reward? I know, how about...your father's weakness?"

M: Razor seems disinterested, "You're not worth the words, Crater. You're nothing more than what your father made you to be: a simple shadow to live vicariously through."

Ra: Razor's eyes have an approving glint, "The one that slipped through the cracks. How very odd. MC's mother was quite odd too. It's an endearing quality, isn't it? Yes, I think you'll make a perfect companion for MC. You've already been looking over them all this time, haven't you?"

S: "Earnestness is one of the first qualities people tend to throw away when faced with hardship. It is impressive to see how you've progressed through your poverty and discrimination so aptly. Perhaps you have a hope that things will get better?" Razor's mouth spreads in a wicked smile, "I do enjoy seeing how people struggle for such a small glimmer of light. I think I'll offer my aid."

F: "Ah, it's always cute to see people play at royalty," Razor smiles at F's exasperated face, "Why do you seem so angry? Do you actually believe your position has meaning? I'll assure you it doesn't," Razor casts a darkening stare towards the royal, "To me, you're no harder to kill than a beggar on the street. The power you attempt to flaunt means nothing, because in the end it does nothing to elevate you beyond a simple street urchin."

----------------------

End

Thank ya for the ask!

[undermattsun-archive]

taste

(skate rat) kawanishi taichi x fem!reader | w.c 3.5k

a/n: SURPRISE it’s a sequel to mouth <3 my original skate rat sin i suppose, and also like my first real fic/drab for the fandom. god bless. as always thank u to @bakatenshii​ + @sugardaddykenma​ for putting up with me ranting about this fic (and also putting up with me since mouth)

big big thanku to #1 wife @pomsuki​ for reading this for me and yelling at me to finish this damn thing <3

18+ university age | pls read ALL warnings

warnings: drugs, public sex, dub/noncon exhibitionism, degredation, humiliation, dubcon, blood, slight injury (it’s a bloody nose), toxic behavior, misogynistic energy? vibes? you’ll know when u see it honestly

reading mouth isn’t necessary but it is appreciated! and pls check out melt + nightingale syndrome for they exist in the same skate rat universe (+ they’re delicious fics) also the people who wrote em r BIG SEXY

There were more than enough reasons to quit Kunimi Akira. He never texts back, he doesn’t go to class, he’s fucked a few of your friends and he couldn’t commit if you paid him. He was simply a waste of time, it was like every second spent with him was another mark ticked off a test, a percentile lowering on your next paper.

But chucking Kunimi would be like trying to sort grains of rice, difficult and damn near impossible. He always knew how to draw you back in and he enjoyed the mind games a lot more than his bored expression would let on. 

Despite the impossibility of quitting him you had to at least try, so you swore up and down that hooking up with him at Oikawa’s party some odd months ago was truly the last of it, that you were done with him and all of his irritating skate rat friends.

Which begs the question of how you ended up at the little concrete amphitheater on campus, sandwiched between Hanamaki and Matsukawa on one of the steps, a blunt being passed between the two of them without so much as a second glance towards you.

“Say, when’s the last time you and Kunimi had fun?” Makki’s grin is nothing short of lascivious, a slimy feeling weighs on your tongue as you shrug off a shudder.

“Say, was that ever any of your business?” You retort, snatching the blunt from his lips bringing it to your own and inhaling deeply, revelling at the warmth creeping down your throat and filling your chest. 

“Quit it Makki, she’s not gonna fuck you. Kunimi got her ‘round his little finger,” Mattsun coos, taking back the blunt, “besides, heard she’s a fuckin ice queen in the sack. Boooring.”

A sharp inhale keeps you grounded, the sound of Iwaizumi’s board slamming back down onto the pavement reminding you where you are, who you’re with. You’re not going to fall for Mattsun’s little games too.

“Tch.” Daggers prick at your lips, but you bite your tongue knowing that fueling the fire will earn you nothing but a headache. It’s not like you’re waiting for anything, or anyone, stealing a few more hits and leaving would be the best option.

“Oh? Nothing to say? But I heard your mouth was your only redeeming quality.” You focus your gaze on Iwaizumi telling Oikawa to stay out of his way, trying not to let your growing discomfort scare you away. The stubborn refusal of letting Mattsun’s words win only letting a dull ache grow at the base of your skull, prickling further when he and Makki let out low mocking laughs.

“Hey fucknuts!” Your head whips over to see a blur of crimson race by, followed gradually by a few other familiar faces you’ve seen around at parties and on campus.

“God, not these assholes.” Makki laughs as Oikawa makes faces at one of the newcomers. Your eyes drag across the unfolding scene as the number of rowdy idiots grows. You swallow hard, knowing that staying any longer would only cause your headache to further bloom.

