#I always feel a little presumptuous giving advice like this

[dandylovesturtles]

Hey, as a newbie to writing fic and to sharing things online/engaging in fandom spaces, I was wondering if you could share some insight regarding the best ways to make friends and get your work seen? There’s so much good content in the Rise fandom I can totally understand why things would get buried. So what’s the best way to make connections and to (I hate this word but idk what else to call it) promote your stuff? Thank you in advance! Hope things are well and I cannot wait to read your further updates/works. <3

Hi! Thanks for the well wishes!! And welcome to the world of fic writing!

So I'm going to start here by saying that I'm answering this question from the angle of trying to get your work seen and making friends more than getting popular, because getting popular is honestly a lot of luck and unless you want to be really cynical about it and game the system it's pretty much impossible to force it. BUT wanting people to read your fic is a normal and good thing to want; most of us want the things we create to be enjoyed by others, after all!

First things first, the easiest way to be part of a community is to participate in it! In fandom this means leaving comments on fanfic, reblogging art and fic and leaving tags or comments here on tumblr, etc. There are people in the fandom who have become familiar faces to me just because they're always commenting on my fics or tagging posts and they show up in my notifs all the time. Also, I can't speak for everyone here, but when people leave me nice comments on my fics, pretty often I'll click into their profile to see if they've written anything that I might like to read. I've found great fanfics that way!

I know some people are more social than others (I'm on the low end of the social spectrum), but even if direct messaging people is intimidating, just being an enthusiastic presence in the less direct ways I've suggested can go a long way towards making yourself known in the fandom, and you can gain friends over time that way!

Another way you can get some eyes on your work is through fandom events. I've mentioned on this blog that I'm participating in the Grab A Slice bang event (which is posting this month), which has been a fun way to meet other writers and artists in the TMNT fandom at large. There's other stuff like this happening all the time, like I know last month there was an April art challenge here on tumblr that had prompts for each day. And I wouldn't be surprised if we get some secret santa events happening around Christmas. Obviously not everyone has time for this kind of stuff, but if you do, participating is basically a free way to both get promotion of your work and be introduced to other creators in the fandom.

Finally, this is more technical advice that I have, but I assume since you're asking me you're posting work to AO3 or plan to, so I want to say that tagging your work appropriately is really important for getting it seen! Be sure you're tagging your major characters, any major relationships (as a side note, & tags on AO3 mean platonic relationships while / tags mean romantic ones), and any major tropes or themes that people might be hunting for (you should also put trigger warnings in the tags). Usually when I'm on AO3 I'm not just going through the Rise tag unfiltered, I'm searching up "Donatello (TMNT) & Leonardo (TMNT), hurt/comfort" or "Raphael (TMNT), angst" so if someone is leaving tags like that off their work I won't see it even if it's something I would devour in one sitting. Tags are super important on tumblr too but they are also... more of a mystery to me... definitely tag your main characters and the fandom though.

Also, don't be discouraged! Not everything is going to be a hit right away. I've had my ups and downs for sure; my least kudos'd fic has 3 kudos (not counting the ones I ported over from FFN because those had different post dates - my actual least kudos'd fic has no kudos). Remember that writing fic is ultimately for fun, and really as long as you write something you yourself have fun reading then I think that's a success!

I hope that this made sense and was not just useless rambling lol. Thanks for the ask!

[al-the-remix]

BuckTommy Whump Week Day 1: Canon typical injury // Wound neglect

Thank you to the @bucktommywhumpweek mods for putting this together (and sorry it's a day late!) uhh...I have no idea how to tag this one, so just enjoy! Again, please excuse any grammar/spelling errors, they'll be all fixed by the time these make is to Ao3.

It was a pretty house, with arched windows and the pristine white walls of a Spanish revival that had recently had some love and attention given to it. Evan had told him some meandering tale that Tommy had had a difficult time following about ghost phone calls and haunted desolate suburban homes. It was one Tommy couldn’t quite believe, but enabled nevertheless; he’d overheard stories about the Loz Feliz murder house, scuttlebutt around the water cooler and during lulls between calls. He’d never given the stories any real consideration, and gave them even less now that he was faced with what looked like a totally innocuous family home. 

Maddie had settled herself at the end of the dining room table, her whole body angled towards him, hands folded around her coffee mug, radiating warmth as she waited patiently for him to spit out what exactly it was that had brought Tommy to her home on her day off.

Tommy hadn’t really known what to expect when he had called her. They’d never had the chance to spend much time one-on-one, whether it was Evan or Howie, there always seemed to be someone else hanging around, dividing his attention. Now he wishes he’d reached out sooner and under more pleasant circumstances. 

“So, what is it you wanted my advice on?”

Tommy drew his own mug closer to his chest, lacing his fingers around it to keep himself from fidgeting. The steam from the tea felt warm on the underside of his chin and he had to bite down on the skin of his inner cheek to quell the sudden swell of emotions that rose inside him. 

“Evan wont let me look after him.”

The corner of Maddie’s mouth twitched up in a moment of brief amusement, then tugged down in a sympathetic half-smile. “Welcome to the club.”

Tommy found himself laughing despite himself, the noise thick and a little wet in the back of his throat. He hoped that part was quite enough to slip beneath her radar.

If Maddie noticed she didn’t acknowledge it, much to Tommy's relief. He already felt foolish showing up here to needle his boyfriend’s sister for relationship advice, even if he had been invited, he didn’t need to get all emotional about it too.

“Have you talked with Evan recently?”

“I have, but I can’t say that he was exactly forthcoming. Not that he ever is when he’s injured.”

“Right,” Tommy looked down at his hands. “Which I understand, I’ve had strains before, they’re a drag and it’s annoying having to be on the bench for three weeks, but they’re worse if you don’t let them rest.” She was watching him with clear understanding as he rambled. 

“What happened,” Maddie asked gently.

Tommy rubbed at the side of his nose, feeling a little sheepish. “You’re a nurse so you know. Anyway, it sounds silly now, but he wanted to go to the gym the other day–which it’s way too early for–and we got into an argument about it. I wanted to give him space, but now he hasn't texted me in three days and I don’t know what to do. I tried to call him earlier, but he didn’t pick up. I just don’t know how much to push.”

In Tommy’s experience, the line between caring and overbearing was a thin one. 

Evan had never seemed to shy away from going after Tommy’s attention when he had wanted it, whether that meant asking for tours he didn’t really need, or playing sports he didn’t actually like, or organizing a coffee date to apologize when he hadn’t needed to. Maybe it had been presumptuous of him, but Tommy really had expected Evan to reach out sooner rather than later; and the longer the silence went on the more deliberate it felt, like maybe he’d overstepped some invisible boundary Tommy hadn’t even considered looking out for. 

Maddie watched him with a kind, sympathetic expression. Maybe at first glance most would say she and Evan didn’t look much alike, but to Tommy it was clear in their eyes, and their smiles, and their big hearts. 

“I don’t know how much he’s told you yet about our parents or our family situation.” She spoke carefully, as if weighing each word with her consideration. “But I think you might find that he does want someone to look after him, he’s just worried that once you see it, all the raw, messy bits he likes to hide, you won’t want to stay.”

Tommy was all too familiar with raw and messy, not that Evan knew that yet. And maybe that was part of the issue, he’d been so preoccupied with letting Evan set the speed and seeing where it took them, that he’d allowed his own role in this dance to fall to the wayside. He’d told Evan that he was interested, but did Evan know to what degree? Maybe he’d been too concerned with scaring Evan off to really open up the way he should have by now.

“Has that happened before?” Tommy asked when he’d worked the words past the frog in his throat.

She tilted one shoulder up. “He thinks it has, and that’s enough.”

Tommy considered that, staring down into his milky reflection in his untouched tea. 

“Here, have a biscuit,” Maddie offered, pushing the plate of neatly arranged shortbreads across the table at him. 

Tommy gladly took one. In spite of what Evan had suffered through with his parents growing up, he was lucky to have her. 

///

For once the afternoon L.A. traffic didn’t get under Tommy’s skin. He gladly welcomed the prolonged drive home to turn Maddie’s words over in his head. 

In many ways Evan’s body was sort of like a haunted house: possessed by a ghost that wasn’t his, neglected because of it. 

In Tommy’s pocket there was an extra key on his keyring, freshly cut and matching his own. It had sat there for a week, fucking with his head while he’d waited for the perfect opportunity to offer it to Evan. Sure, it was fast, but there was just something about the way Evan had weaved so snugly into Tommy’s life that had made him want to forgo all of his usual hesitancies and firmly erected walls in favour of having Evan be able to come and go from his house as he pleased. And Tommy liked the idea of finding Evan already in his home at the end of the day. He’d hoped that Evan might take it as the signal it was: that Tommy wanted him around permanently, taking up space and leaving his dirty socks all over Tommy’s house. 

Most of all, Evan made him want to be brave. Now Tommy wasn’t so sure. 

Evan had navigated their first few months of dating with his foot pressed firmly on the gas and very little inhibition, leaving Tommy reeling in his wake. He wasn’t accustomed to being pursued with that much earnest persistence, especially by men who up until very recently considered themselves straight.

///

Maybe he’d overlooked the very real possibility that all that inertia may be overcompensation for something lurking below. That when all that confidence melted away and all the forward momentum Evan had built up hit its peak, Evan wasn’t fully prepared to handle the descent that lived on the other side, not on his own.

That was okay, Tommy was a pro at handling those. If only Evan would let him. 

Tommy tossed his keys in his hand as he made his way to the front door,  thumbing the rough edges of the newly cut key. He wasn’t sure how many things Evan truly had of his own; he’d heard about the bicycle and the brother, and he knew that what Evan did have he fiercely guarded, his own space and his bodily autonomy were at the top of that list. 

Tommy had witnessed the way wounded and sick animals could go from gentle to aggressive in a blink of an eye out of fear and pain. He wanted Evan to know how invensted he was in this relationship, but also didn’t want to be the one to corner Evan, to make him feel trapped and like he needed to lash out to be understood. 

It was a fine balance. 

The house was dark and quiet, he hadn’t expected anything else, but still he tried not to let his disappointment settle in the pit of his stomach and make a home there. That wouldn’t help anything. 

 He made his way to his room, not expecting to find a big formless lump on his bed or that it would groan when he flicked on the lights. 

Tommy just about jumped out of his skin, swearing black and blue. Evan was lying on top of the bed covers, his sneakers still on his feet. It looked like he had half-heartedly attempted to undo the laces on one before giving up. 

Evan lowered the arm he’d flung over his eyes against the light, squinting at him where Tommy still hovered in the doorway. 

“Hi,” Tommy said, at a loss for anything else. As far as Evan’s expressions went, the one he was wearing was fairly unreadable.  

“Hey–So, you’re going to be mad at me.” Evan let the words out in one big sigh, like they had been pressed up tight against the starting gate of his teeth. 

Tommy risked taking a step closer to the bed. “I promise you I’m not.” 

Evan let his head thunk back against the mattress, eyes locked on the ceiling, and muttered: “I think I strained my strain.”

Caught off guard, Tommy had to press his lips together tight to suppress the laugh that bubbled up in his throat. This wasn’t exactly the moment for it. 

Evan was still staring at the ceiling, looking miserable, even after everything Tommy couldn’t help but feel fond. “Stay still, I'll go get the ice pack.”

“That won’t be hard.” He heard Evan mumble as he went to dig the gel pack out from the back of his freezer, grabbing a bottle of Advil and one of the water bottles Evan had left in his dishwasher for good measure. 

When Tommy returned Evan had indeed not moved. He settled himself on the foot of the bed, pulling Evan’s skinny ankles into his lap as he began working away at the laces. “How did you get into my house?” Tommy asked as he worked. That really should have been his first question, he could feel the heavy presence of his eyes in his pocket. Well received or not, he probably should have offered it to Evan a week ago.   

“You’re a firefighter, you should know those little fake rocks are a dead giveaway to anyone trying to break in,” Evan huffed, sounding more like himself. “At least invest in a garden gnome or something to throw them off.”

Tommy chuckled, catching Evan’s eye. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time my boyfriend decides to break into my house.”

Evan’s gaze dipped down to where Tommy was working the first shoe off his foot, quiet for a few moments before he said, softly: “Thanks.”

Tommy just grunted as he started working on the laces of the other high top. Evan really needed to invest in some proper weightlifting shoes, but Tommy wasn’t exactly raring to get into another gym centered argument so soon. 

When he’d finally wrestled both shoes off, Tommy got Evan sitting up against the headboard, and situated himself on the edge of the mattress at his knee so he could slip the ice pack under the meat of his calf and hold it there.  

“I can do that if you want.”

“It’s fine. I’m happy to,” Tommy said simply, giving Evan’s ankle a squeeze where his other hand rested. He wasn’t expecting Evan’s eyes to dart off to the side, a rush of air leaving his lungs with a hitch that snagged Tommy’s attention. 

“Fuck, I didn’t want to do this,” Evan said, his hand coming up to rub at his eyes. 

“Be a mess, you know, a nuisance.”

“Do what? Evan–”

“Evan, I don’t think you’re a nuisance,” Tommy said, trying to catch his eye. 

Evan shot him a flat, red rimmed look. “I broke into your house. I was stubborn when you were just trying to look out for me, and then too much of a chicken to call you back when you were worried about me.”

Tommy stroked his thumb over the exposed bulb of Evan’s ankle bone. “I shouldn’t have pushed,” he said softly.

Evan shook his head. “I want you to push–you weren't even pushing–not really. I just, I really like you.” 

Tommy felt a sappy smile spread across his face. He let go of Evan's ankle to take his hand instead, giving it a squeeze. “I really like you too.”

Evan let out a wet sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, his face a startling red. “I really like being your boyfriend.” 

“Good,” Tommy said, “because as your boyfriend I want to ice your leg for you, even when you’re being stubborn about it, even when you don’t call me back.” Evan’s eyes dipped away to the side like he was preparing to sidestep Tommy’s sentiment again and he figured this was his moment to lay it all out there. “This isn’t too much. You’re not too much for me, but if it’s too much for you, too soon, you need to tell me, because I’m serious about this Evan. I want you to be around even when things are messy.”

Tommy reached into his pocket, pulling out his keychain and began to work the new key off the ring. “Maybe this isn't the right moment, but I had this cut a few weeks ago, and so if you'd like, you can just let yourself in next time instead of having to hunt through my garden for fake rocks.”

