#Last month was three instances of hey that's a new one for me

[quill-of-thoth]

True story about learning things: the only time that is too late to do it is when you are dead.

[forest-hashira]

Noble Blood - Chapter Five

...hey everyone! i know i said i was taking a break from this fic, and it really felt like i did! i know it's only been about a week since the last update, but it feels like longer than that to me, haha. i didn't touch the fic itself at all for a few days and focused on working out a few worldbuilding things instead (tysm for your help leigh!!!). and then i sat down and wrote this whole thing in like two sittings. also, in case anyone was wondering, this is what i had initially hoped to get to in chapter three. whoops. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

fic masterlist here | read on ao3 here | wc: ~3.2k | cw: gn reader, new characters afoot, minor injuries (sort of a concussion, ig?), brief instance of vomiting

It wasn’t long after Satoru had told your group of friends about Kenji that other people in the settlement started finding out. Not that it was difficult, since now the little dragon had taken to riding on top of Satoru’s head and messing up his hair – which Satoru lamented about constantly, and insisted was intentional – when they were out and about in the settlement. After word had spread to virtually everyone who lived in the settlement, Satoru was allowed a bit more freedom to come and go from the Gojo estate, though his lessons with his tutors and his training sessions with Yaga still took up much of his time.

Despite all of your friends’ best efforts to make nice with Kenji, he seemed totally uninterested in anyone that wasn’t you or Satoru, and, on occasion, Kokoro, because she was prone to sneaking him cookies from the bakery. The seeming indifference from the dragon didn’t seem to particularly upset anyone in the group, but Satoru saw it as something to brag about, even if somewhat jokingly, saying things like, “You’re just not cool enough for him I guess,” and “He’d pay more attention to you if you were more fun,” always with a giant, mischievous grin on his face. 

It had absolutely devastated him one day when Kento had replied with “Maybe he knows you need a taste of your own medicine.” Satoru had refused to speak to Kento for a full three days until he apologized. 

This new normal – stepping back into the old dynamic of the group, but now with a playful dragon in the mix – settled in quickly, and for that you were grateful. The seven of you spending time together playing games and causing trouble in between lessons and training became a daily routine again. Before you knew it, days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, until almost a year had come and gone, the passage of time only marked by birthdays and the changing of the seasons. One by one, you each turned a year older; by the time the New Year’s festival was coming up again, Satoru was nine, you, Shoko, and Utahime, were eight, Kento was seven, and Kokoro was five. 

The festival went as the last few had: fireworks, cookies in the shapes of the moon phases and stars, and you, Shoko, Utahime, and Satoru spending an almost absurd amount of time with the ring toss game. This year, the prize you all had your eye on was an expertly crafted stuffed animal that resembled a bear – at least, you all assumed it was supposed to be a bear – to give to Kokoro. 

“Yaga-sensei makes stuffed animals like that in his spare time,” Satoru explained, when Utahime asked where the toy had come from. 

“Are you sure he actually knows what a bear looks like?” Shoko asked, tossing one of her rings and sighing when it bounced off the peg she had aimed for. “Because even I know that they’re not generally…purple.”

You laughed at that, not even caring that it caused you to miss your mark, too; Satoru had the money to pay for all four of you to play all night, if that’s what it took for you to win the prize. 

“Well I think purple is a fun color,” you replied, trying and failing to bite back a grin at the exasperated look you got from Shoko, though she said nothing else as she got another set of rings to throw.

By the time you’d won the stuffed animal – Utahime had outscored all of you, which had earned her praise from you and Shoko, and also meant she’d won her bet against Satoru, so he had to buy her any snack she wanted from the whole festival – the fireworks show was about to start, which meant you all had to race to the booth the Nanami family had been selling desserts out of so you could collect your other two friends, and present Kokoro with the prize that had been won for her.

Just like Satoru’s eighth birthday, all of you snuck off to the peach orchard and climbed up to the observation deck to watch the show. Utahime and Shoko sat huddled together, sharing the taiyaki pastries Utahime had made Satoru buy her; Kento and Kokoro stood closer to the railing, the little girl clutching the “bear” in a death grip; you and Satoru laid on your backs near the center of the platform, looking up at the fireworks without having to strain your necks, a mostly empty bag of konpeito lying forgotten between you. As always, the display included the moon in various phases, snowflakes being overtaken by flowers, all interspersed with bright flashes of red, gold, and white. 

Kenji, now too big to be satisfied with staying bundled into his rider’s clothes, laid curled up with his head on your shoulder, apparently content to sleep through the whole show, despite how loud it was. 

All in all, you felt good. You were happy, and everything had finally stabilized again, after Satoru unexpectedly bonded with Kenji over a year before. Besides that, you knew it wouldn’t be that much longer before you and the rest of your friend group all had dragons of your own, and the idea excited you. 

It had barely been a week since the new year’s festival when you felt something change in the air of the settlement. You weren’t entirely sure what it was at first, but you quickly learned that there was apparently another boy that had bonded with a single color dragon before the age of ten, much like Satoru had a year before. There was talk around the settlement for days, rumors spoken in hushed tones when the adults thought the children couldn’t hear, but it was impossible to miss all the murmurings.

“He’s from a little village hours from here.”

“He’s not even part of a clan.”

“I heard the Gojos bought him and are bringing him here to hold him captive.”

“They can’t take the risk of him growing strong enough to challenge the heir, they have to keep him on a tight leash.”

“You don’t think they’d bring him here just to kill him, do you?”

“It depends how much of a threat he poses, I guess.”

With such dark statements being thrown around so casually – even if only in hushed whispers – you couldn’t help but grow curious about the reality of the situation. 

“Do you really think they bought him?” you asked your friends one day. You were dying to ask Satoru himself, since he would know for sure if his clan had bought the boy who’d bonded with a solid color dragon, but you hadn’t seen much of him lately.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shoko sighed, rolling her eyes at you. “Why would they buy him? They have enough power just to take him if they really want to.”

Her words made your eyes widen with horror.

“Shoko,” Kento scolded her, a frown pinching his features together harshly. “Don’t say things like that, you’re scaring them!”

“But it’s true!” she insisted, only backing down and grumbling to herself about not wanting to lie when Utahime nudged her with her elbow.

Your curiosity only grew after that.

It was just a couple of days later when there was a flurry of excitement near the docks, and you rushed to see what all the fuss was about. You had to shove and weave your way between people’s legs in order to get a good look, but eventually you found yourself standing practically at the front of the crowd. You reached the spot just in time to see a boy about your age stumble off of a boat – obviously one of the finer sailing ships, owned by the Gojo clan – looking a bit green in the face; he’d probably been seasick on the journey. At first, you didn’t notice his dragon draped around his shoulders like a pelt because it so closely matched the color of his hair. When it lifted its head from his shoulder, though, you almost gasped, eyes wide as you stared. It looked so much like Satoru’s dragon it was almost uncanny, though this one was as dark as Satoru’s was light.

The boy glanced around as he was urged forward, clearly unsettled by the number of people gathered to gawk at him, as if he were some sort of novelty. His eyes paused for a moment as they met yours, and even with as fascinated as you were by his arrival, you managed to smile at him and give him a small wave. The gesture seemed to fluster him, and he lifted his hand slightly to return the wave before he was hurried off, one of the men escorting him scolding all the onlookers and telling them to go home.

You scampered off before you could get caught and further chastised, but your curiosity was far from sated. He had only just arrived, and already you wanted to see this boy again, and to learn as much about him as you could. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

Apparently it was bad.

“I just don’t understand why we can’t see him!” you complained to Shoko, after being turned away from the Gojo estate once again. “He’s our age, just like Satoru is. I just wanna say hi.”

“Maybe it’s because we don’t have our dragons yet,” she suggested.

You wrinkled your nose. “Why would that matter?”

“Because it means we’re not grown up enough, or something. I don’t know.” She kicked a pebble a foot or so down the path as you walked together.

“Just because he has his dragon now doesn’t mean Satoru’s grown up,” you grumbled, kicking the pebble a little further down the path after you reached it.

The brunette hummed in agreement with your comment, but neither of you said anything else; even if Shoko wouldn’t say the words out loud, you knew she missed Satoru just like you did.

The two of you continued walking together in silence, taking turns kicking the little pebble as you went, only separating when you were called home by your respective parents. You waved goodbye to Shoko as she walked over to her mother, and as you turned and made your way back to your own parents, you felt less frustrated than you had when you’d first been turned away from the Gojo estate, because you had already made up your mind; you were going to get in to see those boys whether the Gojo clan wanted you to or not.

You crept through your house as quietly as you could, taking great care to avoid the floorboards you knew would creak if you stepped on them as you made your way to the front door. Thankfully your father, as usual, had failed to lock it before turning in for the night, and you held your breath as you pulled it open, praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak and alert your parents to your escape.

Miraculously, they made no sound as you opened it just enough to slip through, closing it behind you just as silently. A smile crossed your face then, realizing that the first part of your plan had gone off without a hitch. You managed to stifle a shout of excitement, knowing that would only result in you getting caught, and instead turned away from the door, racing up the road and towards the Gojo estate.

As you drew closer to the estate, you slowed your movements, not wanting to give yourself away because you tripped over your own feet or a loose stone in the path. You tucked yourself a little further into the shadows, eyes locked on the guard by the front gates as you moved around to the side. Once you were sure you were out of his line of sight, you darted to walk against the wall itself, steps slow and careful; if you miscalculated your spot along the outside of the estate, you’d be in a world of trouble.

Just as you began to question your memory, you heard a familiar voice just up ahead, on the other side of the wall, and it brought a smile to your face.

“Kenji, your feet are cold, stop putting them on my neck!” Satoru’s whining eased the hurt of not being able to see him much anymore, and it also confirmed that you were exactly where you’d planned to end up.

Taking a step away from the wall, you turned to look at it, trying to find the best possible hand- and footholds on its regal yet weathered surface. It only took a moment to find them, and you immediately began to scale your way up, reaching the top in a lot less time than you had expected, and before you knew it your head was peeking over the top of the wall.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything before Satoru noticed you, as wretchedly observant as he was, and you thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. He called your name incredulously, stepping off of his engawa and approaching the wall as if to confirm what he was seeing. “Is that really you?”

“Hi, Toru!” you replied, somehow managing to keep from shouting, a grin plastered across your face as you pulled yourself further up.

“How the hell did you get up there?” the white haired boy asked, though he was smiling now, too; he could tell you were up to some sort of mischief, and he was more than willing to be a part of it.

“I climbed,” you said bluntly, more focused on swinging one of your legs over the top of the wall so you could begin your descent. It was then that you noticed another figure, still seated on the engawa off to Satoru’s left, dark hair pulled back while an equally dark dragon curled around his shoulders, its yellow eyes glowing like fireflies in the dark. It occurred to you then that this was the boy you’d seen at the docks; the one that had been brought to the settlement to train alongside Satoru. 

Excitement outweighed your rational thoughts then, and a beaming grin broke out across your face once again. “Hi!” you called to the boy, releasing the wall with one hand to wave at him excitedly. “I’m—”

Your introduction was cut short when you lost your balance, and you barely had time to register what was happening before you were hitting the ground, a rather undignified squawking sound escaping you just before you made impact with the dirt; you were vaguely aware of your head hitting the ground a little harder than the rest of your body, but not aware enough to realize it could be bad.

“Oh my god!” an unfamiliar voice shouted, obviously worried. The owner of the voice hurried over, and when you opened your eyes you saw two faces hovering above your own. “Are you okay? That looked like it hurt.” You realized the once-unfamiliar voice belonged to the boy from the docks, and it brought a small smile to your lips.

“It did hurt,” you answered after a moment, planting your hands on the ground beside you and pushing yourself to sit up. The sudden movement sent your vision spinning, and you felt yourself beginning to slump over before Satoru caught you.

“I can’t believe you fell like an idiot,” he said, though you thought you detected a hint of worry in his voice, as well, as he let you lean into him while he held you upright.

“Satoru-san!” the dark haired boy said, sounding scandalized that he would speak to you that way.

“What?” Satoru demanded, scowling at the other boy. “And I already told you not to be so formal when you talk to me, Suguru. It’s weird.”

Suguru. You turned the name over in your mind a few times, and you decided you liked it.

Suguru scowled back at Satoru for a moment, though his attention quickly drifted down to you again, worry furrowing his brow. “Should we take them to see someone?” he asked after a moment. “They hit the ground pretty hard, what if they’re hurt?”

You intended to tell the boys that you were fine, that it was no big deal and there was no need to worry, but as soon as you pulled yourself away from Satoru and tried to stand on your own, you doubled over again and promptly threw up your dinner, squeezing your eyes shut as your vision began to swim.

Satoru swore from somewhere off to your left, and he quickly but gently pulled you away from the mess you’d made on the ground, making sure you wouldn’t collapse into it. 

“Yeah, we need to get someone,” he said, finally agreeing with Suguru. “Can you move?” he asked, looking down at you with a worried expression.

You stared up at him for a few long moments, trying to decide if he would believe you if you lied, but the harder you thought about it, the more your head started to throb. “...I don’t know,” you eventually said, words coming out a bit wobbly. “Definitely can’t walk.”

“I can carry you,” Suguru offered, and you whipped your head around to look at him so fast you thought you might be sick again.

The white haired boy seemed hesitant at first, but he also didn’t seem to want to waste time arguing about it. “Are you sure?”

Suguru nodded. “I don’t know my way around the house, it will be easier for me to carry them and follow you.”

Your friend looked down at you again, his features pinched together in a way you couldn’t recall ever seeing before, and it made you frown back up at him slightly. 

“Okay,” Satoru agreed after a moment. “Okay, yeah, you’re right.”

As carefully as two nine year old boys could manage, Satoru helped Suguru gather you in his arms and lift you from the ground. Though you knew they were trying their best, you couldn’t help the small sounds that would escape you when you would get jostled a bit too hard, your head spinning so bad it made you feel nauseous. 

Once Suguru had you secure in his arms and was on his feet, Satoru led the way into the house, navigating the halls with ease as he sought out the healer that spent most nights at the estate. 

The movement was too much for you, your vision swimming with every step, your stomach doing flips with every turn, and you had to shut your eyes. 

“I really think you should stay awake,” Suguru told you quietly, worry clear in his voice.

“Not falling asleep,” you insisted. “My eyes hurt an’ I feel dizzy, that’s all.”

You received no further argument or pushback, which you appreciated. Despite your promise that you weren’t falling asleep, though, it wasn’t long before the sounds of the boys searching for someone to look you over faded from your awareness and you slipped from the waking world.

didn't wanna say this before the chapter, but i figured there was no better time to post suguru's entrance than on his birthday! so happy birthday to our boy 💜

@ghost-1-y @kentohours @whatthefucksatan @why-the-fuck-am-i-so-tired @mitsuristoleme @lu-dao-writes @peachdues @lik0 @deepestartisanhumanoidshark @here-for-the-tea-baby @staryukis @roselleviennesstuff if your url is crossed out, it's because tumblr won't let me tag you for whatever reason. i apologize!

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 12: If I Must Have A Future

(moodboard by @agentjackdaniels)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: Spring break comes to Barrow, and with it a European trip with major consequences for Ben and Lydia.

Word count: ~18k words (I'm so sorry but HEY LOOK THEY'RE BACK!)

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Warnings (chapter specific): Smut; quite a lot of smut really; oral sex (M and F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; fingering; praise kink; very mild submission kink if you squint; self-esteem and body/weight insecurity; anxiety; angst; family dynamics; strong language; alcohol consumption; references to past instances of emotional abuse; fluff

A/N: Oh, boy. This was a labour of love. An incredibly important part of their story, and one that took me ages to get ‘right’. This is not the end of Visiting - I’m planning about three more chapters, which will not be as long as this one. So there is still more to come from Ben and Lydia.

I wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who was so kind and excited about the little Christmas one-shots I wrote for this pair - sometimes I feel like my dorks are the last kind of characters people want in this fandom, and it was lovely to see that they have readers who actually care (and even miss them!). Thank you too to everyone who voted in the poll about the chapter length. You wanted the full-on 18,000 words - you’re getting it.

And a special word for @agentjackdaniels, who screamed with me when we got one of the most Benergetic red carpet looks I’ve ever seen at the Emmys, who made my gorgeous new header image, and who has helped me see more times than I’d care to admit over the last few months that I matter and make a difference, especially around here. I hope I have done the same, too.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia’s story and background.

Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

Cross-posting to AO3 (and if you’re reading on there, too, and yelling along in the comments, love you!)

Further A/N at the end of the chapter.

The title of this chapter is a line from the Fontaines DC song “I Love You”, which is not terribly romantic, all told, but I heard it over the holidays and this lyric hit me hard: If I must have a future/I want it with you.

Taglist: FYI I’m retiring taglists as they are giving me so much trouble with people not getting notifications - follow me on @ladameecrit and turn on notifications. But just in case: @agentjackdaniels, @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse

“We will shortly be beginning our descent. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

You have never been one for sleeping on planes. Ben, on the other hand, has been snoozing away for the last two hours, the thin airline blanket comically small on his broad frame. 

You put a hand on his arm to gently rouse him. “Love? We’re almost there.” 

He blinks awake, eyes sleepy and hair askew, and stretches out his arms. “Mmmmfff. Hi, Lyd. You excited?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m really looking forward to seeing them.” 

You’d mentioned the trip shortly after Valentine’s, during a conversation after dinner about plans for the spring break. 

Your spring visit home had been booked since well before Christmas. A few days at home, visiting your family and catching up, and then to Paris for a week of tying up loose research ends and some vacation time. 

It sounded blissful at the time. Now, your anticipation was tempered with disappointment at the prospect of leaving him here. 

“So, uh, what are you doing for spring break, love? You going west, or…”

He shrugs. “Ordinarily I’d try to get a few days in San Francisco. But everyone’s got plans and is out of town on various trips, so there’s no point.” He looks a little resigned. “So it’s time catching up on work and my reading here, I guess. Maybe do some prep for directing the student play after the vacation. When are you back from your trip?”

There’s a nervous knot in your stomach. Just ask. Just do it. 

“Could you take your reading and directing prep on the road?”

He looks perplexed. You take a deep breath. 

“What if you came with me?” 

Ben’s eyes widen. “Come with you? To see your family?”