“That’s my cue to leave.” You sigh, it’s not like you were waiting for Kunimi in the first place. You weren’t. You were just...killing time.

“Leaving?” Your head tips back to look up at the source of the question, Kawanishi Taichi, of course. 

“Yeah, dunno why I’m here in the first place.” You brush off his quirked brow and shove Mattsun hard with your shoulder as you stand up. With a curt nod, you smooth a hand over your jeans, turning on your heel to brush past Kawanishi, ignoring the low whistle that falls from his lips. You make it a good distance down the walkway before the sound of crunching footsteps behind you prickles at your ears as you ready yourself to tell whoever it is to get lost. 

“Want a ride?” You let out a huff as you look over your shoulder to see Kawanishi standing so nonchalantly, hands tucked into his pockets as he chews on a toothpick.

“Shouldn’t you be skating around with your little boyfriends?” The comment slips out, followed by your tongue sliding over your bottom lip as if it’ll soften the sharpness of your tone. 

“Nah, just droppin 'em off,” his eyes rake up and down your figure as you turn to face him, “where’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your little boyfriend. You were waiting there like a lost puppy for him.” A protest rises in your chest, curbing it when you see a flash of something akin to flirtatious teasing in his normally passive eyes. 

“I... I don’t have one.” The words are slathered in honey, punctuated with a flutter of your lashes as Kawanishi takes another step forward. 

If Kunimi likes playing all those stupid games, why not play a few of your own?

“Is that so?” His head tilts slightly, you feign shyness, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you smile sweetly at him, confirming your statement with a nod of your head. “My car’s just over in the parking lot.” He tips his head in the direction of the closest lot, before turning to start walking. Without hesitation you easily fall into step beside him, trying to dampen your rising nerves.

Despite the dumb little hookups peppering your dating history, you had only gone so far with most of them, Kunimi being one of the few —and the only one you crawled back to— that you had made the unfortunate pleasure of going all the way with. You keep pushing away at the thoughts of inexperience as Kawanishi approaches an old, beat up, black Corolla, the paint flaking off with dings and dents littering across the body, the impeccably shiny rims on the wheels making you snort. 

It was a rather famous car across campus, seeing it around with stupid skate rats crammed in there with the windows fogged with smoke was an almost daily occurrence, especially highlighted by how it’s tied to one too many stories of girls having varying encounters with Kawanishi –and sometimes one of his friends– in said car.

“Wanna smoke or skip to the real fun?” He never minced any words, always up front or just completely skipping out on the conversation. It always made him the best project partner in the odd classes you’ve shared over your uni years.

“I don’t like waiting.” The fuzziness nipping at your spine from the few hits you took earlier were just enough, not wanting to dull your senses completely during this encounter. The bluntness of your answer causes a smirk to play at Kawanishi’s lips as he opens the door to the back.

“Well then, ladies first.” He gestures to the gray cloth seats, you make a point to ignore the questionable stains littered across it as you slide in, trying to focus instead on figuring out the heady scent permeating through the car. Cheap cologne, cigarettes, weed and maybe stale beer, and something that was distinctly him. 

Your eyes are drawn to a stain on the roof that looks oddly similar to an eagle, the thought unfinished as Kawanishi practically dives in after you. The sound of the door slamming preempting hands roaming over your body and lips moving against your neck. 

“Kawa-”

“Just Taichi.” He clips as he works the buttons of your jeans, a coarse hand working against your spine as he unhooks your bra.

“Eager much?” You laugh as he pushes at your shirt and bra exposing pert nipples to cool air, simultaneously managing to work your jeans past your hips and down your thighs.

“You said no waiting.” With a chaste kiss to your lips he’s maneuvering you onto your stomach, raising your hips in the air, face shoved halfway between the seat and door.  You let out a huff as your hand braces itself against the door, while the other on the seat below you, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the cramped setting.

“Mhm.” It’s the best reply you can manage as he grinds his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass, already hard. You can only imagine how many women he’s had in this situation to award all six feet and three inches of himself the ability to move so successfully around in the cramped backseat. 

Nimble and worn fingers circle around your hip, dipping down to tease at dampening lace, eliciting a soft moan from you. You push back against him, delighting in the soft grunt he lets out as he curls himself over you to scrape his teeth over your nape. His fingers continue to run up and down against your clothed cunt, pressing at the growing slick spot marking your wanting hole.

“Excited huh?” He mumbles as he skims his tongue against the shell of your ear, you manage a low hum in reply as he slides his hands back up, tugging down the flimsy piece of clothing, exposing your needy cunt to hungry eyes. He wastes no time pressing his fingers against your twitching hole, causing you to wiggle your hips just enough to earn a low chuckle and send the message of just how much you want him, need him. 