Evan stared at the key Tommy held out to him, a dumb founded expression on his face. “You got that made for me?”

“Yeah–”

“You don't plan on going to Ireland any time soon do you?”

His eyes were like big wet saucers, infinitely vulnerable and Tommy frowned. “What?”

Evan's face crumpled, one big hand snapping up to cover it as he muffled a sob. 

“Okay, okay,” Tommy soothed as he climbed gingerly over Evan's legs to sit properly on the bed beside him. “Come here.” 

He was relieved when Evan let himself be pulled against his chest, wrapping his arms snugly around Tommy's neck.

“I'm sorry I was a dick and for the crying, my leg just really fucking hurts,” Evan mumbled into Tommy's now soggy shirt collar.

Tommy rubbed his back in calming circles. “It's okay, I don't mind, and I forgave you pretty quickly. Just next time please call me back so I know you're alright. I want you to.”  

Evan moved just far enough away so he could get a good look at Tommy's face. “Me too–all that stuff you said–it's not too much for me either,” he said and pulled Tommy into a wet, kind of snotty kiss. 

Tommy cradled Evan's face in his hands, it was short and sweet, Evan's sinuses too blocked up for anything more than that, but at least he was smiling when he broke away from the kiss, out of breath.

“I was kind of worried you were going to break things off with me, that's why I didn't call you back," he admitted.

“Evan–” Tommy tried, but was cut off.

“Look, maybe I have a penchant for self-sabotage, but I'll, uh, try to be better with that.” He laced their fingers back together, resting them against Tommy's knee. "I haven't wanted something this badly in a long time. It's kind of scares me."

"Me too," Tommy admitted, "I meant it when I said I was serious about you."

Evan's smile did something that made Tommy's heart jump in his throat. "Good, because I think I'm going to need a ride to the doctor's tomorrow."

"I think I can manage that," Tommy said and reached for the ice pack where it had been left forgotten on the mattress. And maybe after that Evan would want to come back to his house and stay a while.

[faux-ecrivain]

1950s househusband part 3

(Twenty first official post)

(Recap of part two)

(Name’s Angelo)

(Not the best installment of Angelo’s series, but I just wanted to write about him and so I did.)

———————————————————————

         He clasps his hands together and just as he’s about to apologize, you speak. “It’s alright, back in my old town I would always get late night visitors.” Angelo gets mixed feelings by your response, but he brushes them off and asks to come inside. “Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask if you would invite me inside?” He inquires politely, though he expects you to reject him. He hopes you’ll let him in and then maybe you two could become fast friends. 

        You consider his words for a moment, you shouldn’t let him in, but he did give you cookies and he seems harmless. Plus, if he tries anything, you could easily over power him (he looks rather weak). You shrug and allow him inside, once he enters (with a wide grin) you out your bat away and close your front door. Hopefully, this decision wouldn’t be one of your regret.

———————————————————————

        Angelo was immensely relieved when you let him in, he was worried you’d think him a creep for coming over so late. But you didn’t and to him, that meant quite a lot, he smiles at you and waits for you to take his coat. It takes you a few minutes (because you have to put the cookies away), but you eventually understand and, after a brief apology, assist him in taking off his coat. “Ah, sorry. Let me help you.” You speak quietly, yet he felt welcomed by your tone. It isn’t very difficult to take off his coat, and you make idle chatter as you do so. 

      “So, Angelo, right? What brings you over so late?” His heart beats rapidly as your breath graces the back of his neck, he can barely focus on the conversation that you’ve started up. “Mhm, Angelo is my name. (he likes the way you say his name) Ah, well, I simply wanted to welcome you to our little town and I want to help you adjust!“ He chirps back to you, his mind distracted by your touch. Your left hand tugs one of his coat sleeves off carefully, your hands are gentle and adept at this task. 

     It makes him wonder how many coats you’ve taken off, or perhaps you’ve taken off more than coats back in your old neighborhood? “Angelo is a handsome name, but did you really have to come over so late?” Despite being distracted by your compliment, (his face flushes) He couldn’t help but wonder how many you’ve touched, and it made him rather envious. “Th-thank you and I know my visit was quite unexpected, but I was simply so excited to have a new neighbor finally. I’ve known everyone here for so long, it’s become rather monotonous.” He over explains, his nerves getting the best of him as he rambles and wrongs his hands together. (or tries too, but his actions are prevented when you get his coat off)

       You hang his coat up in the closet and guide him to the couch, you smile politely and compliment him once more. “That dress is quite lovely, unexpected but lovely, and you’re welcome.” You then respond to his rambles as patiently as you can (you don’t like it when people ramble, it’s annoying). “I see, well, I guess that makes sense, but maybe next time someone moves in don’t visit in the middle of the night?” You suggest, although Angelo wasn’t paying attention because he was distracted by the heat of your body that’s sitting close to him. He exhales shakily and tries to remain calm as you compliment him, although it’s hard because he’s a sucker for praise. “Right, uhm, thank you for the a-advice…” He stutters, his brain short-circuiting and his face flushing with every breath you take.    

      He is absolutely whipped for you, everything you do is committed to his memory, and he inches closer to you with every passing second. “You’re welcome, so, are you going to give me a tour of the town or some advice to settle in, and get along with my neighbors?” He didn’t want to, but he figured that it was best to be as helpful as possible. That way, you’ll trust him the most and will come back to him whenever you need help. You, however, scoot away from him, eventually ending up near the end of the couch in a corner and Angelo follows you. “Oh, uhm, certainly. I’ll be happy to give you advice and a tour, but I was hoping we could simply have a friendly chat first…” Angelo responds hopefully, he just wants to get to know you and doesn’t want to talk about anyone else. However, something you said earlier caught his attention. “Unexpected? Wh-what do you mean by that?” He questions nervously, his wide eyes nervously glancing at you and his bottom lip quivering at the thought of you hating him. You tilt your head, slightly confused and then you try to clarify without sounding rude. “Well, back where I’m from men don’t often wear dresses, that’s all.” Before you can clarify any further he interrupts you, which was quite rude and he apologizes for that, but doesn’t stop talking. “Sorry for interrupting, but you don’t like it? Does my fashion sense upset you?” He inquires his expression shifting into anxiety and his mind begins to work in overdrive. His hands squeezes the cloth of his dress and he twists the fabric. Angelo doesn’t do well with rejection, of any form or shape. Suddenly this conversation seems very awkward to you and you regret opening your mouth. “That’s not what I meant, that dress looks great on you. It’s just someone have to get used to, that’s all.” He smiles and he seems content with your response. “Really? You mean it? Thank you!” It isn’t often that he gets a compliment from anyone and it’s been a while since anyone he was interested in complimented him (excluding his spouse, he loves his spouse so very much and is very interested in them). Angelo relaxes and leans his head on your shoulder, which causes you to cringe and push his head away. He whines and leans against you once more, this time he wraps his arms around your arm and nuzzles your neck. Now you’re very uncomfortable and have begun to regret your decision to let him inside.

—————————————————————————-

[chicspo]

hiii, this may be a little presumptuous of me but how do you find a balance between religion and science? i’ve always been agnostic (raised roman catholic) but my life feels so aimless rn i think a spiritual awakening would help but i feel like it’d be hard for me because ive always been so iffy about the existence of God bc of evolution and stuff like the big bang theory.

i thought the exact same way!! honestly just give it a chance and see if it makes u feel better. i didnt grow up catholic but i still always liked asking the universe for things especially after i found out about the law of attraction when i was like twelve. and when i started praying and talking to God it was literally the same thing except i was adressing someone else. in both cases at least for me it not only calms me down but i literally always get what i ask for. wether its advice or material things or redirection anything. just ask for it and be grateful. personally i dont think u should be on either extreme of religion or science. just try everything out and see if it changes ur life for the better. be open to it let it surprise u

[carelesswispe]

Howdy hi and hello i hope you’re having a good day!! I haven’t see anyone who’s written for both of my fixations this is so exciting :o if you’re ok with 2 different fandoms in the same request maybe share some of ur headcanons for a relationship with Xiao and Felix? Like what attracts them to their partner, maybe their love languages, their approach to asking them out, stuff like that :o I know this might be a tad presumptuous but feel free to add anyone u feel like writing atm!! -🐞

Relationship Headcanons for Felix and Xiao

hi ladybug anon !! i'm sorry it took so long for this! i lit gasped when i saw felix the loml and uhrm....i think i have written too much ehe...anyway ,, i hope you enjoy it regardless and thank you so much for requesting! (trying smm new with the dividers ! please let me know what you think ^^)

Xiao 

Xiao is a loner. So in my honest opinion, I feel that he doesn’t have much of a “type”. Or at least if he had one, he wouldn’t admit it. Deep inside, he’s just yearning for someone stubborn enough to reach out to him first.

But if I had to name a couple of qualities, Xiao would want someone who is capable of handling themselves, not just in combat per se, but someone with a strong personality which inspires confidence in others. A strong person who is willing to lend those in need a helping hand. Not only that, they have to be pretty stubborn to keep pursuing the stubborn yaksha no matter how much he insists for them to “stay away”

Now for love languages, I was stuck between acts of service and gift giving. Here's my rationale; 

Xiao’s adeptal form is implied to be a bird or an avian creature of some sort. Birds are known to exhibit some sort of “gift giving” towards their mates and therefore, gift giving might be one of the ways Xiao expresses his love for you. Nothing too grand, mind you, but perhaps some Qingxin picked only from the highest of mountain peaks. Protection charms infused with some adeptal arts which bring good fortune and prosperity to the wearer.

Due to his work, he might not be able to be with you all the time. With a call of his name, however, no matter where you are, he’ll be able to come and help you. Xiao isn’t confident in being able to be there with you 24/7 but he is confident in his strength. In your moments of peril, Xiao will be there for you, ready to bring whoever caused your distress pain. He hopes that the services his might provides you with will be able to show just how much he loves you.

Inexperienced as he is, forgive Xiao for being a little bit clumsy when he asks you out, he’s trying his best. The adepti asks for romantic advice from his fathe…I mean, Zhongli. The ex-archon is, of course, as clueless as the yaksha. Despite this, the natural born lady-killer he is, Zhongli gives relatively good advice for someone who hasn’t dated before…how curious. 

Anyway, equipped with Zhongli’s wise pointers, Xiao prepares a bouquet of Qingxin and a nice spot in the mountains with a good view of the town below and the stars above. Now, he just hopes that you will accept his invitation. With sweaty palms and a flushed face, he stands in front of you, forgetting the sentence he had rehearsed over and over in his head. 

“(name)...I…” the words catch in his throat as you turn around to look at him, damn, did you always look this stunning? Your captivating smile played on your lips as you waited for Xiao to continue speaking. ‘Ah, screw it,’ the yaksha’s mind drew blanks and he decided to just spit out what he felt. “I like you, so will you go out for a picnic with me tonight?” His golden eyes stared into yours, sincerity oozing from them as he slowly pulled out the bouquet of flowers he had prepared beforehand. 

Time seemed to slow down for Xiao, each second ticking by excruciatingly long as he awaited your response. And just when he thinks that he was turned into a statue, you reply. Relief spreads across his chest and you could visibly see his eyes soften the moment you accepted his invitation. The emotions he’s feeling are…indescribable. He feels so happy he could fly, his cheeks are burning so hot that he almost feels lightheaded, stupid even. It’s a feeling that he never wanted to stop feeling. 

At the start of your relationship with Xiao, you might have to initiate a lot of physical sentiments. Like holding his hand, cuddling, or what have you. As I said in the beginning, the young yaksha had been isolated, away from a lot of people for so long. He doesn’t know how to start these things. Later on, however, as your relationship slowly warms up, Xiao gains the confidence to make the first move. Who knows, he might even surprise you. 

Felix

Felix is very similar to Xiao in a sense that they are both loners so I imagine most things would be the same. When it comes to taste in lovers, I think that Felix would want someone who is strong and enjoys honing and training their skills as much as he does. After all, Felix does spend a great deal of time in the training after all, and he admires someone who can push themselves to improve more and more. 

In terms of love languages, I feel like he’d be the type to show more than say, being a man of action. So in that regard, he would have acts of service and quality time. 

He would take to heart your small mannerisms and preferences. And like, when you’re the type of person whose feet would get cold for no reason at all, he would prepare a set of socks for you anytime you need it. If you get snacky when working, before you could even think about getting up for some snacks, you find a small bowl of your favourite snacks beside your work desk. I am unequivocally in love with this man. 

OKAY hear me out for the quality time part. Felix is the type of person to consider sparring together a worthy bonding activity, being the training-obsessed maniac he is, and as such, would treasure time spent together, despite little to no words being exchanged between the two of you. 

As his feelings slowly develop and blossom, his behaviour would be the same as always, if not just spending more time with you. Sylvain would be the first to notice and offer some “dating advice” which Felix brutally ignores and denies his feelings. 

From then on though, the way he stared at you was piercing. Making you think that perhaps you have done something to upset him. Feeling understandably slightly miffed, you set your mind to confront the man about his actions. By pure coincidence, almost as if reading your mind, Felix asks you to meet him at the training room after class. 

Meet him you did, walking towards the training room immediately after Professor Byleth dismisses the class, wanting to finally hear answers after a whole month of Felix’s targeted stares. Every time you tried to confront him about it before, he would quickly turn his face away and escape to god-knows-where. 

The closer you came towards the training room, the more you felt your heart beat. You had no idea why you were being like this. It must’ve been Sylvain’s influence. That damn redhead had been teasing you about Felix since forever. Was it that obvious that you liked that brunet? You thought that you hid it pretty well, other than the fact that you were always there, training with him, and spent as much time as you could with the swordsman. 

“Aah, whatever! Let’s get this over with!” you whispered-shouted to yourself, taking a deep breath as you tried your best to make long, confident strides into the training room. There, you saw Felix, his back turned to you as he seemed to be deep in thought. As you opened your mouth, he turned to you.

With his usual stoic expression he says, “Finally, you came.” it seems like he sensed your presence the moment you came into the room. You wouldn’t be too surprised by that. After all, he was a master swordsman. “I was starting to think that you forgot about our meeting.” he said bluntly, picking up a training sword before throwing it to you.