Oh, fuck. You’ve pushed your luck. This is too weird. 

“No, don’t worry about it.” You stand up from the table and pick up your plates. “I just knew I’d miss you but it’s probably too much. It’s fine. Forget I said it.”

He follows you into your tiny kitchen and leans against the doorframe. “What if I wanted to come?”

“Wanted? I mean, you seemed totally stunned that I’d even ask.”

He shakes his head and smiles gently. “Not stunned, as such. Surprised, maybe? But not in a bad way.”

“Why surprised, then?” You cross the small linoleum floor and wrap your arms around his waist. He blushes, tucking his chin against his chest bashfully. 

“I dunno. Just that you want to bring me home with you? It… it means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me just to ask you, love. But you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

He looks at you with those big dark eyes and you feel your heart swell. “But I think I’d like to. As long as that’s okay with your family, of course? I don’t want to be in the way.”

You laugh and raise your eyebrows. “In the way? I think they’d be more excited about seeing you than me.” You rest your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “You know they think you’re great, you’ve been on the video calls. My mother asks me more about you than she does about myself.”

He wraps an arm around you and kisses the top of your head. “It’s different in person, sometimes.”

You shake your head. “Mmmm, I don’t think so in this case. You haven’t been dealing with daily queries about the welfare and wellbeing of Ben Morales. And no, she doesn’t yet seem to realise she can just call you by your first name.”

He chuckles and holds you closer. “Guess I’d better go book some flights, huh?”

Ben pushes the luggage cart towards the sliding doors and out into the bright, bustling Arrivals area, where families wait excitedly at the barrier to greet their loved ones. 

“LYDIAAAAAAAA!” 

You immediately spot your parents, standing right in the centre of the barrier, aligned with the sliding doors. It’s still very early in the morning and you wonder how long they’ve been here, waiting at the perfect spot to see the two of you emerge. 

You give Ben’s arm a reassuring squeeze as the two of you walk towards your excited family. “You’re not a stranger, love. They already love you. Remember that.”

Ben has barely exited the arrivals area when he’s enveloped in a warm embrace by your mother, who seems to have forgotten you entirely. Your father puts an arm around you and smiles widely while your mother coos over Ben. “And Ben Morales! Welcome, welcome. We’re so delighted to have you.”

Your mother has had her hair done and is dressed in an outfit that feels somewhere between “weekday lunch at a nice restaurant” and “Sunday best”. She’s also using what you and Kate refer to as her “telephone voice” when she speaks to Ben, more clipped and flatter than her usual tones. 

“Mom, he knows what you sound like normally, you don’t need to put on the fancy accent.” You hug your father tightly and notice that his eyes are shining. He’s similarly neatly dressed, wearing a nice smart-casual pair of pants and a matching shirt and v-neck light sweater. 

“I am talking normally!” your mother fires back, followed by a tinkly laugh as she tilts her head and smiles at Ben. He smiles broadly, though you know he’s shattered, and your mother gives you a look that says “See? Ben likes me.”

Your father shakes Ben’s hand before embracing him. “The two of you must be exhausted,” he says, arm still wrapped around Ben’s shoulders. “Let’s head to the car.”

Ben and your dad lead the way, your mother reaching for your hand and giving it a warm squeeze as you walk companionably a few steps behind. 

“Welcome home, pet. I’m delighted he’s here too. We’re so happy for you.” She looks ahead and appraises Ben’s broad frame as he pushes the luggage cart and chats to your father. 

“Grand big man, isn’t he?”, she says approvingly. “Don’t look at me like that, Lydia!”

“There’s milk there and bread and tea and coffee and a few biscuits and butter and a couple of bags of crisps and -“

“Mom, we’re fine. We’ll take care of ourselves. Okay?”

Your mother throws up her hands in resignation. “Alright! Just wanted to make sure you didn’t starve.” 

Kate, Marc, and their little girls have taken over your parents’ house for the duration of renovation works on their own home, and in the interests of space (and your sanity) you’d booked a small holiday flat in your hometown for the visit. Now, with Ben in tow, the privacy of the flat was even more welcome. 

“Thank you. I mean it. Now, can we please go and get some rest?” You hug her tightly and she kisses your cheek, before looking in Ben’s direction. 

“Of course. We’ll see you later, though? For something to eat? Kate and Marc and the girls are that excited to see you, I think they might burst.”

You stand beside Ben, bringing your hand to the small of his back, and wave your parents off as they return to the car. They’re not even out of earshot when you hear your father saying “He wouldn’t let her lift a single bag! Not one! Helped her all the time. Lovely chap. Very nice. Far cry from the other fucker…”

Subtlety has never been their strong point. You just hope Ben is too jet-lagged to have heard what they said.

A relaxed family meal, she said. Nothing special, she said. Come over in the early afternoon. It’s just like a Sunday lunch, she said. 

Your mother is reading Ben a list of menu options that’s longer than in some restaurants. His eyebrows rise and fall as he takes it in and considers the possibilities.

“Honestly, Mrs -“

“MARIE. I told you.”

“Honestly, Marie, I’ll just have whatever everyone else is having. It all sounds great. Do you need any help in the kitchen?”

“I most certainly do not. You can have whatever you want. You are the guest.” 

“Seriously. Whatever’s easiest.” He looks nervously at you and speaks in a low voice. “What is easiest?” 

You shrug. “Probably the beef.”

He beams at your mother and tells her he’ll have some beef. She tilts her head, smiles delightedly at him, and does that tinkly laugh again before returning to the kitchen. 

The meal is delicious but, inevitably, chaotic. Your three-year-old niece Cora, who had insisted on sitting between you and Ben (Benjamoo, as she persisted in calling him), realises quickly that the family-style service meant she could help herself to her favourite sides as and when she wanted, chubby little hands rapidly making a mark on the mashed potato and carrots. Your mother keeps asking if the food is hot enough. Kate and Marc try to talk to Ben while corralling little Evie and making sure she gets fed. 

Your father, meanwhile, veers between talking delightedly to the little girls and engaging Ben in a rapidly-shifting conversation that covers San Francisco, transatlantic flights, whether Ben liked sports, and a detailed description of the plot of a film he’d watched the week before. You couldn’t work out which film it was, but you knew it had Kevin Costner in it. Mostly because your dad kept referring to him as “Kevin Costner”, rather than by the character’s name. 

You rest a hand on Ben’s knee, under the solid dining table your father had made for the family home when you were barely two. 

“You doing okay? I know we’re a bit much…”

His warm hand covers yours and he smiles softly. 

“I’m great, Lyd. And you haven’t been to a Morales family meal yet - now that’s a bit much. Just you wait and see.”

You grin and lean your head affectionately on his shoulder for a moment, winding your fingers through his, never noticing the conspiratorial, knowing look exchanged between Kate and your mother. 

You and Ben insist on clearing the dishes, making short work of loading the dishwasher before your parents can tell you off for letting the guest do the chores. Through the kitchen window you see Cora running towards her little plastic play house, on temporary loan to your parents’ back garden while Kate and Marc’s building work is being completed. Kate follows swiftly behind, waving a soft fleece jacket at her daughter.

After wrangling Cora into her jacket, she appears at the back door. “Cora wants to know if Ben can come and visit her tea shop. Not you, Lyd. She was very clear about that. Only Benjamoo.”

He smiles happily and puts down his dish towel, before making a sympathetic face at you and kissing your cheek. “Sorry, Lyddie. I guess I better take up my invitation.” 

It’s a hilarious and adorable sight: Ben, sitting cross-legged on the mat beside Cora’s house, hair a bit messy and eyes still a little tired behind his glasses, broad-shouldered in his grey Berkeley sweatshirt and decidedly out of proportion to the pink-and-white plastic cottage. You can hear him giving Cora his order and talking rapturously about the “tea” she serves him in a little pink cup, while she giggles and claps her hands. 

Marc and your father arrive in the kitchen, your brother-in-law carrying little Evie in his arms. “Evie thinks she’s missing out on the fun with Ben and Cora,” he announces, opening the back door. “And we want to make sure Cora doesn’t try to force-feed mud cakes to your boyfriend.”

You’d been so nervous about this - not because you thought your family wouldn’t like Ben, or vice versa, but because by definition the first visit to your partner’s family feels a little like an audition of some kind. It has the potential to go horribly wrong, no matter how well prepared you are, or how many video calls you’ve had over the last couple of months.

But here he is, now, integrated happily into your close-knit family of origin, getting on famously with your parents, sister, and brother-in-law, and making your beloved little niece laugh like a drain as he pretends to drink from her toy teapot. Like he was always here. Or always meant to be here.

There’s a surge of emotions in your chest: deep love and affection, above all, but with it a reminder that your future together is by no means assured. Assuming, of course, that he wants a future together. 

“He’s good with kids, isn’t he?” 

Kate’s voice startles you. “Where did you come out of?”

“I’m stealthy when I want, Lyd. Anyway, you haven’t answered my question.”

You throw a bombastic side eye in your younger sister’s direction. “I know what you’re getting at.”

Kate shrugs, the picture of innocence. “I’m just observing.”

“Ben is a wonderful uncle. Just as I am a wonderful aunt. We like that. And that’s one of the things I love about him.” You lean on the kitchen counter, voice quieter. “So…what do you think?”

Kate arches an eyebrow in your direction. Your mother arrives in the kitchen with impeccable timing, as ever. 

“What do I think of what?”

“You know what. Who. Him. Ben.”

Your mother laughs as she fills the kettle with water and puts it on to boil for some teas and coffees. She turns round to face her two daughters. “Well, Kate, I don’t know about you, but - he wouldn’t be for me.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Kate opens a cupboard and starts to take out some mugs. “I know what you mean, mom. Not really for me, either.”

“You know yourself, Kate,” your mother adds, finding a carton of milk in the fridge and filling a small milk jug, “Just not my thing at all.”

Anger spreads hot and warm across your face. “Good, because he’s not your fucking ‘thing’, he’s my thing and I can’t believe how two-faced you’re being. All sweetness and light and then saying he’s not really for you and -”

Your mother holds out a hand, expression deadpan. “Lydia, not everyone wants a man who’s kind and funny and genuine and clearly worships the ground his girlfriend walks on.”

“Exactly,” Kate chimes in. “Just because you love someone who’s really smart and nice and good with kids and is actually kind of cute in a dorky way doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

For a moment, your confusion and anger doesn’t quite let you hear what they’re saying. “I’m not asking you to be in love with him, I’m just - oh. Oh.”

Marie and Kate burst out laughing. 

“Well, fuck the two of you. Forty-two years and you’re still winding me up.”

Your mother wraps you in a warm cuddle. “Ah, poor Lyd. We’re sorry. We just couldn’t resist.”

“He’s so lovely, Lyd,” Kate adds, embracing you from behind. “I mean it. Marc thinks so, too. I know I said at Christmas that he looked like he’d been engineered in a lab for you and it looks like I was right. And Ben’s even cuter in the flesh, not that I notice such things.” She coughs for dramatic effect. “What with being a married mother of two.”

“And he loves the bones of you, darling girl,” your mother whispers. “And sure, why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know about you, love, but I’m shattered.” 

Ben glances over at you and wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing you in to nuzzle against his chest. He holds up his copy of the script for Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, multicoloured tabs fluttering like tiny flags. 

“I’m just going to work through one more scene, is that okay?”

You hum contentedly. “Of course, love. How’s it going, anyway?”

He flicks through a few pages, scanning his notes and annotations. The comparative literature students put on a play every year, towards the end of the second semester, and Ben had to step in at short notice as director after a colleague in French fell ill. “It’s a relief we’re doing it in the English translation, put it that way. I just don’t know why Jen thought I could take this on, after Michèle went on sick leave.” 

You idly rub his tummy and kiss his side through his old shirt. “Because she knows you’re great and talented and the students love you, Mr Director.”

He huffs a laugh, marks up another section, adds a tab, and closes the book before taking off his glasses and shuffling down the bed and wrapping his free arm around you. He kisses the top of your head and holds you tight. 

“Thank you for bringing me home with you.”

You open your eyes and glance up at him. “Sure they haven’t put you off?”

“It would take a lot to put me off, Lyd. Anyway, they’re great. It - it meant a lot, to be welcomed like that, by the people you love.”

He looks down at you, and you place a light kiss on his jaw, smiling at the bristle of his beard against your lips. His gaze is solemn and intense as he reaches for your hand.

“I’m serious about this, Lyd. About us. You know?”

“I know. I’m serious about us, too. Deadly serious, in fact.”

He smiles, eyes shining, and kisses you, soft and slow, pulling you closer and working a path of kisses down the side of your neck as your body writhes against his. Tiredness is forgotten, for the moment, as you slip your hand inside the waistband of his loose boxers and tug them down, fingers wrapping around his cock. Ben sighs against your chest as you stroke him, his mouth finding your nipples as his long fingers trace the wetness building between your legs. With one leg hitched across his, you angle your hips just so and guide him inside you as he whispers your name against your ear. 

After you’ve made love, Ben falls asleep mid-cuddle, and you tuck yourself against him and close your eyes. But sleep doesn’t come easy. You should be delighted, after the beautiful day you’d had. But there’s an anxiety building in the back of your mind that you can’t quite shake. 

Serious this relationship may be, but spring will soon turn to summer, and with it the prospect of being separated indefinitely by an entire ocean and several time zones. Kate was wont to remind you that you “could just do distance for a while”, and she meant well. It was intended to reassure you. 

The problem was, the more you thought about what that option would actually mean, the less comfort it provided.

Over the next couple of days, you introduce Ben to the world of your hometown, to the places and people that shaped you. It is strange, at first, to see him, whole and present, in the spaces that defined your childhood. But it is a beautifully intimate thing, sharing memories with someone you love. You lay yourself even more bare before them, revealing the you that was before they knew you. 

The two of you have, of course, shared so much about yourselves and your pasts with each other in the time since you met. But this was different. Walking with him, pointing out your old schools, old haunts, swapping memories and stories, introducing him to random relations you meet in the streets: you are quietly knotting the strands of your past - with all its love, loss, joy and sorrow - with the man who, you hope, represents your future. 

Kate and Marc insist on bringing you to dinner one night. “It’d be wrong not to,” Marc had explained as you sat in your parents’ living room, Ben playing peek-a-boo with Evie while your mother looked on approvingly. “Sure we have built-in babysitting while we’re staying with Joe and Marie.” 

Your mother’s expression shifted instantaneously, shooting daggers at your brother-in-law. “Cheeky.”

Your hometown is not known for haute cuisine, but Kate booked a table at the nicest restaurant in town and it has been a perfect evening: good food, decent wine, and the pleasure of seeing how well Ben, Kate, and Marc are getting along. You and Kate go to the bathroom at one point, and she eyeballs you as you top up your lipstick, side by side, in the mirror. 

“Think he’s passed the audition, Lyd.” She pouts and blows a kiss at her reflection. “Oh, and guess what? We’ve got a special immersive cultural experience planned for the rest of the night.”

You swivel and glare at her. “And what does that involve, exactly?”

Kate picks up her handbag and does a little shimmy on the spot. “The Roxy, Lyd. The ultimate method of integrating your lovely Benjamin into your native place.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

The Roxy was once the town’s cinema, built in the 1940s and made redundant by the coming of the multiplex in the 1990s. Its owners had moved swiftly, though, and transformed the Roxy into a nightclub. It was a site of memorable nights out dancing with your friends, of crying in the bathrooms when you realised your crush was interested in someone else, of bad kissing, of telling random men to fuck off when they told you to smile, of screaming with glee when “Hey Ya” came on.

 If the Roxy was a taste, it would be peach schnapps and orange squash. Its smell, meanwhile, had lodged permanently in your memory: old cigarettes, sticky carpets, cheap aftershave, vanilla musk body spray. 

She was not kidding. You and Kate sit on some banquette seating in a corner of the Roxy’s lounge - which was just a separate floor with slightly better, more old-school music - and take in the completely incongruous sight of Ben, followed by Marc, weaving his way through the habitual crowd of locals with your drinks in hand. 

“Vodka tonic for Lyddie, gin and tonic for Kate.” Ben places the glasses on the table and nestles in beside you, giving your thigh a little squeeze. He reaches for his bottle of beer and raises it slightly. “Uh, cheers, I guess?”

Kate enthusiastically clinks her swimming pool-sized glass of gin and tonic off Ben’s drink. “Cheers! Now, you have to promise me you’ll dance. Otherwise it’s not full assimilation.”

You groan audibly and stir your drink with the straw as Ben chuckles. “C’mon, Lyd, you’ve got moves.” He raises an eyebrow at you mischievously. 

You manage to stave off the inevitable for a while, finishing your first vodka tonic and about to suggest you go to the bar when a familiar opening melody sends Kate leaping out of her seat, excitedly grabbing her husband and beckoning to you. 

“AS IT WAS?!? COME OOOONNNN LYYYYD!” Kate bellows back to you and Ben from the tiny dancefloor, where Marc is already showing off a move you can only describe as “rhythmic shuffling” while mouthing Harry Styles’ lyrics.

You look at Ben. He stands, removes his jacket, and offers you his hand, smiling expectantly. His hand rests gently on the small of your back as you join your sister and brother-in-law on the dancefloor, and he pulls you in to whisper in your ear. 

“We can do better than them, can’t we?”

You laugh, leaning in as he wraps an arm around your waist, takes your hand, and helps you exorcise all those demons of heartbreak long past on the dancefloor. 

As she clambers into a taxi in the early hours of the morning, Kate turns and yells “I’m telling mom you’re bringing a boy home with you from the Roxy!”, before collapsing in hysterics as Marc takes her hand and pulls her into the car. They grin and wave at you and Ben as it disappears up the street and back towards your parents’ house.

You lean against Ben as you walk back towards the little flat you’d rented for your stay at home, sighing contentedly as he drapes an arm around your shoulders. 

“She’s right, though,” you giggle, “I’m actually bringing the hot boy home with me from the Roxy. I’ve come a long way from endless rejection and the odd bit of bad kissing.”

Ben huffs a laugh as you open the main door of the building and climb the stairs to the apartment. “Well, fuckin’ good.” He adds a sassy little head movement for emphasis. 

“Excuse me?”