Without any further hesitation he slips in a finger, your back arching with the realization his fingers are longer than Kunimi’s, chest burning at the fact you could even think of another man in this situation. As if he can sense your wandering thoughts Taichi works in another finger, another following quickly after. There’s no urgency in his movements, each twist and thrust of his fingers methodical, curling in just the right way, making sure to brush his thumb over your throbbing clit to send a stinging pleasure up your spine. 

You can’t deny the way he’s taking you apart so sweetly, the tightening deep in your belly achingly sweet, as he starts to thrust his fingers even deeper, tiny gasps and whines starting to grow louder and louder as you careen towards bliss. With a particularly rough curl of his fingers you feel yourself come undone completely, punctuated by a shameless moan.

The sound of knuckles tapping against the fogged glass pulls you out of your blissful haze, still acutely aware of the way Taichi has his fingers lazily twisting inside of you. 

“It’s open.” He tugs you back by the hips slightly as he retracts his fingers painfully slow, listening as he unzips his jeans. Your heart races as the passenger door opens, shifting uncomfortably to try to catch a glimpse of who’s slid into the car.

“Oh, so that’s where you went, Mattsun said you were hanging around.” Your blood runs cold, your state of undress tightening your chest as you become painfully aware of the situation you’re in. The passive tone of Kunimi’s voice nips at your skin, tears away at the search of mindless fun that you had tried to pursue with Taichi, filling your chest with raw embarrassment.

“What do you want?” The tear of a wrapper following the question, whatever protest you had silenced by a hand coming down to grip harshly at your ass.

“You have my grinder.” Kunimi slips into the passenger seat, the sound of the glove box popping open making your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Yeah well close the door at least.” Your eyes widen at Taichi’s statement, you didn’t want Kunimi to just close the door, you wanted him to leave.

“Whatever. Can I smoke in here?” It doesn’t sound like much of a question, more of a declaration with the ‘can’ and the question mark tacked on for decoration.

“I don’t care, do you?” You crane your head just enough to catch the blasé expression on Taichi’s face, a quirked brow directed more at your ass than you.

“Yeah sweetheart, care if I’m in here while you’re whoring yourself out?” Kunimi scoffs, the irritated tinge to his bored tone making you furrow your brows.

“Oh fuck you.” You start to rise on your elbows, only for Taichi’s hand to land between your shoulder blades, keeping you from moving any further. You let out a huff as Kunimi clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“Sorry babe, it’s me who’s fucking you this time around, maybe Kunimi can get the next round.” Before you can even bother with a retort, Taichi drags the head of his cock against slick folds, teasing at your entrance. You let your head hang down, the click of a lighter grating on your nerves more than you would like to admit. 

“Please, fuck me, I want it so bad.” The whininess of your voice annoys even you, but if Kunimi wants to stick around and get on your nerves, then two could play that game. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” Just like before he slides in slowly, carefully, as if to make you memorize what each inch of him feels like splitting you apart so sweetly.

“Shit.” You exhale shakily as you try to adjust to him, it had been months since you last fucked anyone, since you last fucked the asshole sitting passenger.

He sets a leisurely pace, steady and infuriating. There’s a hand clamped down on your hip, fingers digging in painfully to keep you in place, to establish that he’s the one calling all the shots. You huff, still trying to buck your hips to meet his thrusts. There’s something in his actions that makes you feel greedy, desperate for so much more than he’s offering.

There’s no way around it, you’re completely at his mercy, left taking the shallow, slow thrusts that only makes the desperate ache deep in your cunt grow.

“Hook a finger or two in her mouth.” There’s a pause in Taichi’s motions, letting you finally take a deep breath of the thick weed laced air. “Don’t look at me funny, do it and see what happens.”

You hear a non-committal hum as those devilishly nimble fingers skim past your jaw, a whimper preceding his index pushing past your lips with a harsh tug at the corner of your mouth, the painful stretch of your cheek causing you to clench down on his length.

“Oh? You were right.”

“She’s already broken in,” Kunimi takes a long drag of the joint hanging in his fingers, “no point in holding back.” 

It’s as if a flip is switched in Taichi, the statement becoming an immediate challenge as he hooks in another finger beside the other, yanking harshly as the snap of his hips becomes almost painful. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, swirling with the heady smoke defiling the air. 

“W-Wait Taichi.” The words are garbled around his fingers, and you’re quickly dismissed as he snakes around his other hand to hook his middle and index on the other corner of your mouth, the stretch in your lips burning as he shifts from the quick paced thrusts to deep, hard strokes.

His only reply is to tug harshly on your mouth as pathetic whines and distored words spill from you. 