Surprised, you catch the sword and look at Felix with a confused expression. You thought he invited you over for a chat, not a duel. Opening your mouth, you were about to question the man about it before he spoke again “Let’s have a duel first.” was all he said before picking up a sword of his own.

At this point, you’ve come to expect this kind of behaviour from the brunet so you weren’t too taken aback. Just like that, the both of you got into your respective stances and clashed swords. 

The sounds of two people panting filled the training room as the two of you got into a standstill, both sides refusing to concede defeat. “Let’s stop it here.” At this, you hunch over, exhaustion overtaking your body. ‘I should have brought water, I knew this was going to happen’ you thought, hands struggling to even hold onto the hilt of the sword. 

Once you finally regain some sort of composure, you slowly straighten up, eyes widening when you see Felix holding out a towel and a bottle of water. “Here, you look like a mess.” his usual sharp tongue strikes again. ‘It’s your fault in the first place’, is what you wanted to say but you were too tired to snap back. Muttering something under your breath, you grabbed the refreshments from the swordsman’s hands and used it. As you guzzle the beverage down with great vigour. “Hey, slow down, you’re going to choke” He warns but you don’t care, finishing the last of the drink.

“So what was it that you wanted to tell me? “ you prompt, looking at Felix’s hazel irises, analysing his facial expressions just to see something, anything. To your surprise, his usual sharp gaze had a tender quality to it, almost as if he was looking at something dear to him. As you notice this, you move the towel you’ve been clutching to wipe your sweat when you realise something gleaming from underneath the towel.

Unravelling the cloth slightly, you gasp to see a silver ring hidden within the soft fabric. Seeing that you found it, Felix takes a deep breath, closing his eyes before opening them again to look at you in the eye, “Listen, (name), I’ve thought about this a lot and I enjoy having you around. This is what I could think about every time I looked at you.”

With a smile, you suppress your urge to roll your eyes at the man’s indirect proposal. Seeing the look in your eyes as you looked to the ring and to him, he starts to fidget in place and a crimson red blush starts to form on his cheek and ears. “Wh, what’s that look for? You know what that means right?” 

You don’t reply and Felix starts to lose his mind, a few moments pass and he finally says it, “Fine, okay, I want you to be my lover and hopefully my spouse in the near future. Please, say yes. Let’s get married and stay together until we die…” at his passionate declaration, a smile spreads across your face, in awe of this man’s surprisingly sappy nature. “I love you”, he looked at you with those same loving eyes and you could feel the warmth oozing out of his normally cold self. 

Opening your mouth, you were about to say something before Felix, suddenly flustered, turned around abruptly and prepared to power walk away before you even got the chance to say anything. You definitely weren’t going to let that happen, he was being so sweet too! Plus, your calves were burning and no amount of love and willpower could have gotten you to catch up with Felix once he starts sprinting away from you at full speed. 

Catching him, before he could run, you give him a reply and the rest is history. Felix is a very serious and devoted husband, trying his best for the sake of your future together with him. He just hopes that his apprehensive nature doesn’t scare you away but who is he kidding, if you’d stuck around from the start, there's no way you’re running now.

[shadowfromthestarlight]

So I have this friend, whom I met through work and we've known each other for a few years, and I've attended the christening of two of his kids and served as godmother for one. We talk and still see each other in person from time to time. But almost every time we talk, he asks me if I'm dating, asks if I like any guys in my workplace, suggests that I use dating apps, tells me I should get married, tells me that he would love to see me have kids and that he wants me to give him little godchildren, and I have to say over and over again that I'm not seeing anybody right now and it's not a priority. Even when we end up having a nice conversation overall, I always end up feeling annoyed by the discussion of romance and relationships. He could be bringing this up all the time to tease me, but the fact that it's so persistent makes me believe it's genuine. Reflecting on it, I realized a couple of things that were really bothering me about it, and they basically come down to:

I think it's a bit presumptuous to just assume that someone who's just your friend - not your best friend since first grade who's practically family at this point, not your sibling or other close relative, but just a friend plain and simple - would make you the godparent of their child(ren). Again, it could be a joke, but if it's not, it makes me uncomfortable because it's like oh geez do we have to have the "i don't know if i feel for you what you feel for me"/the "you're my friend but not my best friend" kind of conversation? Like, yes, sure, I do consider this person a friend. When we hang out, it's fun. But I don't love this friend so much that he would potentially take priority over my actual blood relation as a godparent to my child.

I find this level of scrutiny of my life and intrusiveness into my personal decision-making inappropriate for someone who is, again, just a friend. Not my parent, not my therapist, not my priest, not someone I've asked to mentor me and fix my life - a friend. A peer. A social equal. Quite frankly, I've never had another friend or acquaintance or anyone else in my life talk to me this way. I'm not sure I'd think it was a great idea for anyone to tell me that bluntly how to live my life, but it definitely rubs me the wrong way coming from a friend. Even my own grandmother doesn't harp on the need to see me get married before she dies every time we talk. My mother doesn't badger me to give her grandchildren. My sister doesn't constantly ask me when I'm going to make her my maid of honor and give her nieces and nephews. My godmother doesn't ask me to give her great-godchildren lol... I could go on but I think I've made the point? This whole line of conversation just strikes me as very abnormal when it's initiated by a friend.

I've said this before, but I ultimately find it insulting when I'm over here living a decent life and people start lecturing about how everyone who's single needs to get married because that's obviously the answer for everybody! and clearly none of us who are single are capable of figuring out how to live our lives! and we need all this unsolicited advice or else we'll be miserable loners forever! That's annoying and offensive and honestly makes me want to say "no" just for the hell of it because I'm annoyed.

Now that I find myself able to articulate why this type of conversation is really wearing me out, at least I'll be able to put a stop to it if and when it comes up again.

[femmefatalevibe]

Hi!

Hope your week is going well. I have a weird question but how do you not mix business with pleasure?

I have a slight liking towards this man on campus who does film and videos and it’s been successful. And it’s something I’ve been wanting to learn for my career as well. Last time I spoke to him it was passing by, and I’ve spoken to him here and there (once again- in passing) before. (We’d both be nervous when talking lol to one another)

I mistakenly told him I’ve been looking for him (since he no longer lives in the dorm building we met at) and he said he’s off campus, then I also said we need to talk, and he should follow me on IG and I shouted my handle, he said ok as he left.

It was silly, I’m sure I scared him away and I was embarrassed by my choice of words. He never followed me or dm’d me and I am too proud to even reach out. I would like to network and ask for advice but not sure if it’s appropriate.

I’ve gotten into these situations where I accidentally mix business with pleasure when I meet men who have these qualities that would help me in the long run, then they ghost me after the said project is done, and I felt like there would be potential to chat and be friends and maybe something can form that’s causal. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong.

I’d love some advice regarding that.

Thanks so much ! 🪽

Hi love! I totally get how this issue can get sticky. I've been in the opposite position before – when some potential clients have gotten a little too flirty (rare and it's been a while since this happened, but alas). Anyways, it seems like you're both legal adults, in the same age bracket (or relatively close in age), and there's no power dynamic at play (like a boss or a professor), so labeling anything as black and white at this stage is just going to give you more anxiety and make you overthink this situation past the facts at hand.

To ensure your relationship remains professional, always ensure you're reaching out with a clear reason, ask, and intention. If you choose to meet in person for a chat-up, ensure it's in a public place – preferably during the day with no alcohol involved (coffee is perfect – anyone who assumes that a professional coffee chat is a date automatically is quite presumptuous in my book, regardless of the ages or genders of the people involved). An example of this type of outreach would be "hey! I've been working on X project and know that you specialize in X industry, industry solutions, demographic, product development, methodology, etc., I'm wondering if you would be open to looking over these notes/paper/project/assignment and share your thoughts or chat about X industry question over coffee? I appreciate your expertise in X field." It can be more casual than this, but you get the idea.

In terms of staying in touch with professional contacts who happen to be men, take a similar approach as you would with maintaining a professional connection with anyone else who is not of your desired gender. Send them articles, links to studies, etc. surrounding your common professional interests every once in a while if they make you think of them, feel free to give them a short update on your professional/academic life and hobbies, etc., and, on occasion, if you want, reach out to see if they're open to a coffee chat to discuss one of the current projects you're working on, a new job, switching majors, etc.

Just treat them like a professional friend. Don't be nervous around them like a crush if you want to maintain a professional connection with them. While, sometimes, professional connections can lead to forming healthy, long-lasting relationships, cross that bridge when you come to it. You will know if the interest is mutual or not after a couple of interactions. Be smart about it, but don't overthink it.

Hope this helps xx

[narastories]

FFWF: Favorite headcanon (for any character) you really like but haven't yet put in a fic?

I took my time with this one because I had a hard time coming up with an answer.

I think I've answered a similar question before with my idea for Deirdre/Nic that they like a bit of bloodplay, and that they have definitely made a poor follower faint or throw up with their weirdness. That hasn't made it to a fic yet, though I haven't given up on it yet.

But to give a new answer, yesterday the devious idea came to me, what if Nic had one of his secret evil hideouts in Eastern Europe. Travel is not an issue, language is not a barrier and he goes missing for years at a time so why not?

Now the rest of this might get a little personal but this is just something I've been thinking about. You may have seen those posts going around in fandom saying if you were not born in the US "don't be afraid" to set your fanfic AUs in the country you were born in (as opposed to butchering foreign US customs I suppose). And I know of people who joyously embraced this and good for them, honestly. I also think this advice is mostly coming from a good place when people say that.

But.

That always made me feel weird as someone who purposefully moved away and doesn't have a lot of charitable feelings toward my birth country. I think it's the assumption that I'm supposed to "entertain" my USAmerican friends with the "authentic exoticness" of my experience that always felt... icky, honestly. And I'm well aware that I have hang-ups here, I'm just saying this advice always felt very presumptuous.

The point I'm trying to make is that because of this I felt delighted when this idea came to me. Maybe I could also add some cultural spice to my fanfics on my own terms by putting a real nightmare into that setting, which would feel very satisfying on a personal level.

As you know I'm spinning the potential Big Bang ideas in my head and just the thought of little Denarian Harry bumbling around on the streets of an Eastern European city smelling of dogpiss and catshit and about to get mugged, except he's got a fallen angel in his head and people around him are going to have a bad day... it just tickles me.

I guess, when it comes down to it, the setting isn't that different from Chicago or the countryside from a middle-of-nowhere US place, but... idk. You guys are not going to get any cheerful folk-song-singing AUs from me anytime soon but this feels promising.

Sorry for the tangent lol It's not actually a big thing or a favorite, and I'm not even sure you could call this a headcanon? This is just the only thing that came to mind for this question ^^

Thank you for asking though xx

[sunderlust]

this is me trying iii (rooster x reader)

masterlist part 1 | part 2 | part 3 pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader synopsis: bradley bradshaw has always been the bane of your existence... and you wouldn't go as far as saying he's the object of all your desires, but he's most certainly become your rock in the storm you're weathering as you try to navigate the murky waters known as your future. poetic ramblings aside, you're determined to make it up to him and take charge of your life for once. if only he'd pick up the damn phone... warnings: 18+ ONLY, detailed description of a panic attack, explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, explicit sexual activity (piv, oral f recieving), angst, realizations, talk about therapy, happy ending <3 note: as always, so much love to seasonsbloom and gretagerwigsmuse for beta-ing, supporting, dealing with my insanity. I wouldn't be posting my writing without them, let alone have created this series, so please give them some well deserved love

Your laptop remains closed on the coffee table, taunting you right where you left it after that phone call. It’s been impossible for you to muster up the courage to open it, let alone investigate the unread emails collecting dust in your inbox. You know they most likely carry sage advice and words of affirmation from the colleagues and professors you reached out to last week, but you’re completely overwhelmed with a wave of self-consciousness, almost embarrassed that you contacted them and did grad school research. It feels like your anxiety has shut down all the hope you had for your future.

And the more you look back on that night, the more guilty you feel at the way you handled things with Bradley. It’s not like he explicitly said to you that you were destined for failure - it was more so the presumptuous tone he spoke with and his words lacking the usual energy he had when he was conversing with you. You felt like a burden, like you’d be stuck in this fucking town forever while he jetted off to be successful elsewhere, earning Medals of Honor and shacking up with pretty girls in dive bars. (You try not to think hard about why you’re so concerned with his dating escapades.)

Bradley had texted numerous times after you hung up on him. On that fateful terrible night, you ignored his messages purely out of spite, simply turning your phone off and distracting yourself with whatever film Netflix suggested to you until you drifted off into a dreamless sleep right on the couch. But by morning, the guilt settled in like a heavy fog - and by the time you clocked into work at Java and realized he wasn’t gracing the coffee shop with his presence, you weren’t sure if he wanted to hear from you. 

You don’t know why it feels like a breakup. Not when you guys were just friends, just old rivals trying to have a fresh start, just two people with a lot of weight on their shoulders- okay. It might have started becoming a little more than friends to you. And you blame Bradley for being so wonderful, and kind, and thoughtful, and pretty. It’s like you saw a completely different side to him the past week, one you saw glimpses of back in undergrad but were too proud to try and investigate further, get a closer look at the wonderful man underneath. Now you regret not giving him a chance to explain, regret your biting words, regret thinking that he’d reverted back to the Bradley who used to rub his higher exam score in your face at the end of the semester. 

Because he was so kind to you - taking you out for drinks and planning quality time with you and getting to know you and taking you on that hike. He fully honored his promise to make a fresh start with you. And you just threw it back in his face. 

The guilt swarms you, and you feel more alone than ever now that you’re back at square one, still feeling overwhelmed thinking about your career and your future. You were supposed to be leisurely treading water, but you’re haunted by Bradley’s words swimming around you, taunting you, pulling you under the surface. 

-- 

Everything comes crashing down on Thursday near the end of your shift. You’ve especially been on edge for the past few days, but something feels especially off right now: the acrid smell of burnt coffee hits your nostrils too sharply, the sound of the coffee bean grinder feels like you’re being knighted with a chainsaw over your head, and you’re hot, it’s so fucking hot in this stupid coffee shop and this stupid city and you can’t seem to cool down, can’t seem to catch your breath, can’t seem to slow down. 

The moment the clock hits one, you’re shucking off your apron in a frenzy and just barely missing the hook you usually hang it on, sending a one word farewell to Britt and Todd before dashing out the door and towards your car. With shaking hands, you pull out your keys and blink rapidly, sensing an onslaught of waterworks the moment your ass hits the driver’s seat. 