“Fuckin’ good. Because what would have happened to me if you’d been swept off your feet by one of those bad kissing boys back then?” He follows you into the little entrance hall and, for all his joking tone, there’s a vulnerability lurking in his beautiful eyes.

You cradle his face in your hands. “I’d have found you one way or another, Benjamin.” A coy smile crosses your lips as you take him in - danced out, hair mussed, and so stupidly sexy you still can’t quite believe he’s real. 

Your fingers hook inside his waistband as you pull him tight to you, leading him into the living room and pushing him against the wall as you bring a hand to his crotch. “And I’d like to make the most of bringing the hottest man home from the club for once in my life, if you don’t mind. Especially seeing as he was worth the wait.”

Ben’s eyes widen and he half gasps, half chuckles as you undo his jeans and slip a hand inside his boxers, stroking his cock as you pepper his throat with tiny kisses. He leans down slightly to bring a hand under the skirt of your dress, hitching up the fabric and slipping two fingers into your panties to play with your clit as he kisses you: hungry, urgent, wanting. 

But you’ve had something else on your mind all night. You break the kiss and begin to sink to your knees, hands around Ben’s waist for balance. 

Your eyes flit up to meet his. “Let me make you feel good, darling.”

His breath hitches as he takes you in: hair a little messy, eyes wide and wild, lips slightly parted, the soft flesh of your tits rising and falling with your breathing. 

“Fuck, Lyd, you’re amazing.”

“That a yes?”

He swallows hard and nods rapidly. “Fuck. Yes. Yes. Please.”

You lick your lips and smile as you carefully tug down the waistband of his boxer briefs. Your mouth presses into the softest, most sensitive parts of him: a kiss, a lick, a little nip to his belly; a course plotted down from his abdomen to the hardening cock you hold in your hand. You take him into your mouth, tongue swirling gently over the tip as you stroke him, revelling in the sensation and the moans of pleasure you’re pulling from the gorgeous man above you. Ben rests his hand on the back of your head and leans back against the wall, panting harder as you find your rhythm. 

The ache between your thighs builds with his every grunt and groan. Your fingertips find your clit, rubbing little circles over it in a fruitless bid to find some relief. You ease his cock out of your mouth with a pop and Ben helps you to your feet before you take his hand and guide him to the couch.

You slip off your panties and encourage him to lie back on the sofa as you gather the skirt of your dress around your waist and straddle him. “Need to fuck you, my love.” 

He grips the flesh of your hips and thighs, fingers pressing into your body as you take him inside you and begin to ride him, relishing the slow drag of his cock as you come undone. He looks beautiful underneath you, eyes wide and shining as he watches every move of your body.

“Fuck, Lyd,” he pants, smiling up at you. “You look incredible.” He reaches up and pulls down your neckline, groping your breasts and gazing at you like you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen: head thrown back, eyes closed, and vocal. 

He begins to thrust up into you, finding a rhythm that complements yours, intensifying the sensation so much that you can’t help but cry out with pleasure. 

“Yes, baby…fuck, that’s so fucking good, Ben, that’s fucking it, fuck!”

“Take it, Lyddie.” His dark eyes stare into yours, hands still gripping you firmly. “Ride me, take what you need…fuck, good fucking girl. I’ll give you whatever you need, whatever you want.”

And he knows what you need, in that moment. His thick fingers slip between your thighs and find your clit, circling it over and over as you keep on fucking him. 

You come hard, the last flutters of your orgasm still working through you when Ben follows suit. He’s still inside as you bend forward to kiss him, trailing your hands over his beautiful face and through his damp hair. You rest on his chest and let the sound of his breathing start to steady you as he holds you close for a couple of moments.

“I love you so much, Lyddie,” he pants quietly, chuckling to himself. “You’re a hell of a woman.”

For your last day, Ben suggests that he might make dinner at the flat, as a gesture of thanks for your family’s hospitality. You suggest lasagne with some sides as a general crowdpleaser, borrow some dishes from your mother, and Ben gets to work while you lay the place settings. 

The lasagne is cooking away happily when your mother arrives with Kate, Marc, and the girls. You look puzzled. 

“Where’s Dad?”

Your mother rolls her eyes as Cora goes tearing off around the flat, Kate following swiftly behind. “He insisted he had to go to the football match tonight. Of course. Anyway, he said he’ll be here shortly.”

Ben emerges from the kitchen, clad in a navy and white striped apron you’d used back when you (briefly) did home economics at school. He kisses your mother and Kate on the cheek and hugs Marc, before bending down to give a delighted Cora a high five. 

“I made you a present,” she says quietly, suddenly shy. 

Ben brings himself down to her level. “A present? For me? That’s amazing.”

Kate rummages in her bag and produces a rolled-up piece of paper, handing it to Ben. “She did it all herself. Mostly.”

You stand beside him as he unfurls it and Cora looks down at her toes. The drawing features a large figure with a mop of dark wavy hair and a wide smile - “Benjamoo”, Cora points out helpfully - standing close beside a slightly smaller figure immediately recognisable as you. “Auntie Lyd,” she adds seriously, in case you weren’t aware. 

The figures’ stick arms are touching. “Holding hands,” Cora says. 

Ben looks at Cora, then up at you, and back to the little girl. “This is the best art anyone’s ever given me. I’m going to put it on my wall when I get home.” He stands, and reaches for your hand, noticing the tears threatening in your eyes. “Auntie Lyd will help. Won’t you?”

You nod and squeeze his hand. Cora starts to giggle and points at you and Ben. 

“See? Holding hands.”

Ben and Marc pop out to the nearest supermarket shortly afterwards, when you realise you had neglected to buy garlic bread. You sit in the open-plan kitchen and dining area with your mother while Kate plays with her daughters in the living room. 

“You alright, love?” Marie notices how you fiddle with the place settings and rub your fingers together, sure signs that something’s on your mind. 

“Mmm? Sorry, I was miles away. Yeah, I’m… I think so.” You exhale. “I don’t know.”

Your mother gives you a little breathing room, waiting to see if you’ll open up more. 

“It’s just… fuck. I don’t know. I - what the fuck are we going to do?”

She sighs softly and pats the back of your hand. “You and Ben?” 

“Me and Ben. It’s spring break. And there’s no clear pathway about what we’ll do when my year in Barrow ends and I have to come back to my job over this side of the ocean.”

“Well, I mean… I know you hate the thoughts of it, Lyd, but have you talked about it? Kate’s right, you could always do long-distance for a while, until you knew what you both really wanted.”

You put your head in your hands. “We’ve said that we’re very serious about the relationship.” 

“So then! There’s your answer. No?”

You look up at her mournfully. “Yes and no. Yes, we’re serious about each other. No, that doesn’t mean we have any idea how to manage the distance.”

Marie adjusts the salt and pepper cruets in the middle of the table. “People do it, Lyd. It’s a commitment but they make it work.”

You nod slowly. “I just don’t know if that’s what I want, at this stage in my life. We see each other every day. We’re practically living together.”

Your mother fans herself in mock horror. “And not a hint of a ring on the finger, goodness!”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Forty-two, mother dear. But yeah. I don’t know if I could go from that to not seeing Ben for weeks or a month or more at a time. Not now.”

“So what does that mean?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know. One of us moves. He moves for me. I move for him. But that means trying to find a permanent academic job and in both places that’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“And if there’s no job? Distance as a temporary measure?”

You bite your lip. “But what if that’s still too hard?”

“So move.”

“But that means him giving up his life for me, or me uprooting for him, and being so far from all of you and from here and…” You look up at your mother, feeling like a scared little girl again.

“I love him so much, Mom. I never thought I’d love anyone like that. Never thought I’d even meet someone like that. And for him to love me in return…fuck.”

Marie shifts closer and wraps her arm around your shoulders. “I know, love. I know. You love the bones of each other. And it’s real love. Everyone can see it.”

“What do we do?”

“Lydia, I can’t tell you what to do one way or the other. Only you know what’s right for the two of you.”

You lean your head on your mother’s shoulder and she gives your hand a squeeze. “I know. It’s just - fuck, why does it have to be hard? Don’t I deserve things to work out, for once?”

“You do, pet. Of course you do. No one deserves it more.”

“Sometimes it feels crazy, y’know? This time last year I didn’t know Ben existed, and now -”

“Now it’s like you’ve known each other forever? Like you can’t imagine life without him?”

You turn to face her, and smile. “Exactly.”

“That’s love for you.” Marie purses her lips, thinking. “I’m only going to say one more thing. Your happiness.”

“Huh?”

“Lyd, for years you prioritised someone else’s happiness over your own. I know, I know, that fucker moved for you when you got the job away, I know that. But apart from that…it was all you. All you, trying to keep someone else happy and cracking under the strain.” She inhales and exhales, trying to curb the fury that still burns in her when she remembers how you were treated. 

“All I’m going to say is this: don’t worry about anyone else, Lyd. Not me, not Dad, not Kate, Marc, the girls, your job - nobody. Well, worry about Ben. But above all, prioritise your happiness. We have ours over here. It’s time for you to find yours.”

You hug her tightly. “One final question.”

She nods and waits. 

“What does Dad think of Ben? I know it wouldn’t change my feelings but given everything from the shitshow, I’d like to know he doesn’t absolutely loathe him.”

She looks at her phone and pushes away from the table, walking into the living room and opening the door of the flat. “Ask him yourself, Lyd. Here he is now.”

Your father comes into the kitchen, talking about something that happened at the local football match he’d attended that afternoon and eyes already locked on the kettle, his mind focused on making a cup of tea. 

“Joe? Lyd wants to ask you something.”

You roll your eyes at your mother. “It’s not a big deal.”

He turns around, tea caddy in hand. He’s been to this flat twice, you think, and he knows exactly where all the tea-making equipment is kept. 

 “Alright. Ask away, Lyd. Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just - Dad, what do you think?”

“What do I think of what?”

“Ben. Me and Ben, specifically. But also just Ben.”

Joe switches on the kettle and leans against the kitchen counter. “Sure, my opinion isn’t what matters. What matters is how you feel. Isn’t that right?” He looks to your mother for backup. 

“I said that to her, but she said she wanted to hear from you.”

He takes a mug out of the cupboard and drops a square teabag into it. “Lydia, is everything okay? Are you having any doubts about him, is that it?”

You laugh and shake your head. “Not a one.”

“And you don’t think he’s having any doubts about you? Because if he is I’ll fucking -“

“No, Dad. He… he’s very clear about how he feels.”

Your father nods in satisfaction. “Well, that’s reassuring. Would be strange if he wasn’t, given how he is with you. At least, what we’ve seen here.” He pours the freshly boiled water over the teabag and opens the fridge in search of milk. “But the point stands. You love each other, don’t you?”

You aren’t sure if your father has ever been so open or explicit with you in asking about a romantic relationship. Perhaps, you wonder, he regretted not being more honest about his concerns over the years of your longest one. 

“We do.” Your eyes fill with tears, unexpectedly. You swallow hard. “We love each other very, very much.”

“Okay then.” He stirs his tea vigorously, the metal of the teaspoon clinking off the stoneware mug. 

“But I still want to know what you think. It matters to me. Especially - especially after the last time.”

Joe pulls out a chair and settles at the table, your mother reaching automatically for a coaster and sliding it under the mug. “Lyd, you know what I’ve always said. There’s not one person walking this earth who deserves our lovely Lydia. Not one.”

Your heart sinks a little, and you nod. You’ve heard this a lot since your ex cheated and fucked off. You never really believe it. 

“But.” Your father pauses and sips his tea. 

“But?”

He looks at you and reaches out to touch your hand. “But - that lovely man you brought home definitely comes very close indeed.”

Right on cue, the front door opens and you can hear Ben and Marc chatting companionably and laughing together. Marc does a silly little dance into the kitchen, waving the garlic bread around like glow sticks.

“Now, please don’t destroy the garlic bread before it’s even gone into the oven, Marc!”

As your mother grabs the bread and sneaks a peek at the lasagne, now browned to perfection, Ben pulls you in for a quiet word.

“Lyddie, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

You lean against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m okay, darling. I just needed this. Needed you.” The oven timer pings and you look at him. “Time for Professor Morales to serve us his delicious lasagne. C’mon, we can plate up before my mother takes over.”

You thought goodbyes would get easier the longer you worked away from home, but the opposite turned out to be true. Your parents are doing their usual brave face routine at the airport: Joe clearly trying not to cry, Marie overdoing the levity to distract you and stave off her own sadness at seeing you go. 

“Paris in the springtime, Lyd! It’ll be gorgeous. She’s a great tour guide, Ben, she knows it all.” 

“She’s brilliant, Marie. But you knew that before the rest of us found out.” He reaches for your hand, holding it tightly as you start to feel the tears prickling. 

He only lets go as you both embrace your parents in turn, Ben thanking them repeatedly for their kindness. Then, his fingers curl around yours again, holding you strong and steady at the entrance to departures. 

“I love you both so much, you know? We’re so grateful.”

Your mother can’t hold back her tears any more, and her wet cheek presses against yours as she pulls you in for a final hug. “We love you so much. Both of you.” 

She pulls away and holds your gaze. “Both of you. Remember what I said to you, Lydia. Remember that.”

You nod and give Ben’s hand a little squeeze. “We should probably head on through. Safe home - message me when you get back, okay? We’ll see you soon.”

You keep waving back with every sharp turn you take in the queue for security, until eventually your parents’ faces are obscured by the crowd behind you, and you face forward into the security area, still holding Ben’s hand.

“Paris par train ou Paris par bus?”

Ben shrugs as he pushes the luggage trolley. “You’re the expert, Lyddie. What’s easiest?”

You summon up the mental map of Parisian transport options that is always ticking over at the back of your mind. “Train is quicker but involves a change at Châtelet Les Halles - ugh - and then again at Bastille. Bus gets us to Opéra which means we can get right on to line 8.”

“Bus?”

“Bus.”

Ben stacks your bags carefully in one of the Roissybus’s luggage areas and exhales as he takes a seat beside you. “You know it’s been almost thirty years since I was in Paris?”

“Excusez-moi?”

He chuckles. “Came up on a very poorly-thought-out visit with some friends while I was on exchange in Málaga. Overnight trains, hostels, no money, cheap wine. I barely saw the Eiffel Tower, let alone anything else.”

The bus pulls out of Charles de Gaulle Airport and onto the motorway. You squeeze Ben’s thigh affectionately. “Isn’t it a good thing that you’ve come to Paris with a ready-made guide, then?”

He smirks and arches an eyebrow suggestively. “Oh, I’m really looking forward to doing some, er, exploring with her.” 

“Is that so?” You move your hand ever so slightly up his thigh, smiling with satisfaction as Ben gasps a little and shifts in the seat. “I always like to try out new pleasures here, you know?”

A wiggle of your eyebrows has you both giggling, leaning against each other as the bus makes good progress towards the périphérique, the motorway that rings the city, and into Paris proper. You start to point out landmarks, locations, shifting into a stream of consciousness that spans history, personal memories, places to visit, and random observations. 

Ben smiles to himself as he watches and listens, delighting in your joy and excitement as you prepare to see your old friend - to walk her streets, listen to her voice, and write another chapter in your long love story.

The advantage of Parisian connections: your friend Sophie offered you her apartment in the 11th arrondissement for the duration of your stay, as she was away in the south of France. You meet her upstairs neighbour outside the narrow, early nineteenth-century building on a quiet street just off the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine and collect Sophie’s key, taking note of the door codes. 

“Holy shit. Look at this place!”

Ben has carried the bags up the stairs - thankfully, Sophie’s flat is on the first floor - and followed you into the little apartment. You turn and grin when you notice how entranced he looks, staring up at the wooden beams in the tiny hallway, peeking out into the communal courtyard, tilting his head this way and that to check out the books on Sophie’s shelves. 

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” You pick up your suitcase and lead the way into the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed as you take off your shoes and wriggle your toes happily.

“It’s incredible. Exactly what you might imagine a Parisian apartment to be.” He drops his own bags in the corner and joins you on the bed, flopping back onto the mattress and yawning.

You lie back and turn to face him, resting a hand on his stomach. “Let’s do some exploring. I know we’re tired, but I want to show you around, get some dinner, buy some wine…”

The featherlight touch of his fingers, working their way under your denim blouse and stroking the soft skin of your waist, sends delicious shivers through you.

“We could do some exploring here, right now…?” he asks, eyes twinkling and a smile on his lips. 

“You know how tempting that offer is, Benjamin, but let’s restore our energy first, hmmm?”

Dinner is Vietnamese food from a tiny restaurant just around the corner, a staple favourite from your time living in the city, followed by a walk around the neighbourhood and a stop at a nearby supermarket, to stock up on some essentials and a bottle of wine. As you climb the stairs to the apartment, the fatigue from a day of travel and the underlying, gnawing anxiety about your future starts to hit you. 

You should just say it to him. Ask him outright what he wants to happen.

You push the thought down, down, as deep as it will go as you settle on Sophie’s tiny sofa and watch Ben uncork the wine in the coin cuisine, the little kitchenette tucked into a corner of the living room. You spot a portable speaker tucked on one of the bookshelves and connect it to your phone, scrolling through your playlists until you find what you want. 

“Never let it be said that you don’t cultivate an atmosphere, Lyd,” he says, handing you a glass of the purple-red wine and joining you on the couch. “Let me guess: this is a Paris-specific playlist?”

You hide your face behind one hand and peek at him through your fingers as he laughs, leaning in to kiss your cheek as Serge Gainsbourg’s ‘La chanson de Prévert’ starts to play.

He rests his head on your shoulder as you listen to the song together. It’s a favourite of yours regardless, but tonight, with the man you love so deeply but still fear losing nestled in beside you, Gainbourg’s plaintive melody and lyrics about lost love are like a punch to the gut.

“Lyddie?”

Ben is sitting up, looking at you with concern. “You look so sad, all of a sudden - you okay?”

“It’s just the song, it’s so –” You halt yourself. No. Time to say it.

“I guess I’m just really feeling how close I am to the end of my time in Barrow, that’s all.”

His chocolate-brown eyes soften and he wraps you in a warm embrace. “Still got plenty of time, Lyddie.”

“And then?”

“And then…?”

“What happens? To us, I mean.”

He looks surprised at the question. “We’ll be okay, one way or the other. Right?”

But what does that mean?