You can feel yourself start to shake almost violently, still reeling from your earlier orgasm and suffering at the hands of Taichi’s now vicious pace. Each thrust pushing you into madness, each tug of his fingers bringing you back. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He curls over you again, sloppily running his tongue up your nape. “You wanna cum?” 

“Mhmm,” you yelp at a particularly rough slam of his hips, “please.”

He grunts, moving a hand to grip at the back of your head while keeping his other hand planted on your hip, fingers biting into your hip. There’s no warning as he grinds into you, the hold on your hip finally relenting as he slides his digits back down to pinch at your throbbing clit, the bit of pressure sending you careening over the edge.

“T-Taichi.” Pleasure wracks through your body, your legs tremble violently as you try to move your hand on the door, shoulder aching from holding yourself in place. The second your hand moves, you give into the force of Taichi’s hand on the back of your head, forcing you to slam face first into the door, the impact making your nose sting, blood immediately starting to gush, running down your face and chin. 

You’re not sure if he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he continues his assault, the once careful, methodical thrusts turning desperate and depraved as he moves with reckless abandon. His teeth drag across your shoulder, before pulling out completely.

“Don’t need this.” You grip at your nose, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of blood seeping onto your fingers, looking over your shoulder again to see Taichi pull off the condom. You can’t even protest with the way you’re bleeding profusely, pinching at your bridge at a poor attempt of stopping the bleeding.

“Stay still.” In one swift movement he’s plunging back into you, bottoming out immediately, a muffled yell falls from your lips, arching your back as he drives into you with just a few more hard thrusts you feel his seed spill inside you. 

For a moment you two stay suspended, the head of his cock nudging against your cervix, making you groan in a twisted sense of pleasure of pain. He pulls out painfully slow, delivering another harsh slap your ass as he sits back.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout your nose.” He helps you flip onto your back, swiping his thumb over the blood trickling onto your lip before shucking off his t-shirt and handing it to you. “Don’t have any tissues.” 

“So who’d you like playing fuck toy for better?” For a split second, somewhere between the back breaking orgasm and your nose being slammed into the door, you had blissfully forgotten that Kunimi was still in the car, but now that perfect illusion just had to be shattered.

“Must you be such a dick all the time?” You manage to pull your jeans back up, hissing at the stinging pain in your hips and lower back, ignoring the lewd feeling of Taichi’s cum starting to leak from your abused cunt. 

Beside you Taichi manages to tuck himself back into his pants, reaching under the driver's seat to yank out a hoodie reeking of weed and cigarettes.

“Maybe you two should just get together already.” Taichi lets out a low chuckle as he pulls on the hoodie, getting out of the backseat, slamming the door hard before throwing the driver’s door open. You don’t even bother trying to hook your bra back on as you pull your shirt down, letting yourself slump back down and lay across the backseat as you reach up to check if your nose is still bleeding.

“Like hell.” Kunimi twists around in the passenger seat, looking down at you with an amused smirk, offering the freshly rolled joint to you. “You look like shit. I said she was broken in, not to break her more.” He only gets a wry laugh from Taichi as he starts the car.

“Thanks, right back at you.” You sit up just enough, looking at Kunimi expectantly. He shakes his head before twisting the joint in his fingers and placing it between your lips, producing the lighter. Just as he’s about to hand it to you he brings his hand back a bit, grabbing your jaw with his other as he lights the joint. He picks up Taichi’s bloodied shirt, pouring water from a twisted plastic bottle onto it before passing it back to you.

“Cute, blew her back out and you’re doting on her.” You watch as Kunimi moves to sit back in his seat, not even bothering to spare you a second glance as he shrugs. You dab away at the drying blood on your face, ignoring a few of the splotches that landed on the joint.

“Guess I play favorites, drop us off at my place.” 

“Us?” You exhale after a long drag, narrowing your eyes at the back of Kunimi’s head as Taichi pulls out of the parking spot.

“What do I even get out of doing that?” You can’t help but nod in agreement of Taichi’s statement, feeling yourself growing annoyed at the way they seem to ignore your entire presence.

“You can fuck her again.” Kunimi offers and you almost drop the joint as your jaw falls open at the absolute nerve of the man. 

“Excuse me? I’m right here?” The way that neither of them even flinch at your statement, let alone acknowledge it makes you slump back into the seat, begrudgingly accepting the fact whatever you say isn’t worth shit to either of them.

“Hm.” It doesn’t sound like he’s actually considering the offer, but the quick look over his shoulder as he turns out of the parking lot sends a chill down your spine and your stomach to twist.

“Believe it or not, her mouth’s her one redeeming quality.” The two of them snicker, like two old pals sharing an inside joke.

“Shut the fuck up.” You’re brushed off once again as they toss back a few more comments before Taichi stops at a red light, looking over at Kunimi, then back at you and finally back towards the road.

“Yeah alright.”