You haven’t had a panic attack in a while. In all honesty, you thought you forgot how to have them - but you realize now it feels like every little thing over the past few years has built up into a towering skyscraper that is not up to your mind’s building codes. And it’s all about to come tumbling down right now. 

As predicted, the moment you slam the door shut the tears start to fall, and you start heaving for breath and wonder if you should maybe roll down the windows - if you’re willing to risk having other people hear your biggest fucking meltdown in favor of getting a little fresh air for yourself. Do you even deserve it right now? You’re not sure. All you know now is vibrating nerves and constricting lungs and wet cheeks and for some reason you don’t know if you can remember where you are-

Ground yourself with your five senses, you vaguely recall reading about on the internet - and you try to pull your head out from where it is, try to regulate your breathing enough to remember how this fucking grounding exercise is supposed to go. 

5 things you can see. Easy enough - you open your eyes to count off your steering wheel, the silver Honda Civic parked in front of you, the old empty iced coffee in your cup holder, the traffic light at the intersection turning red, the bunny-shaped cloud in the sky. 

4 things you can feel - the leather seat under you, the California sun warming up your skin, your nails digging into your palms (unclench, you consciously think), the tears sort of drying on your cheeks. 

3 things you can hear. Cars on the street? A dog barking? Your breathing, which is slowing down now. 

2 things you can smell. Coffee on your clothes. Your favorite car freshener from Bath and Body Works.

1 thing you can taste - matcha. Caramel and matcha, because you remember thinking about trying to craft the monstrosity and tasting it earlier, and somehow it still lingers. You force out a smile, thinking bitterly about whether you’ll get the chance to tell Bradley about it. 

You’re not completely calm - not in the slightest. But you need to get out of here, get some air, and now that you’re physically stable, you finally start your car, roll the windows down, and drive. 

-- 

At a stoplight, you have an epiphany and pull out your phone to search for directions on how to get to Sunset Cliffs Natural Park - perhaps a hike would do you some good. A small part of you worries about going on your own, but you’re somehow still feeling numb enough to ignore it.

Once you park your car and step out, you feel a cool breeze whip around you, soothing your hot skin and easing some of your worries. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses, you make your way down towards the trail, thankful you wore comfortable shoes to work. Twenty minutes later, you find yourself sitting down on a rock closer to the ocean, and you glance down at how far away the water looks. 

And you think back to when there was a moment you weren’t grinding yourself down to the bone, to when you weren’t constantly itching to cross off the next thing off your to-do list, to when you weren’t so occupied with completing a project in hopes that it would secure you a ticket to a supposedly better career position - when you weren’t lost in the constant grind of a job that gave you no work-life balance whatsoever. 

The sound of the ocean rushes into your ears, and you look out to try and pinpoint the farthest point a wave starts forming and follow its journey towards land, watch as the foam crashes down on the ocean before retreating back into deeper waters. And you feel like in some sense you’ve been a wave all along, and now you’re just drifting back out into open waters to let the current carry you elsewhere. 

For the first time, you don’t wipe away the tears forming. You let them fall down, cascade down your cheeks and drip onto your shirt. The ocean breeze You feel chilly, your ass hurts, and you can’t believe you let yourself believe, for even a second, that there wasn’t more out there for you. 

-- 

After returning to the guest house, you make a beeline for your computer, ignoring how sweaty the anxiety attack and walk made you and how desperately you wanted to shower the whole drive over here. You’re filled with a sense of determination - a genuine drive to make a plan for yourself, something you haven’t felt in ages. 

First things first - you locate an email from Cam dating back to a month ago when you first settled here: therapists in San Diego, cognitive behavioral specialists and group therapy options for anxiety. It’s been on the back burner for long enough, and you resolve to ask Cam for more guidance, more support, more help because you’re realizing now you can’t shoulder the burden yourself.

After this, you turn your attention to the unread emails in response to career advice requests. Gradually, you sift through them and bookmark sites for grad school, creating an excel sheet just like you did back in undergrad when you were shortlisting all the companies you wanted to work at. 

It feels cathartic - having a clean inbox and a new sheet of possibilities. But there's one more thing on your docket: you pull out your phone and unlock it, navigating to your chat history with Bradley. Your heart sinks slightly looking at the unanswered apology texts he sent, urging you to talk to him - but you swallow down the guilt and tap the call button, listening to the rings until you get his voicemail. You frown, furrowing your brow. Maybe he’s busy? 

You elect to draft him a text message instead, hoping he’ll catch you later tonight. Hey, you type, pausing to ponder your next words. I’m sorry for how I left things and for not replying, just needed some time to think. Can you give me a call sometime? 

After hitting send, you feel an urge to launch your phone across the room, but you fight it in hopes that he’ll reply right after, that he just missed your call by accident. But you don’t hear back from him that night. Or the next morning. You sent him another text around noon (Hope everything’s okay. We don’t have to talk, just at least let me know you’re alright) - but by the time evening rolls around, you’re wound tight and ready to explode. None of your messages look like they’ve even been delivered. 

Did he fucking block you? 

“Hey!” Cam calls out when you trudge into the house for dinner. “What’s up? You look like shit.” 

You heave out a sigh and situate yourself on a barstool at the kitchen island, burying your face in your hands. “I feel like shit.” 

They look up from where they’re chopping tomatoes and nod slightly in agreement. “Sounds about right. Rough day at work?” 

You groan. “No. I sort of... blew up at Bradley earlier this week. I just wanted to call him to apologize but I think he’s blocked me or something.” 

“Oh honey, I don’t think... he’d do that,” Cam attempts to reassure, setting a kitchen knife down and leveling you with an unreadable expression. 

“Why not? I was a complete bitch to him, just went off on him because of one thing he said and I’d really like to apologize, but he’s making that a little difficult. I don’t even think any of my messages sent to him because none of them will deliver-” 

“Bradley left,” Cam interrupts, their face morphing into one of deep sympathy. Your stomach drops, waiting for their next words, assuming the worst. “Nat told me they were going off for some mission. They’ll probably be back next week though-” 

And your heart drops into your stomach, forming a pit. And you hear a faint buzzing in your ears - maybe that’s Cam saying your name? - but nothing seems to really register with you except for the fact that Bradley’s gone, and he never said goodbye and he didn’t even tell you and everyone kept saying this mission was life or death. If maybe you’d listened to him earlier when he’d called, maybe you could have instead said something encouraging, something inspiring, something to give him hope, something to make him want to come back for you. Not blown up at him for something you misconstrued as a taunting reminder of your failures. 

You’re not sure if you’ll ever get the chance to share your grad school news with him, or apologize, or make him a matcha monstrosity, or hear him call you Buttercup with his mustache cocking upwards in that endearing half smile he always sends you. 

What truly strikes a feeling of emptiness in you is the heavy, constant worry that you should be holding onto something - at first you think you’re missing your keys or your phone or your purse, but it dawns upon you later that all you want to feel is the comforting weight of his hand in yours. 

-- 

You try your best to go about your regular schedule with a hazy mind - coffee shop in the morning, grad research and emails in the afternoon, a small solitude walk down by the beach after dinner with your friends. Over the weekend, you consider numbing the pain of not knowing with a couple (or three, or six) drinks down at the Hard Deck, but Bradley’s absence at the piano would surely be noticed no matter how much liquor you down. And you’re not sure if excessive alcohol and your anxiety are the best match at this moment. 

The next Wednesday evening’s shenanigans consist of rosé and Notting Hill playing on the tv while you comb through Reddit and other forums for GRE overviews and timetables. You’re interrupted suddenly by a flurry of knocks at your door. Figuring Cam forgot their house key and didn’t want to bother texting, you heave yourself off the couch to open the door, not at all expecting to see Bradley on the other side of it. You freeze. 

“Hi,” he breathes out. He’s wearing his signature blue jeans and a white tank with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt - the same outfit from when you first met almost a month ago (maybe a different shirt print, they all look the same to you). This time, you take the time to appreciate how fucking good he looks, how he fully manages to take your breath away, how you kind of want to reach out and poke his abs to make sure he’s real- 

“Cam told me they told you about... Well, you know. We got in two nights ago. I uh.. Would’ve come earlier, but I think I crashed from all the adrenaline and shit. I think I ended up sleeping for about fourteen hours-”

This sends you into motion. You leave him on your front porch mid-sentence and dash a couple steps back into the guest house to grab a throw pillow from the indoor bench in the foyer (bless Cher for her furnishing skills, sponsored by HGTV). 

With your plush weapon in hand, you stomp back over to him, where he looks as confused as ever before you start raining blows onto him with it. “Are - you - fucking - KIDDING - me?!” you grit out, punctuating each word with a hit from the pillow. Bradley’s holding up his hands to shield his body, and if he weren’t so caught off guard he probably would’ve had the bright idea to wrestle the offending object away from you. Maybe he also felt like he deserved it. “You go hop off on a mission without telling me! Without a heads up! And you come HERE,” - three hits in succession - “What the fuck, Bradley!” 

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry!” Bradley cries out, finally reaching a hand to tear it away from you, holding it behind him just out of your reach. He finally looks up to meet your angry gaze and his confusion softens, melts into compassion and warms you up from the inside out. 

Jesus Christ, you’re crying. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, slowly lowering his hand grasping the pillow. “I just... I didn’t want to make you worry. And I thought you were angry with me and I didn’t want to make things worse-” 

“Right,” you whisper, closing your eyes and trying your hardest to find your breathing exercises to help regulate your rapidly increasing heart rate.

“I didn’t want to make you feel obligated,” he says quietly. “Believe me, I kept trying to remind myself of that, but as soon as I was up in the air-” 

“Oh my god,” you groan and squeezing your eyes shut, remembering the gravity of the situation - life or death mission echoes through your head on repeat and you feel all the anxiety you had shoved down start bubbling up, all your muscles clenching-

“I’m here right now sweetheart,” he reaches out to grasp your hands - which you’d started unconsciously nervously wringing and squeezing together like a kitchen sponge - and he takes a step closer towards you. His right thumb is rubbing gentle circles over your pulse point, and it’s somehow doing a much better job at calming you down than those stupid exercises you got from the internet. You breathe him in - all woodsy and musky mixed with a hint of sunscreen and vanilla. “Is this okay?” he asks with bated breath. 

You nod in an answer and at last, you open your eyes, finally agreeing with what your eyes were showing you, finally accepting the reality that he was standing there safe and sound in front of you, yet you’re still unable to find any words; even if you could, you’re not sure you possessed the energy to be able to sound them out. 

“Can we go inside? We can sit down for this, maybe get you some water.”

Again, you nod, vocal chords still frozen. Bradley hums soothingly in acknowledgement, takes a soft hold of one of your wrists and leads you back into the house, makes sure to close and lock the door behind you. With his tangible presence and the grip of his fingers, you can feel your mind feel less fuzzy, more alert, more aware of Bradley gently pulling you towards the kitchen. 

“Where do you keep your cups?” he asks finally, opening up a cupboard at random and wrinkling his forehead upon seeing an air fryer instead. 

“I can make us some tea, I think,” you say, stepping around him to grab a couple kitschy cat mugs from the cupboard next to them. “Think some chamomile might do me some good.” He nods, moving to the side to let you take charge. You flip the electric kettle on and pull out tea bags and honey while the water heats up. 

“I got your texts. Didn’t have access to our phones on the ship but uh... I’m sorry to have worried you,” he says sheepishly, leaning against the kitchen island with his hands in his pockets and you hum, not wanting to let on to the fact of how terrified you were (as if he didn’t already know, as if he didn’t see you completely freeze up and almost lose your mind at the actual sight of him). 

The kettle clicks, and you reach over to pour the hot water into the mugs to steep the tea. “I just...” you start, and fiddle with the mugs, pushing one with a cartoon cat drinking coffee printed on it towards him along with the bear-shaped bottle. Bradley accepts with a small “thanks,” and then goes on to squeeze an egregious amount of honey into the mug, clinking the metal spoon loudly against the ceramic as he stirred. You raise an eyebrow, then shake off the judgment - a topic for later. (Seriously. That had to be, like, four tablespoons. Is he okay?).  

“I wanted to apologize,” you say to him, and his eyes dart up to meet your determined gaze. “I think I - rather unfairly - lost my temper with you. I think that conversation just reminded me that I’m still sort of stuck in this limbo with my career, with my life being completely on hold. And I wrongly assumed that you were trying to let me down easy, that you had your own misgivings about me making my way out of here. I’m sorry.”

Bradley nods slowly with a furrowed brow, bringing his mug up to blow lightly over the surface of his drink before taking a tiny sip. “I think... I replayed our conversation in my head the entire night and I saw where you might have gotten that idea- I mean, first things first, I was just worried about the mission. And getting too close to you and leaving you here if things went south. I just didn’t want my whole shit with Maverick and the mission to get in the way of you finding yourself, because you’re just treading water, right?” 

You’re silent for a minute, grasping your mug just a little bit tighter and choosing your next few words carefully. “That was the plan. But I think I’ve had... an epiphany, of sorts...” he nods, encouraging you to continue. “I was thinking about going back to school. I think… I love engineering, but I hated industry. So I thought maybe I could go back for my masters, PhD after, maybe become a professor. Or do research. I thought Caltech or Stanford would be amazing, since I’m starting to like the west coast now. And I’ve already reached out to some colleagues and professors who think it’s a good idea.” 

A week ago, it felt silly to even say out loud. But here and now, with Bradley nodding encouragingly and with the hint of a smile on lips, you wonder why you always berate yourself for wanting to be open about your dreams. 

“That sounds perfect for you, sweetheart. Are you… are you gonna go for it?”

You take a sip, ignoring the butterflies taking flight at the term of endearment. “I think so. I just... I don't know if I’m good enough for it. Plus, I’m not sure if being back in that environment would be good for me, especially being so much older going in. There’s a lot of shit I have to get through which is why...” you pause, wondering if you’re ready to admit this to him. “I’m looking at therapy. Cam had some suggestions for some San Diego specialists and I made some calls yesterday, but I’m trying to figure out where I might end up long term first.” 

He nods slowly, puts his mug down, ponders the news you’ve just broken. At long last, he looks up at you. “I think that’s really great for you. And it means a lot to me that you felt comfortable enough to share that.” 