You’re too tired to ask the question, you tell yourself. In truth, you’re too scared to - not because you fear his reaction, not at all. Rather, it’s because you fear that your concerns might upset him.

Ben’s head has barely hit the pillow before he’s sound asleep, one arm draped loosely around your waist. For you, though, sleep is elusive, arriving only as the dawn starts to break over the city of light. 

You wake, exhausted, to the aroma of fresh coffee brewing and the sound of Ben pottering around the apartment, humming the melody of “La chanson de Prévert” to himself. With a groan, you remember you’d planned to do some research today and force yourself out of bed.

“Bonjour, la belle Lyddie! Du café?” Ben waves a little espresso mug at you and you nod weakly. 

He is bright and cheerful as he moves around the kitchenette, pouring the coffee and joining you at the tiny dining table that acts as a kind of divider between the kitchen and the rest of the living area. 

“Did you sleep okay?”

You look up, and his face falls when he spies the telltale redness in your eyes. “I’m taking that as a no. What’s going on, Lyd?”

A fortifying sip of the strong coffee. You sit upright and look at him, studying his beautiful face. “Darling, I meant what I said last night. About how anxious I am, how scared of what comes next, the…uncertainty of it all.”

“But we know we’re serious about each other? We talked about it,” he replies, sipping his own coffee. “You know that. Don’t you?”

“I do. I really do. And we are, but -” you pause to gather your thoughts. “But that doesn’t mean there’s an answer for what happens when I have to go home, and that’s eating away at me.”

He looks at you kindly, but you can see the confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean, exactly, Lyd? Surely we can see if circumstances change over the summer, and if not then we do distance until stuff gets figured out. Right? Things are going to be just fine.”

It’s so tempting to smile and agree, but you can’t. You owe him honesty, as much as you want clarity. 

“Is that really what you want?”

“Distance? It’s not ideal, but if it comes to it I think we can make it work and - Lyd?”

You have closed your eyes, fearful of tears falling. 

Say it. Say it. Be honest with him.

“I - I don’t think I want a long-distance relationship.”

Ben makes no effort to hide his shock. “You don’t want a long-distance thing?” He shakes his head in amazement. “Even if that’s the only option for the moment?”

“I just want certainty, not constantly saying everything would be okay or we’d see what happens when we don’t know that things will be okay, or what’s going to happen. I want you, love. I want a life with you, you know that. Don’t you?”

“But you don’t want long-distance with me.” His brow furrows and his jaw ticks as he stares at the floor. 

“I don’t know, I mean I just want what we have now, I don’t know if I could cope with the implications of that kind of distance and -”

He exhales sharply, exasperated, and reaches for his light cotton jacket. “So it’s all or nothing. You would rather have no relationship than even try distance, is that it?”

Fury and sadness mingle and build in your chest. “Ben, that’s not what I fucking said.” Your hands fall to your sides, defeated. “I’m just - fuck, I’m not finding the words right now.” 

“Well, if you find them later let me know.” He opens the door of the apartment and pauses for a moment. “See you, Lyddie.”

You sit staring into space for a good half hour at your appointed desk in the print room at the Bibliothèque nationale, before you open the grey archive box of lithographs you’d called up for the day. 

The ritual of research is familiar and soothing, a useful distraction from the memory of the argument that morning. You set out your camera and prepare your customary scraps of paper inscribed with the call number of the collection, to make it easier for you to match up images with notes when you return to the materials at home. Wherever the hell “home” is supposed to be, now. 

Assess each print. Study it. Immerse yourself in the details before photographing it and writing up your observations on your laptop. Repeat over and over, add to your research materials and stave off the metaphorical wolves circling in your brain. 

Your stomach starts to rumble just before one o’clock. The garden courtyard outside the building that houses the print room is busy, with researchers and visitors taking an al fresco lunch and chatting over coffee. Salad consumed, you take your phone out of the transparent plastic briefcase you are required to use inside the library. 

No message from him. Nothing. 

You decide to make a call. She should be on her lunch now, too. 

“Lyd! How are you? How’s Pareeeeee?” Kate’s voice is cheery and comforting, and exactly what you needed to hear. 

“Hiya… um, can you talk for a few minutes?”

She immediately knows there’s something wrong and her tone shifts. “Of course, always… Lyd, what’s happened? Are you okay?”

Deep breaths. “Kate, I think I need to make a decision and I’m fucking terrified.”

Kate pauses, aware that she doesn’t need to ask you what this is about. “Okay. Talk to me. Let’s work through it.”

BEN: When do you think you’ll be finished for the day? We should talk. I’m so sorry about this morning x

LYDIA: Probably by 4.30 or so. Do you want me to come meet you?

BEN: I’ll come to you. You want food? It’s a nice day for a picnic dinner. 

LYDIA: It is. Dinner is your choice. Meet me at the rue Vivienne exit at 4.30 or so? x

BEN: You say that as if I know where that is… I’ll find it. See you soon, Lyddie. Love you. 

Ben Morales leans against the railings of the Bibliothèque nationale and looks at his watch. He’s early, so he meanders across the street and wanders into the Galerie Vivienne, admiring the fine detail of the mosaic floors and brass light fittings that adorn the nineteenth-century covered arcade. He pauses at an antiquarian bookstore and print shop, perusing the selection of vintage postcards displayed in wooden crates outside. 

He’s standing at the entrance to the arcade when he looks up and sees you coming through the gates of the library, somehow managing to carry a backpack, tote bag, and small cross-body handbag all at once. 

You don’t notice him at first, instead turning your head in both directions as you look for him. Ben’s heart soars when he sees you, in spite of the nagging ache he’s felt in the pit of his stomach ever since the argument you’d had that morning. 

He calls out to you from across the street, raising his hand in an enthusiastic wave, and a warm, delighted smile spreads across your face when you realise he’s there, waiting for you. He’s as impossibly handsome as ever in his navy blue shirt jacket, white tshirt, and jeans, tote bag slung over one shoulder. 

You keep Kate’s words from your lunchtime conversation in the forefront of your mind. “You know what you want, Lyd. You know what you need to do.”

“Sorry, I got delayed on the way out of the print room and then it always takes longer to pack up than I’d anticipated and then I thought I should pop to the bathroom before I left and then -”

Ben interrupts your explanation with a kiss and a hug. “I’m so sorry, Lyddie. I’m sorry about this morning.” He pulls away and holds out a small, flat brown paper bag. “A peace offering.”

The bag contains a selection of vintage postcards of Paris, postmarked in the early years of the twentieth century: Notre-Dame, photographed from the Left Bank; the place de la Bastille; the facade of the Bibliotheque nationale you’d just left. 

“Some of your favourite places, right?”

You reach for his hand and lean in for a kiss. “You know me so well. Thank you, my love, they’re beautiful.” You spot a larger brown paper carrier bag in his other hand. “Dinner?”

Ben smiles, holding out the bag for your approval. “I ended up getting a selection of stuff from one of the Asian takeout places near here. And I picked up a bottle of chilled white wine, and some paper cups. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. Let’s go, Benjamin - dinner at the Palais-Royal awaits.”

“I have to admit, I did wonder when you said we were going to a royal palace. Didn’t seem very…Lyddie.”

Ben quirks an eyebrow in your direction. You giggle as you reach into the bag of takeout and retrieve boxes of rice, steamed buns, gyoza, and nems. 

“I mean, technically it was a royal residence. But the gardens - where we are now - were public, as were the arcades and shops.” You set the boxes of food on a green metal park chair, serving as a makeshift table in front of your bench. “And it was an important location in the revolutionary period, so…”

He grins and opens the bottle of wine. “Ah! There it is. That’s my Lyd.”

His Lyd. Affection surges in your chest, and you place a hand on Ben’s knee, giving it a light squeeze as he pours some of the white wine into a paper cup and hands it to you.

He raises his own cup in your direction. “To my clever, revolutionary girl.”

You swap stories about your respective days as you dig into the food: Ben describing his informal solo tour of literary locations on the Left Bank, you talking through your finds in the print room. He shows you photos he took of Richard Wright’s apartment building, of the original site of Sylvia Beach’s Shakespeare and Company, and a selfie of himself looking completely perplexed at the plaque on the rue du Cardinal-Lemoine that refers to James Joyce as a “British writer of Irish origin.”

You burst out laughing at that one. “I’m so glad you found that. It annoys me every time I see it.”

“I sent it to Evan. He was not impressed.” He slips his phone back into his pocket and reaches for another spring roll. “And then I went and sat in the Luxembourg Gardens for a bit, worked over a little more of the play, thought about Beckett in Paris, watched the world go by. I remembered you said it was one of your favourite places to just sit and think.” 

He smiles softly, almost shyly, at you, and with a pang you remember that some serious conversation lies ahead, no matter how tempting it is to sit here forever in the Palais-Royal, eating your picnic dinner and drinking your wine surrounded by the ghosts of writers and lovers and revolutionaries long past. 

Lemon-scented wipes remove the residual traces of nems and dipping sauces from your fingers, and Ben stacks the empty food containers in the brown paper bag before topping up your paper cup of wine. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you to hold you close. 

He sips his wine and takes a deep breath. “I wanted to talk about earlier.” 

You raise your head, turn to him, and nod. He rests a hand on your thigh, tracing circles with his index finger on your leg. 

“I’m sorry if it ever felt like I was dismissing your worries, Lydia. I - well, I guess I was avoiding the issue. Like if I kept saying things would work out, they’d just… work out.”

You smile gently and reach for his hand. “Without having to make the hard call.”

He squeezes your hand and nods. “Exactly. But I did a lot of thinking about that today. About the future, about what I want - what you want.” He gives you a nervous glance.

“You were right, Lyd, long-distance couldn’t give us…I don’t want long-distance with you, either. I couldn’t, Lyd. I want what you said you want - a life, us, together. Like now.” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “I can’t imagine anything else.”

You bring your hand to rest on his and close your eyes, feeling tears prickling against your eyelids. 

He takes a deep breath. “Lyd, look at me.” Your eyes meet his, dark and warm and serious all at once. “Lyd, I - I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s all I want, and - fuck, I think I’ve known I wanted that for a while now.”

You open your mouth to respond and he shakes his head gently. “Lyddie - Lydia - I want to be with you, no matter what it takes.” Another deep breath. “And that’s why - if you want, of course, only if you want - I’ll move back with you at the end of the year. I’ve got some job alerts set up, I’ll find something, you know? I - I just want to be with you.”

“You can’t give up your whole life, darling.” Your voice is quiet as you take in the significance of what he’s telling you, what he’s offering. To his astonishment, you burst out laughing.

“What’s funny, Lyd?”

“I did a lot of thinking today, too. You know you’re all I want, don’t you?” You look at him expectantly, and he nods. “And I was going to tell you that - if you wanted - I would try to stay in the US, so that I could be with you. So that we could make a life together, plan our future.” You turn to him and grin. “But now it seems we’re still going to be on opposite sides of the pond, just with swapped continents.”

Laughter rises from Ben’s chest, emerging as a bright, wide smile and eyes crinkling with delight. He cups your face with his hands and kisses you, over and over, before pulling away abruptly. 

“Wait. You said I couldn’t give up my life, but you want to give up yours? And you know Barrow doesn’t do partner or spousal hires…”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be giving up my life. It would be living the life I want to live, with the man I adore. That’s better, no?” You reach over to brush an errant curl off his forehead. “Anyway, I can look for a position within commuting distance, right? I’d rather that than feel I had got a job I didn’t really deserve.”

He blushes slightly and looks at you from under his lashes. “Even so. I meant it, I would follow you anywhere. I’ll go wherever you want me to be, wherever you want to be.”

“Okay. How about this?” You sit up a little straighter, hands resting on his. “We’re clearly both prepared to move. So…we both start looking for jobs, you near my place and me around Barrow, and whoever gets an appointment first - that’s where we go.”

Ben looks into the middle distance and nods, turning over the proposal in his head. “That sounds like a plan, baby.” 

“Then it’s a deal?”

He grins and kisses you softly. “It’s a deal.”

The evening is bright and warm as you meander hand in hand through the narrow streets of the Marais, heading east, homeward bound. 

You spot a buzzy corner café and nudge Ben. “How about a drink, darling? Something bubbly, maybe?”

He smiles, and you know his eyes are sparkling behind his sunglasses as he squeezes your hand and follows your lead towards one of the small round tables arranged outside the café. The server is typically Parisian: efficient, polite but not overly familiar, and they take your order and return promptly with two glasses of champagne and little dishes of olives and mixed nuts. 

“À nous deux, Paris!” Ben clinks his glass to yours and you giggle as the first sip sends bubbles bursting on your tongue. 

“Quoting Balzac in the original French?! Where were you all my life, Benjamin?”

He shrugs and smiles to himself. “Could ask you the same question.”

Long, thick fingers begin to rub circles on the flesh of your thigh, feeling the heat of your skin through the light fabric of the button down sky blue shirt dress you’re wearing. You echo the gesture, tracing patterns on the back of his hand, and your expression becomes more serious, more intense, your voice quieter.

“I love you, Ben.” 

He squeezes your thigh gently. “I love you, Lyd.” 

Sipping champagne and nibbling on the snacks, you watch the world go by, content and cosy in the little bubble that is just you and him. You’re checking your appearance in the bathroom mirror when a realisation sweeps through you. Your eyes widen, mouth forming into a little “o” before stretching into a happy smile as you ascend the stairs from the basement to the main café and rejoin Ben at the table.

“So something occurred to me.”

He chases the last olive around the dish with a cocktail stick. “Mmmmm?”

“We’re doing this, aren’t we? We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. That’s what we’ve said we want. Right? I didn’t imagine that?”

Ben lifts his head, puts down the cocktail stick, and looks into your eyes with a bemused smile on his face. “No, you didn’t. And yes, we are.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles broadly. “And isn’t it fucking wonderful?”

You nod excitedly and a surge of laughter erupts from both of you, quietened only by a warm, passionate kiss. You break away and run your fingers through the messy strands of hair around his forehead.

“I know people might think it’s soon, love. But… it’s not. I know.”

“I know too, Lyddie. When you know, you know.” He reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. “And to be honest, I don’t think anyone who knows us will think it’s too soon.”

The server returns to take the empty glasses and dishes. “Autre chose?” [Something else?]

Ben winks at you mischievously and orders two more glasses of champagne. 

The walk back to the apartment should have taken about twenty minutes. Or at least, it would have had you not both been tipsy, incredibly happy, and unable to keep your hands off each other. 

It takes just under an hour for you to get from the Marais back into the heart of the faubourg Saint-Antoine, stopping here and there along the way to indulge in some making out in quiet side streets and passageways. 

“I’m so glad there’s only one flight of stairs,” you hiss theatrically, Ben trailing a hand over your ass as you reach the landing and the door to the flat. 

Once inside, you pull him tight to you and move swiftly in the direction of the small bedroom, fingers already hooked inside the waistband of his jeans as he holds your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, tongues sweeping over each other and lips pressed together so hard you swear they’ll be bruised by morning.

“Sit on the end of the bed, baby.” He nods and follows your instructions, undoing his jeans as he watches you standing before him. 

You start to unbutton your dress, keeping your eyes on him as you ease it off and let it fall to the floor. Ben’s eyes roam slowly over you, mouth falling open slightly as he takes in the floral print of your panties, the light blue lace of your bra, the softness and curves of your body. 

You move closer to him, standing between his legs as he wraps his arms around your lower back and buries his face against your breasts while you languidly trail your fingers through his hair. 

You pull back and look at him, immediately giggling. He still has his glasses on, and those coffee-brown eyes are half-hidden behind a fog on the lenses. 

“Let’s take these off, shall we, Professor Morales?”

The combination of champagne and a decision about your future together has made you joyful, more confident - and more direct. 

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that, baby?” 

Ben raises his eyebrows and his ears flush pink. “I don’t really think…uh…”

You kiss him, his hands moving to grab the flesh of your ass and pull you tight to his body. 

“I think you’re hot as fuck, Ben Morales, and I’m going to tell you. And show you.” You wrap your arms around his neck and encourage him to move backwards a little, so that you can straddle him. “Lemme show you how gorgeous you are to me, my love. Hmmm?”

He grins, nods, and moans as his mouth passes over the velvet skin of your heavy tits. You help him out of his white T-shirt, and pause to take in the sight of him: your thighs framing his hips and waist, his hands resting on them; his tummy, somehow both broad and solid and yet soft, pressed deliciously against your own belly; his beautiful face, eyes filled with desire, and mouth begging to devour and be devoured. 

The temptation is too strong, your hands moving to caress his face as your lips meet his again. You keep your forehead pressed to his as you break the kiss and whisper to him, murmuring about how his dark gaze can make you ache for him, what it feels like to have his lips pressed to your body. 

Your hands move slowly across his shoulders and down his back, feeling the warmth of his golden skin, the strength underneath the surface. “This beautiful body, baby,” you murmur, placing tiny kisses to his collarbone. “When you’re above me, fucking me, or about to, and I look up and see you so fucking broad and solid…”

His breathing hitches as your mouth works its way down his chest and towards his tummy, lips and tongue picking out those little patches of freckles that you love so much, teeth sometimes scraping lightly over his warm, solid middle as you carefully move your body off his and onto the floor between his legs.

“You know how fucking sexy this tummy is, baby. Told you the first night we were together.” He looks sceptical and your hands roam over the warm softness of his skin, your cunt positively aching with need at the sensation. 

“I’m serious, Ben. It’s so fucking hot, the way your body looks, the feeling of your tummy against mine…” You whine as you roll your hips and clench your thighs, and he sits up slightly to drag down his jeans and underwear, a hand wrapping around his cock as he seeks some relief of his own. 

You reach for his other hand, holding it gently as you suck each finger in turn. “I love these hands, baby.” You kiss his palm and he gasps. “I love the sight of them, the feeling of them on me, in me, the things they do to me.”

His eyes are wide and dark with lust and adoration. “Fucking hell, Lyd, you’re incredible.”

And then your fingers join his, working the base of his cock and making Ben gasp with sheer pleasure. He moves his hands up to grope and caress your breasts, long fingers slipping under the lace of your bra to play with your nipples. 

“Touch yourself,” he hisses, hands full as he massages the soft weight of your tits. You obey the instruction, keeping your eyes locked on him as you bring one hand to part your soaking folds while the other continues to jerk him off. 