You look down bashfully into your mug, trying to lose yourself in the steam trails rising up from the water. “You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” you admit and immediately cringe at how lame it must sound, how clingy you must seem for wanting to divulge all your future plans to him. 

“That means the world to me,” he says softly, and you look up to see his serious, thoughtful expression. “I uh… I think that’s something I’m looking into now too. Therapy. I mean. I did some grief counseling when my mom passed away - wasn’t too big a fan of group sessions, never really liked talking in front of so many people about my crap. But the individual talks helped, just never really stuck with it when things got busy. And I figured I was okay until... this assignment, I guess. All the shit with Maverick - which, we’re okay now. But I think I have some doors I want to close. So... same boat, huh?” 

You hum in acknowledgement, taking a few steps forward to lean against the countertop across from him. 

“You don’t have to go into the details,” you say softly, swirling the tiny amount of tea remaining in your mug. “But... are you okay right now? After getting back?” 

Bradley shrugs his shoulders. “Still feels like a dream. Sometimes I close my eyes and I find myself in the backseat of that F-14 trying to figure out the radio - but, again, I’ll be unpacking that in a more professional setting soon,” he sends you a crooked smile. “But ah... I feel terrible about not telling you-”

“Oh, that’s fine! I understand-” you interrupt, putting your mug down and waving him off, but he cuts you off again with further rambling, waving his arms around as he speaks. 

“No, really, I do! I should’ve told you, and the moment we were on the home stretch and flying back I was thinking about what the hell I was going to say to you - oh, and I didn’t even mention that then morning of Jake said he patched things up with his girl and I was fucking pissed that Jake of all people managed to say goodbye but I was too much of a coward to do the same - and I’m just so sorry, sweetheart-” 

You surge forward to cut him off, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a bruising, crushing kiss. Because fuck it if you’re not going to show him how much you don’t care that he didn’t say goodbye, that he didn’t even send a text because he’s here right now and it feels like everything’s all right.  

Bradley kisses back with fervor, reaching around to press his hands on your lower back and pulling you into him, and you can’t get closer, can’t get enough of him, almost want to have your hands handcuffed around his neck so that you never have to let go. His lips are chapped but warm and they leave yours tingling with every brush together and he smells so fucking good, just as you remember from your hiking day and he tastes so fucking sweet because of all the honey he poured into his tea before (you really have to check with him later to see what kind of sweet tooth you’re signing up for). 

Your hands travel upwards to tangle into his hair, tugging slightly and making him gasp into your mouth. He pulls away slightly to rest his forehead against yours - “Fuck,” he groans out your name - your real name - and you think you might explode because your name has never sounded so beautiful rolling off someone else’s tongue, and because the last time he said it he was breaking your heart and now here he is, holding you together, supporting your whole body now that you’ve gone completely weak kneed. 

It’s certainly been a long time since you’d been kissed this fucking good, so you linger in the moment just a little bit longer, breathe in his cologne one last time. With your lips still tingling and your hands still tangled in his hair, you open your eyes to see his blissed out expression. His eyes are still shut, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath and he’s still fully holding you up - if he lets go, you’re sure to collapse in on yourself. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, feeling a little bashful at having attacked him like that, but Bradley squeezes you tightly and presses his forehead into you. 

“Don’t be, I’ve been... I’ve thought about that for a long time,” he smiles, and you huff out a laugh.

“Sure.” 

“No, seriously! Even in college I was thinking about it-” 

“What?” you interrupt, pulling away to look at him, aghast. “In college? You had a thing for me then?” 

Bradley’s eyebrows raise so high you’re surprised they don’t shoot off his face. “Y-you’re kidding, right? I told you I was trying to impress you back then-” 

“What, that’s supposed to mean you were into me?” 

“Yeah!” he defends, pulling away further to look you straight in the eye. “I was totally into you! Why do you think I asked you to Formal?” 

“To be an ass!” you tell him like it’s the most obvious answer in the world - and it is, because all you remember about that day was him coming up to you with a bouquet of buttercups and delivering what sounded like the most rehearsed speech you’d ever heard. It wasn’t like he’d ever indicated any interest in you before, so why would he even bother asking you? 

Bradley looks annoyed now, if his mustache is any indication. “Buttercup, I... I don’t know what else I can say but Jesus Christ - I was into you. You just had so much integrity and dedication and you were so smart and so fucking pretty. I didn’t know how to talk to you then, and even after fifteen years, when I saw you in the bar and at the coffee shop I still managed to make a fool out of myself in front of the brightest fucking girl I’ve ever known-” 

You cut him off again, unable to handle being apart from him and not being able to feel him and breathe him in and it’s cliche and way too fast but you’re so fucking sick of being stuck in your head all the time and second guessing every move you make. For once, you just want to be a girl standing in front of a boy and kissing the ever loving bejesus out of him because that’s all your mind is telling you. 

Again, Bradley matches your intensity, pressing his mouth to you and this time lightly tracing your bottom lip with his tongue - the contrast between his soft mouth and the sharp bristles of his mustache and the feeling of his hot skin against yours makes wetness pool into your underwear, sends tingles throughout your body. You don’t think you’ve felt this crazy, this horny for a guy in fucking years. 

Bradley’s gripping your hips tightly, and suddenly he’s steering you backwards towards the kitchen island, and when your back hits the edge of the countertop you ignore the pain and reach a hand back to steady yourself on the smooth surface, trying to maneuver hopping up on the granite without letting your slips disconnect from Bradley’s. You think you might explode if you ever stop kissing Bradley. 

He pulls away slightly (kaboom, you mourn sadly), a smirk playing across his features. “May I?” he asks, sliding his hands down to the back of your legs, right below where your thighs meet the curve of your ass, and you nod quickly. 

You’re surprised at how empty your head is, how easy it is for you to go with the flow and let Bradley give you the makeout session of your life. But you’re even more surprised at how easily he’s able to lift you onto the countertop, then subsequently situate himself between your knees, grab your face in his hands, and pull you in for another kiss. 

Holy fucking shit if you don’t get this man’s clothes off him right now you’re going to explode. Again. 

So you mindlessly let your hands trail to the collar of his Hawaiian shirt, gently nudging it off his shoulders, now letting your lips trail kisses down his jawline to his neck. Bradley starts to remove the button-down, then pauses. You freeze. 

“You sure about this, honey?” he asks you, and you look up at him with a terrified expression, wondering if you’ve gone too far, hoping you can try to dig yourself out of this- but it’s like Bradley can see the fear strike in your eyes and he quickly backtracks. “I mean, do you want to do this?

“I don’t... I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” you confess in a whisper, nervously toying with the fabric of his shirt before pulling your fingers away. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking-” 

Bradley shakes his head, placing a hand on your chin and tilting it upwards. “Let me rephrase: do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, and it’s so brazen and open and you’ve never heard someone ask you this openly for your consent, haven’t felt this comfortable with someone in so long, and without another thought you start nodding your head. “Use your words, sweetheart. Can I? I mean - do you?” 

You gulp, closing your eyes and nodding again. “Yeah,” you breathe out, and the smile on Bradley’s face makes everything go away, makes your anxieties disappear. Suddenly he’s shedding his button-down and draping it over the barstool next to you, then shucking off his white undershirt and holy fucking shit he’s jacked, he’s tanned and muscled and you remember seeing this before, but the close up view is so much better than the memory from volleyball that you’ve replayed in your mind over and over - 

“All good, Buttercup?” he’s smirking, leaning in to peck your lips and you roll your eyes and move to take off your old UVA t-shirt. 

“If you call me Buttercup, I’m calling you Rooster,” you threaten between kisses, now fighting to take off your bra.

He laughs. “Sweetheart, I won’t complain if you call me Rooster in bed,” he reaches both hands around to bat your hands away and gently unhooks the stuck clasp. His hands, as warm as his gaze, slowly move down your body to return to your waist as you slide the straps off. Bradley’s eyes darken at your chest, his fingers dig into your skin. “Goddamn, Buttercup.” 

“Shut up,” you say bashfully, glancing down at his beautifully sculpted chest, the deep lines of his abs, and the silver chain carrying his dog tags glinting in the kitchen light. You feel the nervousness settle in, feel incredibly shy being this exposed in front of him, being this naked in front of another person after a long time. 

“It’s, uh...” you start, folding your arms over your chest. Your eyes dart around; you don’t want to look at him, don’t want him to see the scared glint in your eye, don’t want him to sense the nervousness boiling inside of you. You’re all up in your head again, thinking so much and suddenly he brings you back down again, just as easily as he always has. 

“Hey,” he taps your hip with one finger and that grounds you a tad. Bradley’s voice is gravity, pulling you down from where your anxiety sent you, unpinching your tensed nerves one by one. “Tell me, honey.” 

“I just... haven’t done this in a while,” you confess and you can barely hear yourself say it, the shame and anxiety buzzing loudly in your ears and drowning out everything. But Bradley doesn’t react with disgust or discomfort like your brain is preemptively warning you he will - instead, he looks up to meet your gaze with a soft, yet determined look. 

He reaches up to softly brush your cheek, and you close your eyes to lean into his touch. “Sweetheart,” he tells you. “We don’t have to go any further. But let me take care of you. Get you out of your head for a bit,” his words shake you to your core and you feel another gush of wetness at the realization that he is wholly and entirely here for you. 

You nod again, turning your head to press a soft kiss to his palm, and Bradley smiles at your gesture. “I want you to fuck me,” you admit, and you swear you see his eyes darken, pupils enlarging as he lets out a low groan. 

“As you wish, Buttercup,” he replies and it sounds familiar, it sounds like straight from William Goldman’s novel and the Cary Elwes film and you resolve to ask him if that’s why he calls you that. “I think I’d much rather fuck you into your mattress, though,” he murmurs lowly, and you clench down on nothing, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to steady yourself. 

“Oh,” you hear yourself say, like you’re across the room - but you’re not. You’re with Bradley, and now he’s gently helping you hop off the island and kissing you fervently, letting you pull him towards your bedroom. 

“Shorts,” he orders softly into your mouth and your brain short-circuits, wondering why the hell he’s bringing up the most useless numerical data type in programming until you realize he’s talking about your bottoms, about taking them off and exposing yourself further in front of him. 

“O-okay,” you whisper and pull away slowly, hooking your fingers into the sides of your athletic shorts and pulling them down to pool on the floor, and then your step out of them wondering if there was a sexier way you could’ve gone about that. But Bradley’s eyes are locked onto your face and he’s smiling like he’s got everything he could ever want right in front of him and he’s steering you backwards to your bed. He then gently nudges you down to lay down on the mattress, following suit and kneeling down on the bed and hovering over you as he presses hard kisses down the side of your neck. Another hand reaches up to knead your breast, fingers pinching and rolling your nipple and you exhale shakily. 

And your brain short circuits again when you feel his hardness pressing up against your cunt; the sizable bulge in his pants make you let out an involuntary moan. Bradley’s teeth come down on your neck and you can feel his mustache pressing against your neck as he smiles. 

“Sweetheart, let me eat you out?” he asks. You freeze, thinking about whether you had ever been with a man who offered to eat you out before anything else, who wanted to make you cum first instead of jumping into jackrabbiting for a miserable five minutes and passing out right after. Bradley’s not like them. Not in the slightest. “Y-yeah. You can.” 

He hums, hooks his index fingers into your underwear and attempts to slide them off after you lift your hips in an effort to help. “I mean, you really don’t have to, Bradley,” you say, feeling embarrassed once the cold air hits your core and you’re made aware of how your slick must look smeared across your folds and leaking down your thighs. 

But in true Bradley fashion, he just raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, then trails a series of kisses down your stomach and presses his hands into your thighs. “I’d never turn down the chance to make you feel good. Relax, pretty girl,” he replies. And as you lock eyes with him between your legs, he hesitates for a moment - waits for a sign that you’re okay with this, that you want him to consume you. 

Finally, you nod, and Bradley wastes no time diving in. He leans forward - the warmth of his breath on your wetness makes you shiver, and the laugh he huffs out sends another jolt up your spine. Impatiently, you raise your head to look at him and see what the hell’s got him so distracted, but suddenly he’s pressing his broad tongue against your folds and tracing a long line up towards your bundle of nerves and your head slams down against the mattress, a squeak leaving your lips. His mustache rubs hard against your skin, but the prickles feel so damn good and a part of you wonders what it’ll look like when he comes up with his facial hair soaked in your release. 

“Taste so good, Buttercup,” he says and instinctively, your legs start to close in on his head but Bradley repositions his hands to the inside of your thighs. He pushes them further apart and keeps them separated long enough for him to lick another strip up your cunt and begin kitten licking your clit eagerly, excitedly, desperately. He alternates between flattening out his tongue and fashioning it into a point, and each motion sends a new wave of pleasure throughout your body, setting fire to your nerves and making you clench down on nothing. 

Then, as if he can sense the emptiness, he removes his hand from its position on your left thigh. You realize just where he plans to settle it when you feel his palm on your stomach, thumb joining his tongue near your clit, and he starts circling it slightly while he shifts his tongue to move down to your opening. He’s slurping, it’s messy and loud and the brush of his mustache is adding an extra layer of pleasure. You're almost embarrassed at how wet this has made you but it doesn't matter because Bradley is diving in, pressing his tongue into you and coordinating the movements with his fingers.

“Bradley, fuck, it’s too much,” you tell him and he shakes his head, the movement making you clench. 

“You can take it,” he replies, and you believe him as he continues his ministrations, continues fucking you with his tongue. “You sound so fucking pretty, honey,” he adds, and you suddenly realize that in addition to the slick sounds echoing out through the room, you’re whimpering, moaning, cursing out Bradley’s name and trying to make sense of what the hell is going on, how you're able to feel this much pleasure, how a man is this willing to make you lose your mind like this. And Bradley’s shaking his head, letting his tongue hit spots inside of you that you never knew existed and your back is arching off the bed, head pressing so hard into the mattress it hurts. 

“Sweetheart, this feel good?” you vaguely hear him say, vaguely feel the vibrations of his words shake your core. 

“Mmhmm,” you manage out, punctuating it with a gasp as he moves his fingers down to prod at your entrance slowly and slide through your folds easily. And it suddenly becomes too much, too good, too wonderful and you know it’s entirely because you haven’t been with someone (besides your vibrator) that’s this attuned to all your spots. With a cry, you feel the white-hot tell-tale sign of your high coming and you arch your back again, moving your hand down to grab Bradley’s head and push it into your core, almost grinding your cunt against his mouth and nose and fingers. He doesn’t cease his motions, doesn’t stop, just moans again into you and lets you ride out the wave. He reaches out his other hand to grasp your free hand where it’s fisting the bed sheets and squeezing comfortingly. 