Ben watches for a moment as you rub small, firm circles over the aching bundle of nerves while pleasuring him simultaneously. “Fuck, baby, this is so fucking hot. You’re so good to me.”

You’re on your knees, now, and your mouth is actually watering at the sight before you. “Can I suck your cock, baby?”

He grunts his consent. “This…” You flick your tongue over the tip. “This is fucking gorgeous.” 

“Please, Lyd.” You look up at him and he whines a little, completely turned on by the sight of you between his legs, one hand now caressing the firm muscles of his calf and the other holding his cock in place. You oblige, expertly trailing your tongue along his full length before beginning to take him, bit by bit, inside your wet mouth. 

Ben cries out your name as you continue your ministrations, looking down at you with his eyes blown wide. “I‘ll come if you keep going, baby,” he hisses. “Wanna fuck you, please. Please. Need you.”

You swirl your tongue around the tip one last time before releasing him, bringing your hands to rest again on his legs, fingers massaging the muscles of his thighs as you hum in satisfaction. 

“C’mon, Lyddie.” He gestures with his head and you stand. He pulls you to him with one hand, palm and fingers splayed across the small of your back as he tugs down your panties with the other. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, and his eyebrows quirk with surprise.

“You’re fucking soaking?” 

The tone of his voice makes you laugh, and he chuckles against the warm softness of your belly before kissing it, over and over, as your fingers wind through his curls. 

“I told you, love, you’re so fucking hot. Don’t even have to touch me and I’m ready for you.”

Ben grins wickedly as you push him back onto the bed and straddle him again, reaching down and stroking his cock a couple of times before you ease him into you and sink down, moaning loudly as he stretches you, fills you, takes you. You’ve had each other so many times now, and yet the sensation of him inside you remains new and thrilling. 

You start to move, shifting and rolling your hips in a careful, deliberate rhythm that has the two of you sighing and gasping with deep, delicious pleasure. You lean forward to come closer to him, desperate for his touch, for the warmth of his chest against yours. He eases down the straps of your bra a little and caresses your tits as he starts to fuck up into you, meeting your movements. 

He lifts his head up, greedily seeking your lips. His hands trace the curve of your back down to your hips and ass as he watches your bodies moving together, and he smiles wistfully as he brings a finger to your clit. “God, I love fucking you, Lyd.”

You giggle and cry out at his touch, riding him harder still as you edge closer to coming. His finger draws firm, tight circles over the swollen bud, tracing the familiar path he has carved out in you so many times. “Fuck me, baby - gonna come, don’t fucking stop - you gonna come?”

He closes his eyes tightly as the fingers of his other hand press hard into your thigh, breath hitching and voice raw. “Mmmmhmm. I’m so fucking close. Hold on, can you?”

You nod and try to temporarily quell the orgasm that’s been building in you since you got him home, Ben slowing his finger’s steady movements over your soaking clit.

And then the pace increases again, and you’re there, and he’s there. Together. 

Morning announces itself with a rustle of paper and a delicious, buttery aroma. Eyes blinking open, you become conscious of Ben’s soft lips on the nape of your neck - and aware that the enticing smell is right under your nose. 

“Bonjour, Lyd.” Ben is holding an open paper bag just under your nose. “Croissant?”

You turn to face him properly and sit up in bed beside him. “Hi, darling. How long are you up?”

He reaches into the bag and takes out a croissant, before placing it on a plate and handing it to you. “Not that long. You looked so beautiful and content, I didn’t want to wake you.”

The flaky, buttery pastry melts in your mouth as you sigh with pleasure. “Jesus fucking Christ. Nothing compares.”

Ben stops just as he’s about to bite into his own croissant, throwing you a cheeky glance. “Nothing? Nothing compares? You’re sure about that?”

You rest your head on his shoulder, the cotton of his long sleeved T-shirt soft and comforting against your face. 

“Nothing compares… in the world of baked goods.”

 He nods, satisfied, and takes a mouthful of the golden viennoiserie. 

“Oh, fuck. Maybe you’re right, Lyd.”

You giggle. “Thanks for these, love. You’re so kind.”

Ben shakes his head. “As if you wouldn’t have done the same.” He chews thoughtfully on the pastry. “Anyway, I feel like I still need to make it up to you. Yesterday morning, I mean.”

“You apologised, love, and we sorted things out. It’s fine.”

He shrugs. “I just feel bad. I shouldn’t have made you feel bad. Should have known by now that you struggle with this kind of uncertainty.” Ben reaches for your left hand, bringing it to his lips. “I’m sorry, Lyd.”

“Thank you, Ben. But we’re fine. I mean it. That’s what makes a relationship work, isn’t it? Learning about each other and knowing when we need to learn or listen more.”

He nods. “Exactly. And that’s why I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you. No matter where that is.”

The rest of the week is spent partly in research libraries, at least in your case, but mostly in the streets and cafés and galleries and museums of the city you love so much with the man you adore. 

You watch with quiet joy as he sees Manet’s Olympia in real life for the first time, shaking his head in admiration and awe as he takes in the painting. He steps back and folds his arms. 

“She’s really something.”

“She sure is. I’d be that confident too, if I was as gorgeous as her.”

He arches an eyebrow and looks at you. “You are. Much more so.” 

You huff a laugh as you link his arm and wander off to see Courbet’s Burial at Ornans. “You want me to pose like one of Manet’s French girls, Ben?”

“Wouldn’t say no, Lyd.”

At Harry’s New York Bar, the legendary cocktail bar near the Opéra, you cuddle up in a cosy corner of the piano lounge in the basement, and drink French 75 cocktails while the resident pianist plays Gershwin late into the night. You follow your own tailor-made walking tours, spotting literary landmarks and movie locations. A night in a Saint-Germain bar ends with a visit to the late-night bookstore L’Écume des Pages (and an inevitable bag full of newly-purchased books). Ben oohs and aahs over the bouquinistes’ boxes that line the walls overlooking the Seine, unable to resist a quick perusal of their selection of rare books and vintage magazines. You share a Paris-Brest pastry from Angelina, moaning appreciatively as you devour the delicious dessert. Together, you drink coffee and sip wine and talk and laugh and people-watch to your heart’s content. 

You could never tire of Paris. Even so, Ben’s wide-eyed excitement and enthusiasm makes everything new: the landmarks, the streetscapes, the food, the drink, the sounds and smells.

And you. He has made you new, too.

You feel it in the way he looks at you when you wave your hands and wax lyrical about god knows what painting or book or historical event. It’s in the reassuring weight of his arm around your shoulders as you wander through the narrow back streets, feeling like you’re ten feet tall. It’s there in the hundreds of little opportunities he finds during each day to touch you: the small of your back as you enter a building, the back of your hand as you sit together on the Métro, the side of your mouth as he brushes away an errant croissant flake. 

It is in the moments when you stop on the street and pull him to you for a kiss, unconcerned by the Parisians tut-tutting as they have to walk around the two of you. It’s in the moans he pulls from you, and you from him, when you are tangled in bedsheets at night, or in the morning, or even - after a lunchtime trip to the movies that escalated into some heated back-row kisses - in the middle of the afternoon, languidly stretched out naked for him on the bed. 

Just like one of Manet’s French girls, he joked.

Most of all, it’s there in the light that always seems to be shining in your eyes whenever you look at him, knowing that he is yours and you his. 

“You’re a tolerant man, Ben Morales,” you say with a chuckle as you walk through the imposing gates of Père Lachaise cemetery one bright morning. “Willing to hang out in Parisian cemeteries with me as I fangirl over the tombs of people no one has cared about for a hundred years or more.”

Ben looks at the list of names on the cemetery map and smiles at you, squinting slightly behind his sunglasses. “I rather like your Gothic side, Lyddie. And I appreciate this too, you know - I want to find Balzac and Proust’s tombs, while we’re here.” He drapes an arm across your shoulders as you climb steadily up one of the winding paths leading through the oldest part of the cemetery, stopping here and there to look at some of the more unusual tombs and memorials. 

There’s a certain part of Père Lachaise, its highest point, where you can look out and see the city unfolding below. You lead him there and sit on a bench, keen for him to take in the view. Other visitors and tourists meander past with their maps, chatting in various languages about Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison or any number of the luminaries whose remains lie alongside those of many more ordinary Parisians in this leafy enclave. 

And then it’s just the two of you, side by side, contemplative. Little birds chirp and chatter in the trees, their song a moment of peaceful stillness in the bustling city. 

Paris has a tendency to look particularly magical when you’re entering into the final hours of a visit. This evening, the fading spring sunlight cuts a path along the street below, gleaming off the windows and shop signs that line the ancient thoroughfare.

“My heart always breaks a little when I have to leave.”

Ben finishes combing back his hair, still damp from the shower and curls starting to form at the nape of his neck. He turns from the mirror just inside the door of the apartment, adjusting the collar of his white shirt. 

“This isn’t the last time, Lyddie. Not for you, not for us.”

You nod sadly, picking up your purse and slipping into a pair of dark red patent ballet flats. “I know. I’ve been telling myself that for twenty-odd years, but it never gets easier. Stupid, huh.”

He shakes his head as he reaches for your hand. “Not stupid. You love this place, and twenty-odd years is a long time to be in love.” He looks you up and down admiringly. “You’re all fancy.”

You cock your hip and strike a pose as Ben laughs. “I like to dress up for my long-term lover, the city of Paris, Monsieur Morales. Anyway, you’re all fancy too.”

“Not like you, I’m not. You look…” He exhales as he takes you in. “You look like you walked out of a perfect French movie.”

Even you have to admit he’s got a point. Sure, the outfit had been a bit of a splurge, a treat to yourself from the BHV department store. But a classic, knee-length little black dress would never go out of style. At least, that’s how you justified it. That, and the fact that it hugged your body just so, working wonders with your curves, somehow narrowing your middle and accentuating your tits and hips in a manner that was impossibly elegant and incredibly sexy. It was a marvel. 

For once, you got a flash of what Ben always told you he saw when he looked at you. It made for a pleasant change.

This evening you have accessorised with a vintage brooch and chunky brass earrings, the gold necklace Ben gave you for Valentine’s Day a permanent fixture around your neck. The spring evening is warm enough for you to get away with a dark red pashmina shawl in lieu of a jacket, though you worried bare legs might be a step too far and decided not to forego your black hold-up fishnet stockings.

Ben slips into his olive green suit jacket and you squeeze his hand. “Thank you, my love. You look beautiful, too.” 

He does. But then, he always does: his beauty is easy, natural, effortless; as obvious to you when he’s bleary-eyed and bed-headed in his old t-shirts and pyjama bottoms as it is now, with him suited and booted and looking every inch the debonair Parisian intellectual in his clear-framed glasses.

For an instant you wish you could travel back to your broken-hearted self all those years before, to tell her that a better day would come, that real love would find you when and where you least expected it, and that it would arrive in the form of a man as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside.

Most people would say the two of you are a little overdressed for your dinner destination. But then, you aren’t most people.

You catch a glimpse of the two of you reflected in a shop window as you walk along boulevard Henri IV. You, black dress and red accessories; Ben, green suit with his top shirt buttons undone, hair combed back and starting to form soft waves a little as it dries. The fact that you are both wearing sunglasses only enhances the sense of slightly retro European chic. 

“Look at us. Not bad, hmmm?” 

Ben stops, puts down the wicker basket he’s carrying, and winds his arms around your waist, kissing the side of your neck. “Perfect.”

You stroll past a little park near the river, pointing out a reconstructed bit of the Bastille to him, and wander in the direction of the Pont Marie and onto the Île Saint-Louis. It’s a little out of the way for where you’re going, but you have a good reason. He asked you a couple of days ago what your favourite view of the city was, and you intend to show him. 

The evening sky is streaked with a palette of pale blues, pinks, oranges and reds as you reach the Pont de la Tournelle and stop to lean on the parapet of the bridge. 

“This is it.”

He stands beside you and rests his hands on the parapet, following your gaze westwards along the river, taking in the silhouette of Notre-Dame - still obscured by scaffolding - painted against the vibrant canvas of the sunset, and the curve of the quaysides as the Seine splits around the Île de la Cité. 

“This is my spot. When I stand here I feel as though I could wrap my arms around the city and as though it wraps its arms around me.” You look at Ben, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. That’s a bit weird, I know. I am aware that it is a city and I cannot hug it, please don’t run away.”

He looks at you with affectionate bemusement. “You know how beautiful that is, to have those feelings and be able to articulate them like that?” He reaches for your hand. “It isn’t weird. It’s you, and it’s wonderful.”

You rest your head on his shoulder and squeeze his hand. “The first time I came to Paris after…everything, I came here the first night. I stood here and I looked at the cathedral and the city.” You pause as the memory resurfaces. “And then I had a massive cry. See? Weird.”

Ben shakes his head and chuckles, pulling you close to him. “Not weird. Catharsis.”

“I guess it was. I was still here. Notre-Dame was still here. Paris was still here. It gave me a sense of hope, I think, for the first time. Like, I knew things would get better.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know?” He kisses your forehead and leans in to murmur, cheekily, in your ear: “So did things get better?”

You wrap your arm around his waist, slipping it under his jacket so you can feel the strong muscles of his back under his shirt. “Eh, I guess you could say that.”

Dinner is simple: a baguette, a selection of cheeses and charcuterie, and a bottle of champagne. But you’ve made the effort to bring proper glasses and plates from the apartment, and you can’t fault the location: watching the river from the Quai Saint-Bernard on the left bank, waving at the people on the big tourist boats - the bateaux-mouches - as they pass. 

“Hell of a view,” Ben muses in between mouthfuls of baguette and Brillat-Savarin cheese. 

You gaze across the river at the Île Saint-Louis and smile contentedly. “It is perfection.”

He chuckles and leans in to kiss you. “I was talking about you. But Paris isn’t too bad, either.”

He looks back at the river, a smile playing on his lips, and you take a moment to admire a perfect view of your own: Ben’s handsome face in profile, hair moving gently in the breeze, the light tan he had acquired after a week of wandering in Parisian spring sunshine complementing the patches of grey-white hair at the hinge of his jaw. 

You can’t help but marvel a little at how fucking gorgeous he is. Well done, Lyd. In that instant, as you take him in, you concentrate on the wonderful feeling of calm and safety that suffuses your body when you’re with him. 

You’d only realised after the abrupt end of your last relationship that you’d spent a decade and a half walking on eggshells, constantly anxious and never wholly comfortable - even with someone who claimed to love you. You feared suggesting the simplest thing: a movie, a dinner, a holiday, lest it prompt a negative reaction or criticism.

With Ben, though? Even with the ongoing uncertainty about where, exactly, your future would be, you had never felt anything other than safe. With a clearer path ahead agreed together, the residual anxiety faded, too. 

It was a new and marvellous feeling. 

As the evening draws in, a little group of musicians set up nearby on the quay, accompanied by a cluster of couples who immediately began to dance to the band. Ben turns and smiles at the spectacle.

“They do this as soon as the weather gets warm here,” you explain, smiling widely as the dancers move around an open area on the quayside. “Sometimes it’s French classics, sometimes American big band, sometimes Latin, sometimes a more contemporary mix, like tonight.”

Ben stands up, dusts off his pants, picks up the picnic basket and extends his hand to you. 

“Would you like to dance, Lyddie?”

How can you refuse, when he’s looking like that and asking you in that voice and smiling at you with such love and affection? 

“I’m not good at this sort of thing, Ben, I warn you.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately. “Bullshit. Now: dance with me, Lyd.”

You get to your feet and he leads you in the direction of the makeshift dancefloor, leaving the picnic basket to one side as he brings you into a dance hold and begins to move, pulling you close to his body as the band and its female lead singer begin a cover of Mitski’s “My Love Mine All Mine”.

The rest of the city falls away as you dance with him, nuzzling against his neck as his hips sway gently, rhythmically against you in time to the slower tempo of the music. Ben’s lips press softly to the top of your head, and you hum in absolute contentment. 

“I love this song, you know.”

He chuckles. “I do. You sing it very beautifully in the shower, sometimes.”

“I doubt it’s beautiful.”

“Trust me. It’s beautiful.”

You nestle against him and sing along, joining in with the lyric that always made you think of him, of how he had broken through your sturdy defences, smoothing and healing the jagged, broken pieces of your soul: “My baby, here on earth/Showed me what my heart was worth”. 

You sing the words quietly against his chest, feeling the vibrations from your voice meeting the rhythm of his heartbeat in a curious music made of two lovers. As the song draws to a close, Ben tenderly lifts your chin and kisses you, enveloping you in those strong arms. Cologne, coffee, bread, paper, something that is just his: his scent, the scent of love and safety.

His big hands skim appreciatively over your figure in the new black dress as he inhales your own perfume, nose buried in the crook of your neck. “Delicious, gorgeous girl,” he murmurs against your velvet skin. “You look incredible tonight, you know?”

Ben pulls your body even tighter to his and you whine softly, the press of his broad form to yours enough to send a rush of wetness to your core. 

“I think we need to get back to the apartment, my love.”

Ben sits at the end of the bed, wearing his shirt and boxers, watching as you take off your jewellery in front of the bedroom mirror. There’s something fascinating about the ritual: how you take out your earrings and put them in their box; the way you tilt your head forward as you remove your necklace.

He still can’t believe it, sometimes, the kind of love he has with you. He’s been desperate to get you home ever since you danced close and slow on the riverbank. That fucking black dress. Driving him slowly crazy all night, every time he looked at you. It’s the way it hugs your hips, accentuates the ample, full curves of your tits, and reveals just enough of your skin to make him want to ease it off your soft, welcoming body. 

His cock twitches at the thought. 

He stands up and crosses the floor, standing behind you. His hands gently caress you as you smile at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.

“I love this.”

Ben kisses the top of your arm. “I love this, too.”

His lips find their way along the line of your shoulder until they reach the crook of your neck. A little tug to the zipper of the dress and his mouth moves downwards, kissing and sucking at the back of your neck, hands roaming over your body and grabbing handfuls of you as he goes.

He’s pressed against your back, murmuring your name. The extent of his desire is already very much in evidence.

“Fuck, Lyddie.” His breath is warm and urgent against your neck.

“Mmmm?”

“I’ve wanted to take this off since the minute I saw you in it.”

You chuckle. “Looks that bad, huh?”

Lips still on your neck, he caresses your breasts as he shakes his head. “Looks too good on you.”

Ben licks a stripe up the side of your neck and you whine with pleasure, closing your eyes and reaching to caress his face.

“Can I take it off, my love?” His voice is lower, smokier.

You nod, locking your eyes on his. A frisson of excitement courses through your body as Ben eases down the rest of the zipper and eases you out of your little black dress, letting it pool at your feet. 

“Oh, fuck me. These new?”

When you bought the dress, you’d bought new lingerie, too. A bra in caramel and black lace whose delicacy belied its incredible construction, supporting your breasts perfectly. Matching underwear, high-waisted and full but completely sheer, made out of the same black lace that trimmed your bra.

And of course: the stockings.

You nod and close your eyes, trying to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror. You looked alright in the dress, but you still can’t quite face the body underneath it. Ben’s breath ghosts across your shoulder blades as he fondles your tits and kisses the top of your spine. 

“Open your eyes, Lyd.”

You hesitate.

“Lyd. Open your eyes.”

You obey. But you keep your gaze fixed on him, afraid of your own reflection, of a body that you still cannot believe anyone like him would ever really want. 

“Lyddie, please look.” Ben’s voice is firm but pleading. “Look at your beautiful face. Look at this gorgeous, sexy body.” 

He trails a finger along the contours of your breasts, tracing the lace trim of the bra. He brings his hands to your waist, to your hips, pulling you back against him ever so slightly so that you can feel how hard he is. 

You don’t think you’ll ever love your body. But, watching Ben drinking you in with his eyes, running his fingers over the black Parisian lace that clings to the most sensitive and sensual parts of you, you understand that you love the way he loves your body.

“This is what you do to me, Lyd, and I will tell you every day for the rest of our lives that you are the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” You turn to face him, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you deeply. 

He breaks away and looks into your eyes, dark irises searching yours. There’s a vulnerability there, a hint of doubt, lingering in spite of his words. 

“What is it, Lyd?”

You shrug, fingers lightly caressing the curls and waves that cluster around his ears. “I love that you think I’m beautiful. I… still don’t know if I ever will.”

He kisses you again, softer this time. “Can I at least try to convince you? Show you?”

You smile against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck. “I’d like that. Could… could you, like, take charge? For tonight?”

He quirks an eyebrow and returns your kiss, humming against your mouth. “Take charge?”

You feel embarrassment rising in your throat. You’d never really felt able to just ask for what you needed like this before. Old habits die hard.

“Ben, I never felt safe enough to ask a partner to take the lead like this…not before you.”

His expression softens. “I’d give you anything, Lyd. Anything you want.” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to him, chin resting on your shoulder. “And I feel safe with you, too.”

You tilt your head to kiss him. “So…?”

“So, I’m going to take charge and show you exactly how fucking beautiful you are, how sexy you are, how fucking happy I am that I get to be with you.” He pauses to kiss you again. “And if I have to, like I said - I’ll do this every day for the rest of time, if necessary, until you see what a perfect goddess you are.”

Another, deeper kiss; the sensation of his broad hands on the soft skin of your tits and belly, pulling you tight to him, the press of his erection against you as he guides you to lean back against the wall and slips his fingers under the crotch of your panties, parting your folds and working your clit and pussy until you’re panting with desire and need. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to fuck you. But then slowly, steadily, Ben sinks to the ground in front of you, mouth and teeth and tongue finding the softest, most yielding parts of your body as he works his way to his knees. 

Ben looks up at you, eyes glittering with lust and adoration. He is a supplicant before you, ready to worship, to seek and give a pleasure as sacred as it is profane. He venerates your body with his mouth. His tongue traces the outline of your hips, his lips kiss the softness of your lower belly, his teeth scrape across the thick flesh of your upper thighs. He tugs the panties down completely, parting your legs and helping you out of the garment. 

“I want you to keep the stockings on, okay?”

You nod your assent. Those perfect dark eyes find yours, a flash of mischief crossing his gaze as he gently pushes a finger inside you before placing both hands firmly on your hips, pressing into your flesh. 

And then he tilts his head, just so, and you cry out as he brings his lips to your wet pussy, mouth and tongue working your entrance as his nose rubs with precision against your clit. You buck slightly against him but he holds you in place, grunting and groaning with pleasure as he goes down on you. The warmth of his breath against your core makes your cunt clench around nothing, desperate for him.

You wind your fingers through the soft waves of his hair, holding him in position and throwing your head back as you revel in every lap of his tongue, every brush of his beard against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, every nudge of that beautiful nose against your clit. He’s eating you out like you’re his last meal, your moans and writhing body seemingly only serving to spur him on. 

Even so, Ben senses that you’re holding back. The position is incredible, the sight of him, the sound of him, the feel of him making you want to come harder than you’ve ever done before. But you worry about whether your legs will give way - whether you’ll hurt him if you fall forward. 

“I’ve got you, Lyd,” he murmurs, face still buried between your thighs. “Let go. I’ve got you. You’re so close. Come for me. Want you to come like this.”

With his fingers fucking you and his lips sucking and licking at your clit, your body yields and you cry out as you come against his face. 

He stays on his knees as you ride out the orgasm, thumbs rubbing a gentle circle against your hips, before scrambling to his feet and wrapping you in his strong arms. Your legs are still trembling as you lean in and kiss him like your lives depend on it, tasting yourself on his lips. He manoeuvres you to the bed, laying you down with the utmost care. 

You look up at him as he shifts into position above you, the low light catching the traces of your release that glisten across his face and his beautiful eyes flitting greedily over your face and body. You reach up to unbutton his shirt and he shucks off his undervest. An electrical current of desire courses through you as you rake your hands over his broad shoulders and down to that soft tummy you love so much. His eyes are warm and wanting: your darling, your lover, your partner. You are safe in his hands, and you are ready to give yourself entirely to him.  

A little smile quirks at his mouth as he lies down beside you, turning on his side and trailing his long fingers across the velvet skin of your tits, still enclosed in the delicate lace of your bra. 

“Do you know how much I want you, Lyd?” he murmurs, mouth working hot, needy kisses across your breasts. 

“Tell me.”

“Want you all the time.” You can feel his cock hard against you. “Want to have all of you, want to touch and kiss and fuck every last inch of you. I’m going to use my mouth on you now, baby, okay?”

He nips and sucks at the soft flesh of your belly as you moan, pussy aching for him. “And the more I have you, the more I want you.” He finds your soaking folds again and drags two fingers through the slick, bringing them to your lips so you can suck them clean. “I love you. And I can’t get enough of you.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-groan as he pulls you to him and quickly takes off your bra, mouth finding your breasts and tongue swirling over your nipples. You slip a hand between the two of you, tugging down his boxer briefs and wrapping your fingers around his cock as you stroke him, feeling him becoming fully hard under your careful touch.

“Do you think you have another in you, my love?” 

You nod. 

“Use your words, Lyd.”

“Yes. I think so…fuck, yes sir.”

He groans loudly against you and slips his fingers back through your soaking folds, chuckling a little at the whine of pleasure you let out as his warm breath ghosts against your ear. “Fucking hell, Lyd. You look so fucking beautiful. Such a beautiful woman.” He hooks his fingers against the perfect spot inside you and you buck against him, hand still working his dick. “And such a pretty pussy, so tight and so wet for me.”

He eases you into a different position, your back against his chest as his erection nudges against you. First his hands, then - with a shuffle down the bed - his mouth caresses the plump flesh of your ass, lips and teeth scraping over the sensitive skin as you whimper. He shifts your leg up and nestles himself into position.

“Can I have you, darling?”

You whine into the bed, feeling your orgasm building and building. “Please, baby, I need you inside me - fuck, baby, please…”

“I thought I was in charge?” 

His voice is low, honeyed, hot as he whispers in your ear. It tips you closer and closer to the edge. 

“You are… I just want you so fucking much.”

“You want me to fuck you, is that it?”

“Please. Fuck me, my love. Hard as you want to.”

“Fuck, Lyd.” With a groan and some muttered expletives, Ben sinks inside you, pausing for a moment to enjoy the sensation. “Always feels so incredible inside you, baby,” he pants, one arm holding you around your tits and the other against your belly. “Just - oh, fuck - just perfect.” 

It is perfect - perfect angle, perfect feeling of him stretching you, of his hands on you. He drags himself out of your cunt slowly, steadily, making you whimper at the loss of him. A snap of his hips and he’s buried inside you again, beginning a hard rhythm that has you crying his name into the bed as he fucks you, fast and deep, the softness of your ass cushioning his thrusts as he showers you with praise. His good girl. His beautiful woman. His love. 

His. His. Only his. Repeated. Possessive. Perfect.

He shifts his hand from your belly to your pussy, working tight circles over the swollen nub of your clit as you get closer and closer, mouth sucking on the delicate flesh of your neck, never letting up the rhythm until you cry out and come on his cock, the wetness audible as he fucks you through it. 

“Good, baby?” He pulls out as you’re still coming down, easing you onto your back and settling himself on top of you, carefully parting your legs. 

You look up at him, cockdrunk, seeing stars, and with no way to express how you feel other than a satisfied whine as you pull him to you for a hungry, sloppy kiss. Ben smiles and chuckles against your lips as he reaches down to gently hook an arm under your knee as he sinks back into you with a guttural moan. 

He picks up the pace again quickly, taking you harder now, rougher, even, and gripping the headboard of the bed with his free hand. His hair is dishevelled, errant short curls falling over his brow as sweat runs in rivulets over the freckles scattered underneath the hollow of his throat and lips finding yours as you start to babble to him incoherently, surrendering to the sensation. 

He drops his hand from the headboard to find yours, pressing your hand and arm into the mattress as he holds you down while he fucks you. 

“Talk to me, Lyd. Tell me. See how much I want you? Tell me.”

You mutter filthily about how deep he is, how big he is, how you love having him inside of you, how much you want him - need him - to fill you up. But then you look at him - at his beautiful face, screwed up and teeth gritted as he makes love to you - and another urge takes over, displacing the dirty talk with something no less intense, but softer, all the same.

“I fucking love you, Ben - fuck, keep going, that’s so good, fuck…”

He groans and reaches for your breast, groping it as he nears his own release. “You’re mine, Lyddie. All mine.”

“Yours, Ben. Every bit of me. Yours, forever, like you’re fucking mine.”

“My woman…my - oh, fuck - my good fucking girl.” You know he’s really close. “Keep talking, Lyd. Want to hear it.”

“You’re mine, baby - oh god, Ben, that’s so fucking good - all mine. I’ll give you anything. Everything.”

Ben rests his head against your neck, panting and moaning as his rhythm falters. “I’m all yours, Lydia, always - f-fuck, I’m gonna…”

You hold him tight, hands across the breadth of his back. “You’ll never be alone again, baby - fuck, Ben! - gonna take care of you, gonna be our own little family…”

He positively growls as he comes inside you, your head knocking against the headboard as he snaps his hips against yours before collapsing against your body. You hold him tight, gentle, slow, one hand winding through his curls and the other reaching for his hand as you plant soft kisses along his hairline.

He eases himself out of you with a final kiss and flops back onto the mattress beside you, still trying to catch his breath and with the most beautifully blissed-out expression on his face.

“I’m just going to clean up and take these stockings off, my love,” you murmur, shifting your body to the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

Ben grins and giggles to himself as he looks at you. “I am fantastic. Don’t know my name or what year it is, but I am fucking fantastic.”

You pad back from the bathroom as quickly as you can, discarding your stockings and climbing back into bed beside him. He’s reaching for you before you’ve even settled your body on the mattress, broad hands gently rubbing your belly, your hips, the line of your breasts. His breath is steadier now, face and body completely relaxed in the gorgeous afterglow.

“You are such a beautiful man.”

Ben opens one eye and meets your gaze. “Hmmmph?”

“I said, you are such a beautiful man. Don’t dare deny it.” 

He smiles softly, closing his eyes again as your fingertips trace the line of his nose, brush against an errant curl, find the outline of the little bare patches on the side of his jaw. Your thumb swipes gently across his lower lip, fingers seeking out the texture of his moustache. 

You go to speak, and stop yourself. 

“What were you going to say, Lyddie?” His voice is heavy, sleep beckoning him.

“Nothing, I was just - no, it’s stupid.”

“Nothing stupid could ever come out of your pretty mouth.”

You giggle quietly and bring yourself even closer to him, resting your hand on his chest. He reaches up to hold it. 

“It’s just that… I don’t know. When I look at you like this, at all the little things that are just uniquely you, it feels like everything fits. You know?”

He opens his eyes again. “Everything fits?”

“It’s like, ‘aha. Yes. That.’ Like I was always meant to be looking at this face. Like there was a bit of me that I didn’t even know I was missing and it just was…it was you. Even if I didn’t know it.”

He smiles and leans in for a soft kiss. “And now everything fits.”

He wakes her with coffee and kisses, knowing how much she hates prising herself from the warmth of their shared bed. A little incentive, a way to help her avoid panic later in the morning, one of those tiny acts of love they perform for each other every day. 

She orders a taxi for a couple of hours’ time and strips the bedsheets, casting an eye over their shared luggage waiting for departure as she joins him in the living area. Having put the sheets on a wash-dry cycle, her hands rest lightly on his broad shoulders as she quickly kisses him on the cheek and heads for the bathroom to shower. Instinctively, she gathers all but their essentials - toothbrushes and paste, shower gel - and slips them in a ziploc bag, ready to go into one of their cases. 

Once he’s showered, they continue their seamless little ballet of co-operation and partnership as they prepare to depart: a reminder to empty the trash here, an almost-forgotten phone charger spotted there, last few belongings squished into their hand luggage, and a final check on their passports and tickets. She checks every drawer and cupboard one more time while he places their trash bag in the small communal dumpster in the building’s courtyard. 

It is a banal ritual: unthinking, unrehearsed, instinctive. But there’s something in the way they slot together so neatly, the way they complement each other, the easy, naturalness of it all, that speaks to a sense of partnership that works as well in the routines of everyday life as it does in the bedroom. 

He carries the cases down to the main hallway as she checks the apartment’s small windows and locks up, following him downstairs after she drops off the key to Sophie’s neighbour. 

He’s outside, standing with the bags on the pavement outside the building. The G7 taxi pulls up almost immediately, and he can’t help but smile with pride when he hears her confidently chatting away in French to the driver as they load the trunk with their luggage. 

Her hand finds his in the backseat, head resting against his shoulder. Partners. A team.

As the car heads northwards towards the edge of the city, he casts a glance at his phone. Two new job alerts, for positions at institutions in Europe. 

He resolves to check them out properly once they get home. For now, though, just a squeeze of her hand, a kiss to the top of her head, and a silent resolution that he’d follow her to the ends of the earth. 

*******

Further A/N: I'm going to make a separate post with more details on the music, the locations, and the food in this chapter...

[thebardbullseye]

On the Purpose and Appreciation of Compelling Recaps: “Of the Reaching Green” (WWW Episode 10)

From the desk of TheBardBullseye

“Previously on “The Wizard, The Witch, and The Wild One.” Naram, spirit of the gentle sea, lies bound at the base of the Calabel Nautomantic Apparatus by Guild Mage Morrow of the Scepter’s Chorus. Our heroes stand divided. Having re-established contact with The Citadel, a castigated Suvi now has direct orders to do nothing until Steel arrives in Port Talon three days hence. Eursulon, having returned to the Ace of Wands alone, once again wields Wavebreaker, the sword that legend says belonged to Naram himself, with the power to break the spells and curses of his foes. And Ame, with just such a curse still clouding her mind and concealing crucial memories of Grandmother Wren and her most important lessons, now rushes forth to find her fox familiar, chasing him beyond the walls of Port Talon into the wasteland of witch fire and ash that stand between the city and the wrath of creeping kudzu beyond. We now return to Port Talon in the wee hours, as a tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a gleaming sword swinging at his side. [music swells] (0:00:18-0:01:30)”*

tl;dr below the fold- I’m captivated by the "Previously On" at the start of episode 10, and I wrote a whole damn essay discussing it. The recap is a brilliant piece of writing and a fascinating snapshot showcasing why this particular actual play podcast is So. Damn. Good. They didn’t have to go this hard!

// Spoilers (both direct and indirect) for Arc 1 // (but honestly I think if you don't already listen to this show, then hopefully this essay convinces you to.)

I’ve been relistening to “The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One” (WWW) from the beginning (starting with the Children’s Adventure). My work life has gotten super crazy in the last month (yay promotion!), and I’ve found the first arc (and firesides) to be a great boon during a stressful time. As I already know the story, I’m less concerned about missing something and will listen to it whenever I need to—note that when I listen to a new episode, I allocate free time to listen and do only that (and play solitaire so I don’t scroll social media). Anyways, when I got around to episode 10, I was reminded by how much I loved the “Previously On” recap at the start. I don’t know if it was written separately or improvised, and although I suspect the former, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter (1).

Before I get into it, y’all, this podcast is so fucking good. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it. There have been numerous moments, developments, episodes, etc. that have grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted in my face, “HEY! STUFF IS HAPPENNING! PAY ATTENTION TO THIS! MAKE THE HAPPY BRAIN CHEMICALS!” (in the Fox’s cadence and voice, of course). And sometimes, that voice compels me, perhaps as a Geas, to Do Something creatively (much like what you’re reading now). Early on, this was mostly a ramble to a friend, or word dump in a doc or group chat. Then, I wrote some music and some lyrics and some poetry, and then a full-length academic essay (…5k words long), and then designed a magazine cover, and on and on. (I don’t know why this podcast has my brain in a vice, but also, I sort of do, which is another essay in the drafts.) Regardless, the first instance of Creative Compulsion that manifested in a more structured manner was when episode 10 debuted and is in fact this very essay (that has since been rewritten and fleshed out). I didn’t have a Tumblr at that time, so my thoughts on this recap have just been collecting dust in my documents folder for more than a year. But, upon my relisten, I realized this episode introduction was significant and that there was more I wanted to say and praise, since I haven’t heard another one like it since.