And suddenly, it’s quiet. You’re catching your breath. You’re holding his hand and he’s removed his face from your pussy, looking up at you carefully, gauging your response.

And once the nervous thoughts start rolling in your head, you banish the anxious ones and focus on telling him exactly what you want him to do. “Pants off, Bradshaw. I need you inside me,” 

Bradley laughs, eye crinkles making their signature guest appearance and making you feel giddy. “Yes ma’am,” he chuckles and he stands up, then starts undoing his belt buckle and removing his pants and boxes in one fell swoop. He steps out of them just as you did with your shorts (huh, maybe you can look sexy doing it that way). 

When you catch sight of his cock, your eyes widen, and you’re not sure if you’ll even be able to handle it. But he just smirks at your expression, takes note of your eyes on his cock, and settles down at your headboard to wait patiently for you to join him. 

“Take your time, Buttercup,” he says, eyes full of mischief. “Or I’ll take care of it myself.” 

You level a glare at him, finally mustering up the energy to sit up and crawl over to him. "I, uh... I have an IUD. And I'm clean. But I should have condoms in-," you start but Bradley cuts you off.

"Nah, I mean... I'm clean. Tested last month. I'm okay without if you are?" he asks and you nod, kissing him passionately and letting his tongue slip into your mouth as you position yourself over him.

You settle a knee on either side of his thighs and take his cock in your hand, pumping it briefly. A honey-like moan sounds out from Bradley and it’s all the encouragement you need before you align his cock with your entrance and slowly sink down on it. The two of you moan in unison - and the stretch isn’t painful, but there’s no way you can take it all at once without something hurting, so you take your time, lowering down slowly inch by inch until you’re fully seated on top of him, feeling full and warm all over. 

Bradley has his eyes locked on you, eyes lidded as he tries to control his breathing. You look up at him, sending him a sly smile before reaching up to grab his shoulders and rooting your knees into the mattress before rising up slightly and sitting back down on him. The friction is mind-blowing, but the sound that Bradley makes is even more incredible. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, moving his grip to your hips and squeezing tightly. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes as you start to bounce up and down on him, reveling in the feeling. 

“Your cock feels so good,” you tell him, swinging your hair out of your face and increasing your pace just a little bit, angling your hips more so that his tip brushes just right against your most sensitive spots. 

“It’s yours, sweetheart,” he groans, firmly grasping the soft skin on your hips and reaching his thumb to stroke your clit in circles. The contrast between his bruising grip on you with one hand and the gentle touch of his thumb sets every cell in your body on fire. “You’re s-such a fucking tea... tease,” Bradley gasps as you bounce on his lap, rising off his cock slowly and slamming your cunt back down on him with a swirl of your hips.

“Bradley, if you can’t handle it,” you lean down to murmur in his ear, adding a counterclockwise swirl for good measure. “Maybe you should take charge.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, gaze trained on you, hands moving up to the bottom of your ribcage. He’s got a mischievous glint in his eye mixed with pure awe - like you’re a goddess claiming her throne. 

You nod into him. “Yeah. Might be for the best, my legs are starting to- Oh!” Bradley quickly pulls you into his chest, rolling over and twisting so that you’re on your back and he’s on his knees between your legs, cock still buried deep inside you. He first hikes your legs up so that they wrap higher around his waist, then he snakes his left hand underneath your back to grip you tightly. He leans down to deliver a bruising kiss, pumping his cock in and out of you languidly. He’s all around you and inside of you and the only thing keeping you from overheating, from completely combusting 

“Such a pretty girl,” he grunts out against your lips, hips undulating slightly faster - forget treading water, you’re just riding the fucking waves as they come - “My girl, my pretty little- Jesus Christ.”

You let out a long, breathy moan as Rooster tightens his grip on you and starts mercilessly pounding into you. The slap of your skin together echoes throughout the room - and you can feel just how wet and sticky and warm it is down where he’s driving his cock into your soaking cunt and it’s too good, too fucking good it’s all him and you and he’s suddenly burying his face into your neck, his mustache prickling your damp skin and sending tingles throughout your body, making you clench down on him- 

“Fuck,” he grunts out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Is this good for you sweetheart?”

If you could, you’d roll your eyes. Is this good? he asks like he’s not fucking you so hard you’ve forgotten your own name. “Oh, I think it’s okay,” you manage to sarcastically bite out, 

“Such a brat,” he huffs out, slowing down his thrusts slightly to give you a look. His mustache even manages to look unimpressed, and you lazily smile back, taking in all the pleasure until he pulls your nipple teasingly. 

“What, you gonna punish me? Teach me a lesson?” you manage to choke out half-jokingly, and you swear you feel his cock twitch inside of you as his eyes painfully scrunch closed. 

“Fuck,” he grunts out. “No. Next time. If you want.” And you’re lost in the meaning behind that, in the possibility of more, the idea of being this entwined with him for the rest of your life until suddenly, Bradley leans back and unwraps your legs from around him. Breathing laboriously as he tries to keep the same pace, he hooks both over his shoulders and presses in, folding you nearly in half in the process. He balances his weight onto one hand that’s fisting the sheets next to your hips and sneaks the other hand down to circle your bundle of nerves. 

“Ohmigod,” you whimper, his cock now grazing your g-spot on every thrust, the touch of his hand on your clit setting you aflame. The sound of skin on skin reverberates through your ears and it’s so fucking hot and you don’t remember your own name- 

“I’ve got you, honey,” he reassures, not slowing down his thrust or the circles on your clit. “Just let go.”

“I-I’m yours,” you babble, gripping his back tightly, almost digging your nails in. You feel so full and you can’t get enough of him, can’t imagine being without him, can’t imagine letting go because this is the most whole you’ve ever felt in a long time - “I’m yours, Bradley. Fuck.” 

With one last brush of his finger on your clit, one last push inside of you, you peak and cry out his name again. It’s instantaneous, the wave of pleasure that washes over you as you cum and you don’t remember a time when you or anyone else was able to make you feel this level of toe curling, eye rolling, body tingling sensation of a full-blown orgasm. The only thing grounding you now is the weight of Bradley’s body on you, his dick inside of you, the sudden warm, familiar feeling of his hand in yours as you gasp out his name over and over again. 

“Fuck, you’re everything,” you breathe out, and Bradley groans loudly into your ear. 

"Where do you want me to cum?" he chokes out and you move your hand from his shoulders down to the trough of his lower back, clutching him tightly.

"Inside. Please, give it to me Bradley," you beg and with another moan of your name, he climaxes, burying his face into your neck and pushing deep inside you. You feel him come undone, his warmth shooting into you in hot spurts, heating you up even more than you thought you could feel. He shifts his hips in and out as he rides out his orgasm, pressing small kisses to your neck the whole time. You smile lazily at the feeling of his mustache hairs brushing the underside of your jaw, remembering how it felt between your legs. 

As you catch your breath, all the events just overwhelm you, making goosebumps appear on your arms, making you feel cold. “Can you...” you trail off, suddenly embarrassed to ask the question, but Bradley’s been pretty well attuned to your nervousness tonight and he nuzzles you gently to continue. “Can you just... kiss me?” you ask and it feels juvenile, almost lame to ask, but Bradley already placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head upwards to press a slow, loving kiss to your lips that warms you up all over again, brings you more comfort than you could’ve asked for. 

And later, after he’s taken the liberty of gently cleaning you up with a warm washcloth from your bathroom and you pulled on fresh pair of underwear you’d managed to grab on wobbly legs (Bradley seemed all too pleased to watch you stumble around your bedroom like Bambi) - you’re tangled up together underneath your sheets with him laying on his back, arms around you and your head resting on his chest. 

And the subtle beat of his heart is the most grounding sound, a metronome you wouldn’t mind falling asleep to every night. 

A thought strikes you, something he said earlier in the night coming back to you. “Hey, you said something about Jake and his girl before?” 

“Oh,” he taps out a pattern on your bare back. “They patched things up.” You think back to when you last saw them - remembering a heated conversation at the Hard Deck ending with her looking absolutely broken, him looking barely unsettled. 

“Didn’t he break it off with her at the bar two weeks ago?” 

“She dumped him,” he corrects with a half smile. “And he kept telling us it was nothing, but then they were friends and then they weren’t and it’s a whole mess - they got it all worked out the night before we left. And I realized when we got back that it would’ve been really embarrassing if Jake, of all the jackass pilots I know, was able to patch things up with his girl but I couldn’t with mine.” 

You nod slowly, tracing patterns on his chest thoughtfully. “I’m your girl?” you ask softly with a smile, and Bradley looks down at you hesitantly. 

“Do you want to be?” he asks in earnest, and you think about it for a moment. 

“Is this what you call patching up?” you gesture towards your naked bodies twisted in the bedsheets and he shrugs. And you’re joking, really - but it’s not like everything between the two of you gets resolved with mind blowing sex and real orgasms. 

He snorts. “You’re not mad at me anymore, right?” he states matter-of-factly and you roll your eyes, resting your head back on his shoulder. “No,” he continues. “I know you’ve got a lot to deal with - grad school and GREs, and therapy. And I’m not sure where I’m headed next, but... I’ve put in a request to stay on North Island for some time. So I can be here. If you stay on the west coast.” 

You feel the hope in your chest bubble up again, feel so incredibly touched that he decided to make that career choice (didn’t he say he might get moved to Panama? Myanmar? Manama - that sounds right). But what really does your heart in are his next words - “You can stay here and be a barista for the rest of your life sweetheart - I mean, if you did, I’d love if you could use some kinda employee discount for me, shit’s getting expensive. Or you can study for your GREs and go to grad school wherever you want or go back to working in industry - or honestly, if you wanted to go up to LA and start taking mime classes, I don’t fucking know - I’m here for the long haul. You’re the most hard-working person I know. And I’m behind you whatever you choose to do. So like... I’d love it if you’d take a chance on me, Buttercup.” 

You feel tears rolling down your cheeks now, and you move to straddle Bradley and bury your face into his neck. His arms wrap around your back and he holds you as you clutch his chest. It’s overwhelming how glorious this man is. “I don’t fucking deserve you,” you choke out, not sure if he can make sense of your garbled words but you feel him shake his head in response. “Really. I’m sorry I kept holding a grudge and didn’t see it before but if you’re willing-” 

“I’m willing,” he says, rubbing your back and pressing a firm kiss to your temple.

“Shut up,” you smack his chest lightly. “If you’re willing, I’d like to see where this can go. And make it up to you.” 

“... So you mean you’ll be my girl?” he asks, and you choke out a laugh through a watery smile, looking up to see the most giddy smile on his face. It warms you up for a third time tonight, makes it feel like the sun has burst through your window and is bathing the two of you in its light. 

You press a kiss to his lips, smiling all the way. “Yeah. I’m your girl, Bradshaw.” 

simultaneously so happy and sad this series is (mostly) over! I'm working on a lil snippet of bradley's pov in which we hear about what he lamented to phoenix after their first fight at the coffee shop.... and in jordan's wonderful words, it'll really highlight the 'this is me trying - nothing new' ennui of this series! thanks to everyone who commented and reblogged!

For anyone who missed it, Jake’s girl is Mojito from Bad Habit by seasonsbloom - they’re all in the SCU (Soy (Sol + May) Cinematic Universe). This quite possibly the greatest crossover since That’s So Suite Life of Hannah Montana (eat shit, marvel) (i’m half kidding i love u bucky barnes) 

[presumenothing]

(thought too much about this. accidentally wrote fic. you know how it is)

“I’ve been thinking, Uncle Ning,” Sizhui begins.

Wei Wuxian would’ve pulled a face: oh, you don’t want to do that! – like he hadn’t singlehandedly invented multiple things that had made Sizhui’s jaw actually drop a little even before he understood anything about the desperately rushed circumstances most of them had been created under.

Wen Ning just turns to glance at him, quiet and attentive. It reminds him more than a little of Hanguang-jun, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping my boundaries,” Sizhui continues, which is not actually stalling because he really is being presumptuous here, but still. Get on with it, he tells himself sternly. “Would it be at all permissible for me to teach some of the Wen sword style to my friends? Jingyi, and the others.”

There’s the barely-visible flicker of fondness (also familiar, though the reasons here are physical instead) that his uncle can’t seem to help showing whenever Jingyi is mentioned; as far as Sizhui has been able to decipher, it’s partly because Jingyi is not entirely unlike how Senior Wei was in his younger days.

Sizhui can’t even disagree with that assessment.

But then Wen Ning’s expression settles back into something heavier. “And- um. Sect Leader Jin?”

Sizhui gives in to the wince that Wen Ning would probably be making if he were capable of it.

What about Jin Ling, indeed. Jingyi’s already pouted enough about Wen Ning only teaching him that his answer would be obvious, and Zizhen will probably be open to the idea as long as they swear up and down not to breathe a word to his father, but – that still leaves the biggest question of all.

His imagination of Senior Wei is correct. Thinking is a frustrating exercise. “I don’t know. Only if he actually wants to learn, and then only if it’s appropriate.”

Which sounds absurd, even to himself. Is there anything appropriate about this? Even the thousands of Lan sect precepts and likely the entire contents of their library (and then some) has little in the way of helpful advice in navigating relations where this many complications are involved.

It’s times like this that he wishes Zewu-jun wasn’t still in seclusion, though possibly Sect Leader Jiang might have the more brutal insight to a topic like this.

Sizhui would rather throw himself into the murkiest lakes of Yunmeng a hundred times over than ask for any of it.

Maybe this is a bad idea after all. Especially when he doesn’t necessarily have a good reason for it, not really, beyond that the Wen, for everything else that they’d been, were family.

A different kind of family than he has been so generously bestowed with at the Cloud Recesses, certainly, and maybe all that ties him back to the Wen now is just the blood still running through his veins. A trifling matter, in contrast to all the greater injustices that may never be fixed, even decades from now.

And yet –

And yet this much is within his meagre power, to make it so that perhaps their legacy will not solely be one Lan disciple, one fierce corpse (who is nevertheless a very good uncle, Sizhui adds loyally), and a name that is still spat with burning vitriol more often than not.