When the episode first aired, I heard the first 90 seconds (2) of “Of the Reaching Green” and instantly replayed it three times before moving on to the rest of the episode because I was so captivated. After I finished the episode, I listened to it again. The episode had just come out, so the transcript was not yet available, and I wanted to see the recap as well as hear it. *Above, you will find my transcript of the recap, preserved as it was on that day, so my apologies for any unintentional spelling or grammar mistakes (3). Then, I stared at it and reread it, and started to piece together my thoughts on why the hell I’m so enamored by this. It’s 90 seconds of an hour and twenty-minute podcast, and not only that, it’s not even technically part of the diegetic episode, since it’s a recap! (What the hell, Brennan?!)

I promise I’ll get to those specific thoughts soon, but I think it’s important to alight briefly on the nature and necessity of recaps. In serialized storytelling mediums, most notably television shows, the audience often requires a recap of the previous events to refresh one’s memory since it’s been a week (or more) since the previous episode (TV Tropes). I think these may have fallen out of favor as of late, especially in the advent of prestige television, DVRs, and streaming—most producers probably assume that their audience is either binge-watching the show, has access to the previous episode, or can just look up a summary. Or if not done well, it may further confuse the viewer if too much or too little information is included (4). Further, recaps are NOT synopses of the previous episode—they serve to highlight the main points of the previous episode/storyline and specifically underscore what the audience needs to know for this episode. Additionally, these don’t necessarily show up before every episode; for some shows, these only happen for mid or end of season finales, when major storylines conclude. These are not just for returning viewers- in the bygone age of broadcast tv (I jest, kind of), people didn’t always catch every episode every week, so recaps also needed to be compelling. They needed give any random channel surfer the general gist so that they could watch the episode and convince them to not change the channel. Recaps don't need to execute on these all of these elements, nor do them perfectly, but a good recap communicates all of these things well in a very short time frame (usually around 1 minute). Essentially, "Previously On" segments say, 'pay attention to this.'

For actual play shows (a catch-all term for recorded or streamed TTRPG games), recaps serve this same purpose of reminding the audience of previous events, but these also do the additional duty of reminding the player characters themselves at time of recording of what is important in the story they’re telling and game they're playing. Often, the GM will recap the previous session so that everyone’s on the same page, and this is often improvised (as most things are). Needless to say these aren’t usually the most compelling part of the episode (though they don't have to be), and often devolve into synopses of the previous session (i.e., “Last time you guys did XYZ, Timmy fell down a well, ok let’s start…”). Or, if the GM does recap the most important points to know, it’s not usually that compelling to listen to—and honestly, why would one spend extra effort on something that insignificant anyway? Moreover, recaps in most actual plays serve the purpose of recapping for the players first and the audience second (5). The GM can remind, and players can ask questions, so the burden of this segment is lessened.

Ok, so back to our regularly scheduled essay about WWW. I mentioned earlier that I thought that the recap in episode 10 was not improvised at the start of the session and instead was written and recorded separately. While (to my knowledge) this hasn't been discussed publicly, there is some evidence in the structure, cadence, and delivery that lends credence to this assertion. On the whole, I don't think it particularly matters whether it was written or improvised; I merely mention it because the choice to script is significant when every other introduction is improvised (just look at much people love the "Fire" introduction for Calamity). This creative choice makes a lot of sense both in narrative and in production.

WWW first debuted in March 2023, releasing biweekly, so episode 10 aired in early July 2023. I would wager that most listeners don’t relisten to each episode in the intervening weeks, so most episodes start with an informal recap or general scene setting. However by this point, the story had just reached its major turning point at the end of episode 9—the recovery of Wavebreaker. This sword is the MacGuffin of the first arc, and each character is connected to it in some way—it breaks curses (one of which Ame is under), Eursulon was the last one with it but parted with it years ago in Port Talon (he also needs a weapon), and Suvi was the one that gave it to him in childhood. The previous episode also focused on Naram, a great spirit trapped in the harbor of Port Talon, who up until then seemed tangential to the protagonists—but then Ame discovered on her own that Wavebreaker originally belonged to Naram. This pivotal moment is what propels the story to the conclusion of the first arc, thus the need arose for a moment to remind the audience of the stakes and current landscape.

From a production standpoint, this podcast has a lot of love and care poured into it, especially with the marriage of masterful improv and immersive sound design. It’s clear (and has been explicitly stated) that this crew prioritizes the quality of the final episode through little details and extra effort. So, whereas with other APs, fewer resources would be allocated to a recap simply because it’s not necessary, Worlds Beyond Number finds the use-case where it becomes necessary to put a little extra mustard on it.

That said, it’s a really good recap, excellent even. It contains everything a good recap should have: it paints the big picture, snapshots the major players, flows perfectly into the opening scene of the episode, and above all, is compelling. To further support the theory that this was written and recorded separately, it also lacks the filler words, pauses, and direct address to the players (i.e., Suvi, you did X, and Ame, you did Y) that are typical of an improvised introduction and recap—and thus it has the tone akin to the opening crawl of Star Wars. It is eloquently written, with so much information communicated by inference in just seven sentences, so let’s analyze line by line:

“Previously on “The Wizard, The Witch, and The Wild One.” Naram, spirit of the gentle sea, lies bound at the base of the Calabel Nautomantic Apparatus by Guild Mage Morrow of the Scepter’s Chorus. Our heroes stand divided.”

Translation: It all starts with Naram. Naram is a gentle spirit held captive by another wizard and his fancy machine. “Our heroes stand divided”—they had an argument in the last episode about whether or not to free Naram (and how). Needless to say, the situation with Naram is more complicated, but those four words express that succinctly.

NB: Naram is alone.

In the context of the previous episode, the listener is reminded of this quandary—what to do about Naram. But, there is an ingenious double meaning here. That last line not only alludes to the philosophical division amongst the party, but a physical one as well.

“Having re-established contact with The Citadel, a castigated Suvi now has direct orders to do nothing until Steel arrives in Port Talon three days hence.”

Translation: Suvi has been reprimanded by Steel after unintentionally going AWOL (“re-established contact”) and now she has to keep the situation with Naram locked down until Steel arrives. The audience is reminded that Port Talon is remote from The Citadel since it will take three days to get there.

NB: Suvi is alone.

Steel, Suvi’s adoptive mother, is flying by airship because the travelling door is broken, but since this is extraneous information to the immediate situation, it is left unsaid. As Suvi is the party member with the least connection (relatively speaking) to Wavebreaker and Naram, I think it makes sense that Suvi is mentioned first and has the least airtime in the recap.

“Eursulon, having returned to the Ace of Wands alone, once again wields Wavebreaker, the sword that legend says belonged to Naram himself, with the power to break the spells and curses of his foes.”

Translation: Eursulon ran off to see Will Gallows (proprietor of the Ace of Wands) but got his sword back (“once again” wields Wavebreaker), and it is a legendary sword belonging to Naram that can break curses.

NB: Eursulon is alone.

This section is also brief but sets up the pattern for a clever sequence that subtly shows the movement of the sword over time. First, Naram (who owns the sword), Suvi (who gave Eursulon the sword), Eursulon (who got the sword back), and then finally Ame (who needs the sword). The last phrase, “with the power to break the spells and curse of his foes,” neatly sets up the next line.

“And Ame, with just such a curse still clouding her mind and concealing crucial memories of Grandmother Wren and her most important lessons, now rushes forth to find her fox familiar, chasing him beyond the walls of Port Talon into the wasteland of witch fire and ash that stand between the city and the wrath of creeping kudzu beyond.”

Translation: Ame is cursed and because of that, she is lacking crucial knowledge (but the sword can break the curse). Now, she has left Port Talon and is chasing after her fox into the dangerous wasteland choked with smoke and treacherous forest outside the city.

NB: Ame is alone (do you see the through-line?).

Now, with the major characters introduced and with the stakes increasing, the segment concludes as it introduces the present moment and establishes the opening scene:

“We now return to Port Talon in the wee hours, as a tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a gleaming sword swinging at his side.”

Translation: It’s the middle of the night and Eursulon is triumphantly (and drunkenly) wandering the streets of Port Talon.

It’s notable that Eursulon is not mentioned by name at the end but trusts the listener to have been paying attention, though the next spoken word as the recap fades is “Eursulon.” The opening scene transitions seamlessly to him arriving at the Chantry—now we've come full circle. (This is Morrow's HQ, who trapped Naram in the first place).

Thus, it’s clear that this recap is descriptive yet not needlessly verbose or rambling (unlike this essay), due to its well-formed sentences and syntax.

But beyond that, it’s pleasing to the ear. There is ample use of consonance throughout (e.g., “bound at the base,” “wields Wavebreaker,” “curse… clouding… concealing crucial,” “rushes forth to find her fox familiar,” "walls... wasteland... witch fire," "creeping kudzu," and “tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a sword swinging at his side”). There’s also an interesting alternating alliterative and rhythmic pattern of k and s sounds with “contact with the Citadel, a castigated Suvi”. There's just enough to be noticeable but not too much to become annoying, and the brevity certainly helps. It's poetic.

In the sound quality and design, there’s an air and cadence in Brennan’s voice of being read a bedtime story, and he speaks clearly and with purpose. Further, the musical motifs of the chorus signifying the spirit world at the start transitions to a carefree, plucky tune during the last line that embodies Eursulon’s mood and instills it in the listener. As it ends, this musical transition is reminiscent of waking up and slowly starting to hear the ambient noise around.

When analyzing any kind of creative choice in any medium, I tend to remind myself that the creator(s) could have simply chosen to not make that choice, for any number of reasons or limitations (6). The "Previously On" in episode 10 could have been unremarkable, rambling and verbose, it could have had no music or sound effects, it could have been written and structured in an entirely different way, or it could have simply not existed at all. But it does exist, so I look at what is there. Now, this analysis is not intended to be prescriptive for future recaps in WWW or other APs. As is evident, this recap is one-of-a-kind and serves a greater purpose overall in the first arc of the story. In writing this, I spot-checked a handful of other opening moments of WWW, and while those introductions were improvised, Brennan is so adept at it that I would not expect to hear another a written recap unless the narrative and production calls for it again.

These seven sentences are truly brilliant. There are plenty of moments that have stuck with me since WWW started in March 2023, but it speaks volumes that something this insignificant spawned a ~3000-word analytical essay (7). Damn.

Footnotes:

(1) I elaborate on this later in the essay, but I suspect it was written and recorded separately solely because of how concise it is, both in word choice and in delivery (the lack of filler words or pauses), as well as the difference in tenor/tone as it transitions to the opening scene. We’ve also heard plenty a recap from Brennan in WWW and other shows, and I have yet to hear one as crafted and, dare I say, perfect as this one. Not to knock other improvised (or otherwise) recaps of course, as those fulfill their purpose well and fine. I just appreciate the extra mustard on this one (no shit, I just wrote a whole damn essay with footnotes). I suppose I could submit a Fireside question and ask (lol) but I think that (sky)ship has sailed, since we're now on episode 35. (If for some godforsaken reason someone involved with WBN reads this... let me know if I'm right, I guess? If I'm wrong, I don't want to know /j)

(2) I refer to the recap as 90 seconds as shorthand throughout, but it technically just ends at 90 seconds. And I think that’s neat. It's also easier to just say 90 seconds—a nice, distinct chunk of time—than its true length, which is 72 seconds (due to the WBN theme).

(3) Formatting the quote in this way also neatly organizes my analysis of it later in the essay, which is not exactly reflected in the transcript (but that’s because it’s for readability).

(4) Complete tangent to the podcast discussed here is that I’ve seen DougDoug (internet streamer) do a blind reaction to just the “Previously On” recaps for "One Tree Hill" and "24" (without knowing the plot of either show) to hilarious and baffling results. It further demonstrates my point that recaps are not synopses, and you can’t fully grasp the plot of something through these. Because that’s not their purpose—which is to make clear to the audience what they need to know for that next episode-- not necessarily explain what happened in the last episode (and clips can be from earlier episodes as well).

(5) Something that I think is often discussed by WBN et al. (among others) is the distinction between an actual play and a home game. In a home game of D&D, the sole audience is the people playing the game. In actual play, the audience is BOTH the players and the viewer, and (good) actual play has to balance the two—you want to make sure the people playing are having a good time but also that it makes for a good viewing/listening experience. This tension between the two audiences can be balanced for- either in the moment of recording or in post-production, and I think WBN does an excellent job at this balance. However, I make the point that players come first and audience comes second specifically for recaps, because if your players don’t know what’s going on beforehand, then the whole shoot/recording could be in jeopardy, and it may simply not be worth the time, effort, or resources to craft an outstanding recap. So, there’s fundamentally going to be less effort put into the recap from viewer’s perspective in actual plays, and they just don’t matter that much, since players can just ask questions/GM can remind players of things.

(6) Might be a hot take, but I find it counterproductive and uninteresting to engage in editorializing player and DM choice in APs when it is presented as critique or literary analysis (i.e., "they should/could have done this instead" or "XYZ would have made for a more interesting story"). I've noticed this sentiment crop up in AP spaces/fandoms, but there isn't a writer's room to edit and revise the story being told (well there is one, and it's happening in the moment). To me, it's more interesting to look at the story that is being told and the choices made, and ask, why? Which is the point of this whole essay—to look at those seven sentences and go, "why is this here and what does it mean?"

(7) Or I'm just a nerd. Or both. Don't mind me, I'm just over here building my donut house. (I reblogged a post about fandom and donuts recently—it makes sense in context I promise.)

[wantonlywindswept]

friend! anything new in your life? what's the last thing that made you smile?

hope you have a spectacular day 💙

hello darling!

my wife and i have recently been watching these ex-gymnast youtubers who commit shenanigans and they did a video where they tried women's gymnastics, including the balance beam, and. well. accidents happened that you might expect to happen involving a balance beam, but women do not have the same problem that men do if they land straddling something between their legs

very unfortunate for the guy's potential future children but i was weeping with laughter

as for other things, a lot of my life recently has been revolving around food, but not necessarily in a bad way?

cut for eating disorder things

so turns out i actually DO have an eating disorder, it's just not a useful one that makes people skinny (this is not how EDs work and is a terrible thing to say, i am saying it anyway because those were my initial Depression thoughts). mine's more to do with sensory issues and a lack of wanting to eat that just leads to nutritional problems instead.

earlier this year i had a couple months where i was eating one, maybe two meals a day, and that was kinda when i went 'yeah alright, this is a problem', but there was always that thought of 'okay but is it REALLY?' and it turns out that yes! yes it is

so I've started seeing a therapist that specializes in EDs and talking to a dietician on the regular, and it's actually been pretty good? like some of it has been a kind of validation of 'yes you do have problems with eating and it still matters even if you're overweight', and getting encouragement for eating better. (we are currently aiming for at least 2 meals and a snack. 3 meals is still. iffy. but i greatly appreciate taking small bitty steps instead of jumping right to that.)

and some of it too is focusing on the nutrition part, which mostly amounts to balance and adding more colors to your plate, which has led to multiple instances of me pointing at a fruit or vegetable i've gotten and defensively going 'look! it has color!' to my wife's amusement and agreement. it isn't dieting, but just adding more things (....i just realized how sneaky that is to get me to eat more in general. well played, doctor) that have nutritional benefit.

also my dietician went on a five-minute rant about how BMI is absolute horseshit and how she hates doctors who use it and tell people to do things based off of it (side note, my gastroenterologist basically said 'hey you're obese and you need to lose 20 lbs over the next three months' which hilariously skipped me straight over self-loathing right to 'wow that is unfeasible and absolutely not going to happen'), which then segued into how awful and useless diet culture is

so basically i would die for her

[goodgrammaritan]

Gratitude Journal

Saturday I had my last session with the therapist I've been seeing for the past year. She is leaving the practice, so I had to decide whether to immediately seek someone new or take a therapy break. She gave me some referrals, but seeing that by this point in our work together I was only seeing her once a month, and that that was sufficient, I told her I'd decided to try going without for a bit.

I thanked her for the work we'd done together, and for pushing me out of my comfort zone into trying new things. (For instance, we did sand tray therapy, something about which I was a bit skeptical, but that resulted in a decrease in the nightmares I've been having about my junior high bullies, nightmares that had been occurring with various frequency for 22 years.)

We both agreed that I was doing well, and that our therapy sessions of late had been more me reporting victories and successes, talking about how I used my therapy skills to cope with difficult situations, rather than expressing shame and regret about how I'd handled things. I told her that I was going to continue tracking my daily moods, and utilizing my support system.

After our session I talked with Noah about it, and asked him to keep an eye on me and tell me if I was hyper focusing or obsessing or falling into bad habits. I told him I knew I was asking a lot, but that I would also be doing my best to be vigilant about my behaviors and actions. He was 100% on board, and told me that he was going to be teasing me about things, because that's just his way of getting me to laugh at myself or take a step back and examine my behavior. He said that if I noticed him teasing me repeatedly about the same thing that that might be a problem area. I laughed and agreed that that was a good plan, and was generally feeling very optimistic.

Here's the thing: Saturday was a packed day. I had done my workout in the morning, then I had my therapy session, then Noah and I picked out new tile to repair our floor and also made a stop at Home Depot. I also did three loads of laundry. And I felt good about all of it, but that's a very spoon-heavy day.

So Sunday I woke up exhausted, had very little energy, and was just going through the motions and being a little morose. I expressed a desire to still attend a yoga class, and Noah said he was surprised because the entire day I'd been all "I'm so tired, I don't want to do things, I have no energy, blah blah blah." And he said it in a bit of an exaggerated tone. He left to get a haircut and I decided to do some proofreading work because sometimes that helps my mood, but then I thought, "Hey, he's teasing me, am I wallowing?" And that was enough to kind of jolt me out of my mopey behavior. I told him about it when I got home, and I said it was rude of him to make me follow through on my post-therapy emotional regulation plan just one day after my last therapy session. "I was planning on doing this, but not so soon!" So we laughed about it, and I asked if it had really been a problem, and he said not really, but sometimes I get comfortable being depressed because it's familiar.

"I'm always depressed."

"Is that your secret? You're always depressed?" Noah asked, paraphrasing The Avengers.

"Yeah, I guess."

Then he said "The Incredible Sulk!" and I burst out laughing. I pretended to be appalled, but come on, that shit's hilarious. So, I'm happy to report that my post-therapy strategies are already a success.