That is, if Wen Ning doesn’t refuse. Which he is well within his rights to, though from the slight knit of his eyebrows his thoughts don’t seem to be running in that direction.

That’s confirmed a moment later when he speaks, words slow and careful. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. You- you are already enough. More than enough.”

Sizhui has a lot of practice in not letting things show on his face, even heartbreak at what sounds a lot like more family than I’d ever expected to have again in this life. It’s a feeling he knows from the inside. “Don’t worry. I’ve learned a lot about getting out of trouble, too.”

The corner of Wen Ning’s eyes crinkle in the way that means his uncle is smiling back at him. “Then, A-Yuan – Lan Sizhui,” he corrects, each syllable of his name its own weight, and Sizhui’s breath catches a little as Wen Ning draws himself up to the height that everyone always forgets he has unless they’ve run screaming from the Ghost General. “On behalf of the sect, I, Wen Qionglin, do hereby permit you to teach the style of the Qishan Wen to whoever you see fit, so long as it is in the service of good.”

They are both still kneeling. It would be very inappropriate to follow up his bow with a hug, but Sizhui very much wants to do it anyway. “This nephew will do everything possible to honour that trust,” he replies, because thank you seems too little.

“You already honour us. More than- than you could ever know,” Wen Ning says, halting stutter creeping back in place of the earlier measured weight, and Sizhui ducks his head at a tentative pat to hide the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

(It will be worth trying, even if Jin Ling decides not to speak to him for a year or more. This is something worth trying for.)

.

.

(AO3)

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Hi Em✨

I absolutely love your writing and your posts and I’ve been following you for a while now💕

I’m not sure about you but I feel quite uneasy/conflicted with the current rhetoric on book tok. I understand people not liking certain books but it’s been hard to see people slander books and the people that like those books/characters/stories,etc. I get that criticism is needed for certain themes or values that appear in books but reading is loosing some of its escapism for me:(

Reading in context (fictionally and in the real world) is always needed but sometimes I just like a book because of the characters or it’s story and not necessarily that it checks all the boxes for being perfect.

Tbh, as much as I love certain books, some of them have become tainted for me and I genuinely wish I didn’t I read other people’s opinions on them.

Book tok is great for reccs but I can’t even filter it out of my feed at this point. I kinda wish toxic fandoms also looked inwardly because as much fun it is to engage with fans and people that are apart of that fandom, some people take it way too far such as sending hateful anons to creators (such as you🥺) or calling books trash when they’ve been super influential or important to people.

I guess my little rant is over but I was wondering if you had any opinions on this or have any sort of guidance. Is there a place I could get reccs or how can avoid all of this rhetoric that can affect my view of a book.”?

Stay safe and have a good day✨💐

hi there, nonnie! thank you so much for the kind words, i really appreciate you 🥺❤️❤️

first off, i want to say that i 100% understand this. i never really got into booktok specifically because i had a feeling it was basically going to be book twitter 2.0 where everyone is just ripping into each other constantly. i don't like being influenced by other people's opinions either, and the drama that seems to be obligatory baggage for most fandoms these days (with the exception of TFOTA, cos for some reason we are extraordinarily chill) just isn't for me.

it is, of course, essential that we continue to think critically when it comes to media. it's the only way we can affect change in a positive direction. but this also must be balanced with a willingness to be humble with our opinions, understand that they are just opinions, and accept that everyone consumes media for different reasons.

this also means we'll all hold different boundaries about what we're willing to consume, and where we draw the line for things we won't consume. granted, books might be the mirror through which we see life reflected, but they are not reality itself. to a certain extent, fiction is fiction. and different boundaries does not a bad person make.

speaking of drawing lines, i'm going to direct you to this post by @bookofmirth , which is mainly about ACOTAR/SJM/Palestine but some of what they have to say there is very applicable to this topic, and eloquently put:

"Some people can separate art from artist. Some can't. It's up to all of us as individuals to draw that line where we are comfortable."

i agree with this statement wholeheartedly. it is not up to randomgal4549 on tiktok/twitter to decide what eye should or should not read. the unmitigated gall of anyone to think their opinion should dictate other people's choices is highly presumptuous and quite frankly exhausting.

apart from maybe the bible/other religious texts, what a person reads is not a reflection of who they are or what beliefs they hold. we need to learn not to conflate the two, and start regarding each other once more as humans with complex thoughts and feelings, capable of introspection and growth, instead of little icons on our phone screens with immovable and absolute beliefs.

so that's my opinion on that. my main advice to you would be KEEP THINGS ORGANISED. what i mean by that is this:

curate your social media experience! it is YOUR responsibility as an owner of any social media account (including tumblr) to customise your space to fit YOUR needs. if you don't like someone's opinion/content? unfollow. if someone is rude/you don't like their vibe? block. if you find the things someone shares to their socials offensive? unfriend. this is setting boundaries, and the people who take any of these things as a personal offence are the exact people you want to keep a healthy distance away from. you decide who you follow and what you see on your dash. be protective of your space and who you allow to have access to your energy.

keep personal feelings separate from the public! i honestly can't stress this point enough. if you feel the need to rant about something that irks you about a specific book/author/person's opinion, keep these discussions in the DMs with a trusted circle of friends. it is psychologically proven that when someone feels attacked, they will double down on their og opinion, no matter if they realise they're wrong. thus, projecting high-strung emotions into public spaces such as twitter, while understandable in some cases, will only serve to further polarise people and hurt the very movement you're likely trying to bolster. blow off steam with people you can entrust with your emotions. NOT strangers on the internet.

designate time to learning about issues that are important to you! i strongly advise against turning to any fictional medium for moral lessons or life advice. if you can dedicate some time outside of your escapism to inform yourself about important subjects through educational resources that are specifically designed to Teach/Impart Knowledge, instead of giving an ounce of thought to Intrinsically Biased Information Received Second Hand, i promise you you'll feel a whole lot less obligated to other people's opinions.

if you're unsure about a particular book/author, consider borrowing from your local library, purchasing the book second hand, or finding an ePub copy.

for recs, consider booktube. i know it's probably seen as a bit old school by now, but the great thing about youtube is that you're not randomly/unexpectedly subjected to other people's shit opinions like on other social platforms. you have to click a link to watch the video, which gives you more autonomy in regards to what opinions you consume. my personal favourite youtuber is Khadija Mbowe. she's not a booktuber, per se, but her content focuses on in-depth critical analysis of media/society through the lense of WOC (specifically Black women), and i find her channel compelling as well as informative.

goodreads is also a great place to find book recs without the constant influx of opinions. if you can find yourself a circle of trusted friends to follow on there, you can't go wrong. my goodreads is linked in my bio under "connect" and you're welcome to follow me there. or not! it's your choice.

–Em 🖤🗡

[snuggetfish]

Hi! I enjoy reading your character analyses and would like to know what you think of this scenario: majima has a female personal assistant, who is much younger than him, and who he becomes quite fond of to the point where he’s like a father to her. Like he’s protective of her, tries to give her advice, etc. Idk what I’m asking but if you wanna share your thoughts on this it would be interesting to hear 😊

Heya anon! First off, sorry for taking so long to get to this, my mind’s been all over the place ( ; ω ; ) So, I think this is a great scenario and it’s got lots of potential for exploring Majima’s relationships with women. After all, we see in Y0 that around the Sunshine girls, he goes well beyond his manager role, acting as a sort of big brother or even father to them. I think that’s something that comes naturally to Majima, because he’s got this protective instinct when it comes to women and he forms attachments quite easily. But, an early 20s manager growing attached to his early 20s hostesses is not nearly as weird (to outside eyes) as a yakuza boss in his 50s doing the same with a let’s say also early 20s assistant. No matter how familial his feelings for her might be, there are so many factors working against him to make the relationship misinterpretable. By onlookers, by her, hell, even by himself. 

I think when Majima realizes he’s developing these feelings, he’s gonna have to first disentangle them from any sort of romantic ideas. He’s used to those being the default. Think of it like this: he’s lived decades in an environment where women exist purely as arm candy or sex objects, or rarely as neglected wives always kept away from the men’s business. Maybe in the beginning he’d find speaking to her difficult, because he’s either too gruff, like he is with most subordinates, or too accidentally flirtatious, because that’s basically a reflex by now... he’d probably act distant and avoidant, to make sure she doesn’t get the wrong idea. The last thing he’d want is to come across as the sleazy boss trying to make a pass at her, but he’s still clumsy in summoning up the proper “fatherly” words. He’d keep agonizing over this, especially when she seems to warm up to him even in spite of his efforts to push her away. I believe the turning point would only come the first time she truly confides in him, when she pours her heart out seeking advice with a personal issue. A huge realization then hits Majima: this is his chance. If things had gone differently all those years ago, she could’ve been his daughter. He could’ve raised to be the kind, responsible person she is now and he could’ve passed on all the life lessons he’s learned... but it’s not too late. He’s still got wisdom and paternal affection to spare. 

From this point onwards his behaviour around her would shift. He’d happily listen to her talk about her plans, aspirations or just how her weekend went. The boys would notice how he’s always in a better, more mellow mood when she’s around. He’d even start being a little more productive with his boring paperwork, so he can ease her workload. And he’d dote on her, doubling up on the security he assigns to keep her safe. It’s a rough world and though he knows she knows how to navigate it... one can never be too careful.

That said, would there still be some tension? Yeah, probably, because, self-deprecating as he is, Majima worries that he’s not good enough. If her family is still around... well that’s just it, she’s already got a family. It would be presumptuous of him to think that an old dog of a gangster could replace or even compare to her own father, the man who actually brought her up... but if there’s one thing he’s learned in the yakuza, it’s that found family can sometimes be worth far more than blood ties. 💙 Hope this wasn’t too disjointed! I tried to start from the premise and expand on Majima’s thoughts, since I really think this kind of situation would pose a dilemma for him. 

Thank you so much for the question! Wishing you (and all you reading this) a lovely week ahead!  💙 💙 💙

[curiosity-killed]

evidence of a lost past part 5

chronologically after 1 & 2 and a bit before 4

fun fact of the day: Hua Cheng’s dancing to Lover’s Tears as performed by the Shanghai Conservatory Symphony bc it’s one of my favorite lazy improv songs

story tag

By the time seven comes around, Xie Lian’s legs are trembling with fatigue and his hair’s plastered to his forehead and nape. Winding lazily out of a renversé, he drops his arms and exhales. He feels...worn, gently pummeled like a sock in a washer or a stone along the riverbank. It’s been a while since he used his body like this—even these last few weeks of borrowing Hua Cheng’s studio have been more about relearning how to move at all, retracing the lines of the technique he’s let fall by the wayside.

Now, for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s properly danced. The feeling buoys up in his chest, bright and a little heady. It still feels funny to break the rules he grew up with, to blend classical lines and break up languid adagio flows to hit the ground, but the way it leaves his body feeling exhausted and satisfied makes it hard to resist.

He takes a few minutes to stretch properly, working down from his neck to his feet and closing off with a short round of abs before he shrugs his sweatshirt back on, picks up his shoes by their heels, and goes to find Hua Cheng.

He’s lured up the stairs by the arching strains of strings and the low rumble of piano underneath. Wandering to the upper studio, he finds himself swaying absently to the three-four time as if the music itself is drawing him into a waltz. He hums softly along and turns the corner off the stairs to find the studio door propped open. Here, the music swells so loudly he can nearly feel it buffeting his body like ocean waves. He comes to a halt at the door.

Hua Cheng is alone inside, a single lean figure in the half-light of the studios. Only two of the four rows of fluorescent lights are on, and they form dim lines like walls of silk strings through which Hua Cheng weaves as precisely and deftly as if he were the shuttle, the hand shaping the cloth.

The choreography is some Xie Lian has seen before—today, even. On Hua Cheng, though, it is a wholly different creature than when He Xuan performed the same steps. He Xuan is a capable dancer, with strong technique, but it’s abruptly clear that he’s a younger dancer with less experience than Hua Cheng. Where He Xuan maintained the extended balances with a tight jaw and stiff shoulders and dropped from them gratefully, Hua Cheng suspends on the ball of his foot, drawing it out and slowing his extension till it seems he’s pushing the music, curving the song’s fermatas and languid sweeps.

In time with the trills and high ornamentation, he flicks through hand gestures in rapid succession while his legs sweep rond de jambs into a light leap off his left hand. The motion rolls him back up to the start, into the sequence that begins the entire pas de deux: a heavy step to the side, the sway of loose arms carrying him into a spin.

At this point in the piece, the dancer never looks to the downstage left corner, like it’s bad luck or a persistent blind spot. When He Xuan danced it this afternoon, the choreography had seemed awkward, the missing corner too self-conscious. Watching Hua Cheng now, though, Xie Lian’s heart aches. Hua Cheng pours himself into the movement, every reach a desperate plea, every sharp twist furious rejection. Standing in this absent corner, where Shi Qingxuan is to enter, Xie Lian suddenly understands why Hua Cheng has been so insistent about the facing. He bites the inside of his lip at the familiar welling of grief that laps at the insides of his ribcage.

Hua Cheng presses into a suspension with his leg nearly to his ear before dropping into a double turn as rushed and frantic as a hurricane. He stops sharply, finally facing the corner as his leg stretches back in an exquisite arabesque, his arms reaching forward as if begging an indifferent god. His gaze sweeps up and then catches on Xie Lian. Freezing, his eye goes wide, and he stumbles forward half a step, falling out of the final pose.

“Ah, I’m sorry, San Lang,” Xie Lian says, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head even as he rubs the back of his neck. Wiping his hand on his thigh, he gives a small shrug.

“Gege is always welcome,” he says, a little breathless. “I was just surprised.”

His hair’s coming loose from the ponytail, hanging in hanks around his face. With his t-shirt and bright eye, he looks softer than usual, and Xie Lian is briefly possessed by the inexplicable urge to hug him.

“Ah, it looks very beautiful, San Lang,” he says instead before pausing. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth before adding, “I think I see why you were dissatisfied in rehearsal.”

“Oh?”

Raising an eyebrow, Hua Cheng tilts his head to the side in open curiosity, and Xie Lian flusters. He’s still not used to such sincere consideration, to having his words listened to with such care. He scratches his cheek.

“Mn,” he says. “It’s just—you choreographed it with a more experienced dancer in mind, didn’t you?”

Hua Cheng blinks at him once, and Xie Lian mentally goes over his words before flushing. His hands fly up, trying to wave off the offense, and he nearly clocks himself in the face with his shoe.

“No, no, I don’t mean it like that! He Xuan is definitely experienced, too, and plenty capable,” he says in a rush. “Of course he’s a very skilled dancer—all of them—”

A laugh escapes Hua Cheng, and he crosses the space between them with two easy strides. Catching Xie Lian’s hand, he smiles at him. Although there’s amusement in his look, it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at Xie Lian. It just feels—fond. Warm.

“Gege, it’s alright,” he says. “If you say it’s so, then He Xuan must really just be a useless upstart.”

The teasing edge to his tone is enough to cut through Xie Lian’s fluster, but he groans and buries his face in his free hand at the shameless teasing.

“San Lang,” he mumbles.

Hua Cheng laughs, bright and irresistible, and gives Xie Lian’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“Anyway, gege’s right,” he says, stepping back slightly and tugging the elastic out of his hair. “I didn’t choreograph it with He Xuan in mind.”

His hair falls to his shoulders, a little rumpled and wavy from being up, and briefly hides his face. As he drags his fingers back through the crown to retie it, Xie Lian cants his head and considers him. He Xuan is the most experienced of Hua Cheng’s dancers, along with Shi Qingxuan. Lan Chang is older, of course, but from what she’s said, she only dances for fun and to teach now. It would take months for her to build back the strength and stamina needed to perform.

“Why don’t you do it?” he asks.

Hua Cheng startles, looking up in surprise. Tightening the elastic, he dips his head a moment before shoving his ponytail over his shoulder to hang in a long line down his back.

“Ah, it’s silly. You’ll laugh,” he says.

“Noo,” Xie Lian insists, grinning. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

Looking at him a moment, Hua Cheng narrows his eye, but his lips press together like he’s suppressing a smile. He looks briefly skyward and takes a breath, losing his fight with the smile. Parting his lips, he draws breath to speak before pausing and letting it out in a quiet exhale as he settles his hands on his hips.

“Well. It’s a pas de deux,” he says, like that’s the end of it.

Xie Lian pauses, pressing his lips together and tilting his head. When no more is forthcoming, he can’t help the snigger that escapes him, and Hua Cheng shoots him a betrayed look.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” he chides, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m not, I’m not!” Xie Lian says, holding up his hands. “It’s just—you really dislike dancing with someone else so much?”

It’s not that Xie Lian would blame him, exactly: as skilled as his company dancers are, Hua Cheng is exceptional. Even with Lan Chang in the peak of her career or He Xuan at his finest moments, the pairing would still be unequal.

“Not exactly,” Hua Cheng hedges. He presses the toes of his left foot into the floor, arching the foot into an absentminded stretch. “It’s just—the one I thought of when I was choreographing isn’t an option. So to dance it with anyone else—they really can’t compare at all.”

Oh. Xie Lian swallows, startled by the sincerity of the explanation. That really isn’t anything to laugh about. He hesitates, chewing at his bottom lip and sneaking a glance up at Hua Cheng. This person Hua Cheng thought of—if Xie Lian ever knew them, they’ve been lost to time. The knowledge weighs like a stone anchor deep in the pit of his chest, but he tries to swallow it down. He’s being presumptuous, really. He shouldn’t make so many assumptions.

“Ah, then maybe we could figure out how to make it work for He Xuan and Qingxuan together,” he offers, tentative.

Hua Cheng’s expression softens, the hesitance fading into a gentle and welcoming warmth. Nodding his head decisively, he smiles.

“Gege has the best ideas,” he praises. “Where should we start?”

Setting his shoes and bag down by the wall, Xie Lian draws in a breath and steps more fully into the room. It’s not for him, to be lit up on the stage with hundreds of eyes glued to every articulation of his hands and feet—but maybe he can still help Hua Cheng, if only by being a second set of eyes.

“Ah, the a la seconde turn that turns into a tilt?” he suggests. “The floor sequence after that seemed to give He Xuan some trouble.”

Hua Cheng nods and rolls his shoulders once before moving back into the center of the space. Starting a few steps ahead, he glides through the movements as naturally and confidently as if they were the only way his body knows to move, as if fit to his long limbs by the finest of tailors. Xie Lian offers advice and suggestions where he thinks they might better shape the choreography to He Xuan’s own movement, but it seems a quiet kind of betrayal.

Watching Hua Cheng dance, Xie Lian doesn’t want to see the piece altered or made for another. He wants to see it like this, like it was meant to be, with Hua Cheng alone in the thin light and the corner empty, open, waiting.

[deivorous]

@auburniivenus​ asked: 34,38

The Be Honest Meme || Accepting

34. Have you ever cried while writing a reply?

Not on this blog! But definitely I’ve had some teary moments co-authoring fics and the like (that’s basically the same thing as rp). I’m very good at making myself sad about Grimmjow ahahaha

38. What advice would you give to someone new to rp?

My biggest piece of advice is don’t be afraid to reach out and talk to others first. I have seen a lot of blogs come and go, and a lot of people whinging about how they don’t get enough interaction, or how people never send them asks, or reply to their starters. And my thought is always the same: Did you send an ask? Did you reply to an open starter? Did you make any attempt to interact with them or are you both just sitting on your thumbs um-ing and ah-ing and waiting for someone else to decide to message you first?

I don’t intend for this to sound mean at all, I understand that some people can be anxious (I certainly can be), but I also genuinely believe that a lot of anxiety is sprung from the lack of open communication. When I first started out I was one of the people who kind of just... posted a lot and hoped my followers would start sending stuff? And that didn’t happen. It made me feel really shitty and I lost a lot of confidence in myself and my writing. And that was wrong, both as a thought process and as an overarching mentality. My writing isn’t bad, my characterization isn’t bad, and I’m not a bad person. The only issue was that someone at some point needs to take the first step and say hello!

Here’s Plou’s quick guide to starting interactions if your anxious! (below the cut)

Step 1: See an ask meme on someones blog that you really want to befriend them, send them one or two questions! Read their answer! And then (and here’s the tricky part) leave a little comment in the replies of that post to tell them what part of their reply you liked, you can even leave a little IC reply of your muse reacting to something. - Now you’ve broken the ice! The mun knows who you are (and if you are mutuals) and will probably be pretty grateful that you sent an ask! You can now send more, and they might even send you a few back! Now you’re interacting!

Step 2: Now that you’re interacting, you can try to send an IC ask (You can do this in step 1 too, but if you’re more shy you can wait for step 2!) - whether its from a meme or not. Starting from a question means that you are already in the middle of a conversation with the muses, and it helps to make things flow more smoothly. Don’t be stressed if the thread dies after a reply or two - it’s not meant to last forever and that’s okay!

Step 3: Send an IM. This might feel like the biggest step, but do not worry. A compliment, I find, is the kindest and nicest way to introduce yourself ooc. I know that I for one am always very flattered if someone takes the time to find something about my recent reply/writing/characterization/hcs and share that with me. A little ‘Hello! I laughed so much at xxxx line you wrote’ or ‘I love your hc on xxxx!’ is such a nice message to get. Being nice is the best way to make friends and it can lead to more RP in the future.

Note: If you don’t ‘click’ don’t worry. You’re not always going to be best friends with everyone. Leave it be. That doesn’t mean that they don’t appreciate your asks, and wont send you some, and it doesn’t mean that you can never write together. It just means that you don’t have perfect chemistry. Furthermore, don’t be dissuaded by seeing others interact with their friends on the dashboard. Some people have been writing together for years, and its presumptuous to assume you will have the same friendship in only a few days.

And sometimes you just don’t get along with someone at all. The chemistry isn’t there. It doesn’t mean either of you are bad people - it just means you aren’t compatible. Let it go. It’s not a big deal. You’ll find your people.

[sacrificethemtothesquid]

Hi, first I’d like to say I love your writing! I think I found your blog super randomly a few months ago and I just loved it at first read! And I’m glad that you’re writing atm, I feel like the only time I feel happy is when I’m creating/writing, do you feel that too?

My anxiety is pretty bad and it takes away a lot of my energy, and showing my writing to others can be triggering. I mean, I’m always so nervous everyone will think it sucks so my best moments are while writing, when I feel like I’m reading something I enjoy and it was written by me! You know?

Now I’ve written my first fic with multiple chapters and I can’t write the last one! I know what happens but whenever I try writing it everything sounds awful. I really wanted to finish it this month because I always postpone things, for once I’d like to finish something “in time”.

This is mostly me complaining, I’m sorry to bother with my next questions, I saw you saying you wrote two chapters and I felt like asking you how long does it take for you to post once you write them? Do you edit a lot? And what would you do if you couldn’t write a particular scene/chapter that is super important to the story?

Anyway, I wish you well! And that you can write as much as you want, that it flows beautifully always!

X

HI! Welcome, kindred spirit!

Sorry for the delay! My brain’s been mostly soup lately and I wanted to give you the thoughtful and considered response you deserve. I’m so glad and gratified you like what I put into the universe. I promise you aren’t a bother - your message is a bright spot in a string of grumpy days, so thank you. <3

I feel exactly the same way about writing. I have enough of an impostor complex that saying I was put here to write feels a little presumptuous, but yeah, I am my best self when the writing is good. Not being able to write feels like not being able to breathe. For me, it’s the most frustrating part of mental illness, wanting to do the thing that brings me the most purpose and the brainmeats not cooperating.

I’m glad your own work brings you joy! That’s the best part of writing: bespoke stories! All your favorite tropes! The perfect whump-to-fluff ratio! Every once in a while, I’ll go back and dig through an older work of mine and be like, oh yeah. That’s the good stuff. You can’t control what other people think, so fuck ‘em. (she says, not taking her own advice)

Congrats on the fic!! Finishing a multi-chapter is a HUGE accomplishment, even if you’re not quite there yet. Way to go!

And oof, I hear you on the anx. One of my favorite things about ao3 is its anonymity. I didn’t share my writing with anyone after a particularly brutal workshop in college, and getting positive feedback from strangers on the internet really helped me get back into it. I still don’t share much with people in meatspace, but only because I keep my fandom and “normal” lives pretty separate.

It’s okay not to share if it makes you nervous. It’s okay to share even if you’re nervous. That’s part of why we do it, right? To get petted and praised a little and told we matter? You matter.

Okay, questions:

Posting. It really depends. I junebug all over the place - a scene from the beginning here, something toward the end, then a chapter from the middle - so if it’s sequential to one I’ve already posted, out the door it goes. Otherwise, it sits, mocking me, until I connect the dots. Sunrise is the first fic I’ve tried to keep to a schedule, so I’m about 10 finished chapters ahead of what’s currently posted.

Editing. No editing, we die like men. Just kidding. Mostly. Since I’ve got chapters lying all over the place, I edit when I put them in sequence. I lightly edit again when I post. I should edit more. Instead, I am lazy.

Honestly? I read some writing advice somewhere that said if a scene isn’t working, maybe it doesn’t actually need to be there. There was a part in Length and Breadth that I was having a hell of a time with, and I ended up skipping over it completely, and I think it worked better not having it. If it’s truly integral, I try to get the bones of it down - eg he said x, she said y, stuff happens - even if it’s just bullet points, and go from there. But I’ve found for me, skipping ahead and digging into the aftermath instead serves me much better. Just a thought.

Thank you for the lovely note. It really means a lot. Let me know how it goes with your story. I know you can do it!

Cheers,

squid

[conduitandconjurer]

Hi there! This is the anon who was asking about starting RP. Well I finally bit the bullet and started up a blog for Luther. I’m nervous but super excited! The advice you gave me before was really thorough and so appreciated. So my question to you now is how should I go about beginning to RP? Do you recommend just writing a starter post and seeing who bites? Should I respond to other people or is that presumptuous and frowned upon? I really like the style of your blog where you combine headacanons, metas, ask memes, and little character development quiz type things, do you think I should just start with a few of those and see what happens? I just wanted to thank you again for the help you gave me recently. It meant a lot that you took the time to respond at all and then give such a great answer that touched on things I would never have thought to ask. I feel bad for bothering you, you’ve just been so nice and encouraging. Thank you for any advice and just in general for your contribution to the fandom. Hope you’re doing well and having a great day/night

WAHOOOO! I’m so glad I convinced you to pick up this hobby, which is (usually) very fun and fulfilling!!!!

Definitely post a number of brief, general “open starters” (and label them as such either in tags or in the post title) for other muns (short for mundane, meaning writers) to pick up and interact with.  We’re talking no more than a paragraph of Luther saying or doing something, in a setting geared to engage with a wide breadth of muses (characters).  

Your tags are your friends, when it comes to exposure, and remember that in many cases (not quite sure of the mechanics because Tumblr is perpetually broken) only the first four tags will show up in other people’s searches. Also, don’t put #nsfw for a tag, think of a different tag for any explicit content, because Tumblr’s inept attempt to eradicate porn bots has led to even mentioning “nsfw” getting you erased from searches. 9_9; 

Responding to other people is up to their blogs. Always read their rules page first, usually located in a blog link or a pinned post at the top of the blog. Some people run “exclusive” or “private” rp blogs, meaning they do NOT want you to reply to them, like their posts, or anything UNLESS they have followed you back.  Other people (like me) are “selective” meaning you can interact with them no matter who you are, but they pick and choose whom they follow.  These blogs are usually totally cool with you reaching out to them. I tend to send an Ask first, and a PM (private message) only after I’ve spoken to the other person for a little while. 

Headcanons (your ideas about the character, based on but not dependent on canon) and character quizzes make great icebreakers and I’d highly recommend you post them regularly. They’re a low maintenance way to flesh out your Luther.

It’s also almost imperative that you make a good solid “promo” post which can then be reblogged by partners to increase your exposure.  I can highly recommend @deductry whose skills are professional grade and whose commission prices are very reasonable. They made my Klaus promo.  

One major bit of advice: make friends with “duplicates” or people writing the same character as you.  Don’t turn it into an envious competition (you seem very nice so I doubt you would <3 ) because I guarantee that no matter how stressful it may be to want to “measure up” to other writers, people love writing with duplicates. We all have a different “take” on the same canon muse.  <3 

P.S. I am so sorry I haven’t replied to either of your other asks, I have been very physically ill. But I am DYING to write with a Luther. I never have :D!