9/5/23

[vertebrae-entertainment]

20.03.2023 - The year so far!

What do you mean its only been three and a half months?? Our schedule has been packed- there's only so much a couple’a queers can do at once. While we’re still gearing up towards full-time fishing game work and we have a bunch of loose ends to wrap up, lets give a recap of the year so far:

COLLAB PROJECTS: We’re in the works on some very interesting collabs, centering on causes that stand us near. Altruistic game design aimed at highschoolers seems to be a running theme for us! While we cant talk too much about our current collabs yet, this is stuff we’ve done before. For those of you who have been around that long, you may remember our educational museum touch screen games? Or my educational work?

Point is, exciting stuff is happening and we’re thrilled to be apart of some seriously important ground work. These are long-term projects and it’ll probably be a while before we can share anything about them- especially because we’re only a piece of the puzzle, and there are lots of pieces that need time to fall into place. New doors have certainly opened for us!

GODDAMN WE GOT PROJECT FUNDING?: Again, if you’ve been around for a while, you know how exciting this is for us. For context, a lot of Norwegian games rely on state funding to get made and competition is pretty tough- especially if you’re a small studio like us! We’ve had a repeat struggle of trying to get funding for our projects for years now, and multiple projects have been put on ice because of a lack of interest from these instances.

Now- however you feel about the idea of the noble indie game made from nothing but pocket lint and sweat, i think we can all agree that having working lights and a roof over your head is pretty nice. So we bid our time and kept applying, finding work elsewhere while we waited. This time it worked! Imagine our surprise, having assumed that we didn’t get better at applying over time. And if i wasn't hyperventilating when we came in to present our game in person for the first time, i certainly was by the time we got the answer in the mail.

We’ve had a lot of help from Hamar Game Collective, the local gamedev hub that we joined last summer. Hamar, while ordinarily known as a small-ish lakeside town for farming and lumber, is also actually the home to Norway’s first dedicated game design course as well as some absolute indie titans. These folks have been here since the beginning!

As mentioned in an earlier post we’ve been orbiting around them for years, hoping to get enough funds for an office space. By the time we joined, they’d actually been waiting years for us to join as well. It felt nice finally being able to join, and it has more than paid off! If you take anything away from this, its to never underestimate the power of a good community! *flexes*

FISHING GAME THINGS: Now that we have funding, we have time to work! Here’s whats happening on that front. First, HEY, we totally had a name for our game that worked super well and we were excited to share! I swear i checked and everything, there was no games with that name when we made the decision. I started sketching out, almost finalizing a logo- only for me to THEN figure out that in the span it took for us to decide and start designing around this logo, a game with that exact name came out!!! It was incredibly frustrating, but i had to go back to the drawing board. Worst part is, its happened twice now!

During a call with my dad i voiced this exact frustration, and he hit us with another title suggestion: “Fangst“. And you know what, that one has really stuck around for us- and its in Norwegian (and isn't Norse-themed), so someone accidentally making anything with that name is way less likely! While its original meaning is literally just ‘catch’, it also doubles nicely with the English ‘fang’ and ‘angst’, which is close enough in tone that it works out! I might try that one- what do you think?

On another note, i think the aftermath of that funding round may have revealed the makeshift project title as the actual title of the game so, there may be some cleanup to do on that front. If you read those newspaper articles: The title is NOT Maritime!! Maritime is the project name that we use while it doesn’t have a real name. Right now its an untitled fishing game, but it may change soon!

From an entirely different front, we’re currently gearing up to start development but forreal this time. This development period is especially exciting- we’ll basically be mapping out the final pillars of the game design! Åge is currently designing a moveset that we’re eager to test, and that they’re very excited to start talking about when prototyping starts up. Meanwhile, i’m designing some rather mean looking fish! (On a game like this, being a biology nerd pays off)

IN CONCLUSION: We’re soon starting up the next phase of development, and we’ll have more updates and stuff to show off for y’all! Social medias have been a bit dry because we’ve been busy with our collab projects, but we’re still very much riding the high of finally getting that project funding. I’m very much looking forward to being able to sit down with y’all and share what we’re making again. This fishing game just keeps getting better!

-Hauk

[myloveforhergoeson]

hey there! i was wondering - how have you already written such a LONG fic in only so few chapters? did you extensively plan this story ahead of time? make a beat sheet? please reveal your writerly ways 🙏 i struggle even reaching a decent word count for a single chapter 😭

hi!! oh my gosh thank you so much for your question!!! the first question about that's all she wrote ever!!! i have kind of a long answer for you; please find it under the cut

so, the idea for thats all she wrote came to me in november of 2021, and that was the first month that i ended up putting words on a google doc and creating roxy as a character. until a few months ago, this fic was just a silly little thing i could write in my free time so i had accumulated quite a few chapters just from writing whenever i felt like it! i never actually intended for this to be something i published until i had a friend who wanted to publish their own fic in a different fandom and we thought it would be fun to do together. so, i haven't actually written 75k words since the beginning of march, i've been slowly chugging along since the end of november 2021. as of now, since i've seriously began to write to make sure i can meet my every two week posting mark, i'm now writing the very last chapter of the first season - so I've got 17 full chapters written and i'm about 1/4 of the way through the last one (which i'll probably have to split up bc its already super long)

as for the extensive story planning... that is certainly one way to put it. i'm pretty acquainted with the first two seasons of the show, so as i remembered more and more plot points that happened i would just figure how to fix roxy into them and write it down in my notes app. i had major milestones (a plot point in the 7th chapter i cant spoil, a plot point for the dance episode i can't spoil, when she gets together with james... all the way until the end of the big time movie!!) in my head and worked from there. if i knew a major plot point was coming up, i did my best to kind of build the story around that as well as the main plot of the episode. it's kind of hard to explain, but yeah extensive story planning in the way that this story lives in my mind rent free and i love the little character i have made. it's kind of like a beat sheet, but it mostly lives in my brain. honestly, the worst part is writing something in my ideas note and then coming back to it like three months later and having no idea what i meant - for instance i'm trying to figure out what "Mona Lisa, when the world comes down aar finale, obvious westlife" means right now... probably something about the title of the chapter, but maybe i meant i wanted her to play mona lisa by the all american rejects on her guitar... maybe she was listening to obvious by westlife bc she loves '90s boybands... i don't know... we'll have to wait a few chapters to figure it out

when it comes to word count, i don't really have a goal or a cap, but most of the story is already written for me - i do follow most of the main plot and dialogue, just adding in spaces for roxy to exist both on her own as a character and in relation to her band :) a lot of the gags in the show are visual too, so i have to take extra time to make sure i'm able to write that out. plus, the world they live in isn't really fleshed out in the show and that drives me CRAZY, so i like to put my own spin on what i think different parts of the palm woods or rocque records look like... in the 7th chapter i think i went a bit crazy and invented the entire plot of the varsity vampire movies... plus i have little scenes that i either wanted to include in the episode from the get go so the readers can learn more about roxy and her thoughts/feelings about her crazy new life or that i just thought would fit within the episode. i'm really trying my best to give her her own character plot lines and motivations outside of the band, especially outside of james, to make sure she's just as fleshed out as the guys characters are!

tl;dr: i've had literal years sitting on this fic and lots and lots and lots of time to think about how i want it! if you have any more questions/comments/one-shot ideas please do not hesitate to send them my way :)) thanks for your support, i hope you'll like what i've got coming up!

[ericleo108]

03/28/2023 Click here for Spotify or Apple Music. “Going Gaga” is my 37th official release. This is the release for Friday March 31st but I scheduled the release three days early because it’s Lady Gaga’s birthday on the 28th of March. The track is inspired specifically by Gaga’s track “Bad romance.” 

I have a trope on my blog at EricLeo108.com called “cosmic luve” where I talk about how Gaia uses attractive mates such as Emma Watson, Selena Gomez, or Hailee Steinfeld to communicate through media semantics. For the latest post visit CosmicLuve.com. I haven’t made a new post in months, but Lady Gaga was the original cosmic luve back in 2012. There was always an underlying association tying the reference Emma Watson but Gaga was the front runner in my heart. Back then around 2012 I had just been diagnosed with schizophrenia and didn’t know what semantic priming was and hadn’t developed my theory of cosmic luve. I also wouldn’t come to term of having schizophrenia and needing medication until 2018.

Admittedly, Gaga put me through a lot of grief. I thought that she wanted to help me and was communicating through semantics on Facebook. I talk about this in my song “Talk to me” which is about Emma Watson but references the Lady Gaga situation. As an example of the semantics and cosmic luve back then, I had sold my motorcycle to pay for my first album “Edulution.” In the album I have a song called “Dionysus Rhythm” where I covertly reference Gaga. Then Gaga’s album cover for “Born This Way” was a motorcycle with her head for the front light. It was the first instance of coincidental semantics represented by an attractive mate which drove me crazy. I ended up going to New York twice to try and meet Gaga. The first time I ended up in a mental institution but the second time I met her father after I ate at their restaurant Joanne Trattoria. 

I don’t get a lot of coincidences anymore, and if I do I’m more prone to ignore them and find them dismissable. But the whole point of my theory is they add up to a wholistic, consistent, and systematic communication from Gaia that is more of a feeling which I’m still convinced is actually happening. I’m essentially ignoring that I think the Earth is communicating to me through telepathic randonauting and points of realizatioin.

I’ve never met Gaga but I continue to be inspired by her music. Although I still love Gaga, her art, her sound, and find her to be a great inspiration, I wouldn’t seek her out or try and date her. This is why I choose her song “bad romance” because our current only history is a one sided bad romance. I have another song called “Just Dance” inspired by Gaga that’s just about dance and steals her hook. In this song I talk about my personality in my music, it’s not an act and I make reference to Roman Atwood in the first verse who I’m a big fan of. I used them in the song because Roman and Brittany exemplify having a good relationship.

The track was recorded, mixed, and mastered by Sam Peters at La Luna Recording in Kalamazoo, Michigan. The beat is by KeyAnobeat.com and the cover art was made by ArtworkGang from Fiverr.

You can see me talk about this blog post from the last Sunday Update here:

Lyrics:

Got um goin Gaga, get on the floor and dance  Ra oo la la, I want your bad romance I said I got um goin Gaga, get on the floor and dance  Ra oo la la, I want your bad romance You know I love you so much, just wanna be with you   You know I love you so much, come on baby You know I love you so much, just wanna be with you   You know I love you so much, come on baby While you pimp’n these hoes Tryna find one to get to know Tryna be the lesson taught  And find the really special one Got um goin Gaga, get on the floor and dance  Ra oo la la, I want your bad romance Hey baby girl what you doin tonight? I like how you think, and I like your style We could go crazy, paint the town, get wild Tell me what you like baby I’ll do it for a smile

Smile more, I’ll be your Roman soldier   Bahama mama G Fuel, pop it like a soda  Shake it off, take a puff, wake’em up like Foldgers If you don’t succeed, then do it how it told ya Whatever your doin Put your mind into it Work smarter not harder Hope you find this useful  Cuz I make fly music That will guide you through it Slide in like Snoop did  And drive influence  Just want an O.G. to tell me my verse hot Better than relevant, worth a drop Illatic schematic, words like Pac  Invites me on stage, and reserves a spot Don’t got a girl, but know I would If I found her first, I’d wind up hers I wanna hug, my cosmic luve  But my life will change, like time is up cuz

You know I love you so much, just wanna be with you   You know I love you so much, come on baby You know I love you so much, just wanna be with you   You know I love you so much, (come on) come on baby While you pimp’n these hoes Tryna find one to get to know Tryna be the lesson taught  And find the really special one Got um goin Gaga, get on the floor and dance  Ra oo la la, I want your bad romance Hey baby girl what you doin tonight? I like how you think, and I like your style We could go crazy, paint the town, get wild Tell me what you like baby I’ll do it for a smile

You know what makes us different, altruism Empathy for eachother, and attitude for forgiveness  Separates us, that makes us step up We can see the future and choose to love Wield fire, build bridges, yield from the dirt Have um listen, grow the business, put in the work Join magnets, build neurons, talk to the Earth  Til my Salvador Dali world burst and give birth But The Psycho Consumption Cage Has got you trapped and you can’t escape The atmosphere a mirror room that we display And reflects the action that we engrave I wish, it would all go away, it’s to real to take So I study sociology in hopes to make a change And cosmic luve will find it’s way some day cuz 

[creatiview]

[ad_1] This year seems like a good year for a great trip. On The Times’s Food desk, where I’m an editor and also write a weekly newsletter about New York City restaurants, we’re already scouting for the year’s best restaurants, and I’m guessing many of you are planning trips with food in mind, too.Trying to figure out what reservations you need and what’s worth a line can be overwhelming, but don’t fret. I asked two of my colleagues, Priya Krishna and Brett Anderson, and we have tips for how to choose where to eat when you’re on the road — or even in your own backyard.Ask the localsTraveling to a new place can be nerve-racking, but don’t be afraid to ask for recommendations from the barista at that coffee shop near your hotel or your tour guide. Often, locals won’t send you to the restaurants that show up on every best-of list but instead to their beloved haunts.“My first move is to mine my contacts for locals to hit up for advice or contacts who might be able to introduce me to locals,” Brett told me. Both he and Priya look to local newspapers and websites, though, increasingly, vigorous local food scene coverage can be hard to find. “Local news is much more helpful in larger cities,” Brett added.Use maps featuresIn October, I went to Paris and felt as if I were drowning in choice. Thank goodness for Instagram’s Saved Places feature. Use it as a way to save restaurants you’re interested in visiting. Just click the address in a restaurant’s Instagram bio, and that should send you to a page with its location, tagged posts and other items, including a small bookmark. Click that bookmark to add it to your Saved Places.To find that list, open Instagram’s sandwich bar (located in the top right corner of your profile page) and click on the bookmark icon next to Saved. A similar feature is available on Google Maps.You can also use Instagram to see which restaurants are frequently tagged in a city. That may mean they’re trendy, but I find that a medium amount of tags (about 1,000 or so) usually denotes local adoration.Priya uses Instagram in a slightly different way when scouting. “I like to check the Instagram pages of chefs in the area that I respect,” she told me. Then she looks at who they follow or where they go to eat regularly. For instance, it was through the Instagram of Donald Hawk, the chef at Valentine in Phoenix, that she found Kabob Grill N’ Go, one of her favorite restaurants of 2022.When to book reservationsIf you simply must go to a popular restaurant, set a reminder about one month ahead of time to start looking for a table. For instance, here in New York City, many so-called hot restaurants take reservations no more than three weeks ahead.New reservations tend to go online around 10 a.m. on platforms like Resy. And if you plum forget to make a reservation — hey, it happens! — cancellations usually roll in around 24 hours before the scheduled dining time. (A chef told me last year that about 25 percent of reservations at his popular restaurant were canceled on the day of.) And don’t be afraid to walk down a popular restaurant stretch and pop into a place where the menu really draws you in. As Brett put it, “I am moved by menus that make me hungry.” Follow your hunger, and you (probably) can’t go wrong.For moreTHE WEEK IN CULTURESecretary of State Antony Blinken canceled a trip to Beijing over what the Pentagon described as a Chinese “intelligence-gathering balloon” flying above the U.S.Lawmakers were concerned about the balloon because of a recent classified report that outlined American adversaries’ potential use of advanced spy technology.U.S. employers added 517,000 jobs last month, an unexpected burst of hiring that dropped the unemployment rate to its lowest in more than a half-century.The Northeast is waking up to dangerously cold temperatures, with wind chills falling below zero degrees in some places.U.S. officials’ concerns that Russia will launch a nuclear weapon have eased up since tense moments last fall.

A jury found Elon Musk not liable for Tesla investors’ losses after he tweeted about the company in 2018.CULTURE CALENDAR🍿 “Magic Mike’s Last Dance” (Friday): Steven Soderbergh remains one of the most interesting American film directors around. In just the past four years, he has released a Covid-era thriller (“Kimi”), a period neo-noir crime film (“No Sudden Move”), a light Meryl Streep drama (“Let Them All Talk”), a quirky semi-comedy about the Panama Papers (“The Laundromat”) and a movie about a sports agent that he filmed on an iPhone (“High Flying Bird”). Now, he returns with the third installment in a series that kicked off with the 2012 film “Magic Mike.” Salma Hayek joins Channing Tatum in this one. There’s something for everyone.📚 “Big Swiss” (Tuesday): A woman has a job transcribing a sex therapist’s recorded sessions. While listening to some of those conversations — among the most intimate one can imagine — she starts to fall in love with one particular patient, a tall blonde woman whom she labels with the nickname that gives the book its title. Then, she runs into her in real life. (If this summary intrigues you, read this Vulture profile of the author, Jen Beagin.)RECIPE OF THE WEEKWafflesWhen did you last pull out your waffle iron? If you can’t remember, then it’s high time for a brunch of crisp, golden waffles, slathered in butter and maple syrup. This straightforward recipe has everything you want in a waffle — the crunchy edges, that airy texture, those little square pockets just waiting to be filled with syrup. Whip up a batch this weekend, then freeze any leftovers, which are easy to reheat in the toaster. Your future self will be very grateful to find them on Monday morning, when such a deluxe breakfast is usually off the table.A selection of New York Times recipes is available to all readers. Please consider a Cooking subscription for full access.Elegant and understated: Dress like a designer.Time off: Taking short breaks helps your brain refocus.Loneliness: Retirees lose millions of dollars a year to romance scams. Here’s how to protect loved ones.Better workout secret: Caffeine can help you lift more weight and run faster.ADVICE FROM WIRECUTTERThe art of de-pilling sweatersNothing spoils a cozy outfit like fuzz balls marring a sweater, but a little effort and a couple of Wirecutter-approved tools can help revive even the worst offenders in your winter wardrobe. When de-pilling synthetic fabrics, use a motorized tool. Go slowly, and lay your garment on a flat surface to avoid snips and snags. For delicate natural fibers like wool and cashmere, Wirecutter experts recommend using a more gentle metal sweater comb. Gently glide the comb’s teeth over pilled areas while pulling the fabric taut. Lift any lingering fluff with a sticky lint roller, then confidently step out in your like-new knits. — Zoe VanderweideGAME OF THE WEEKENDNo. 1 South Carolina vs. No. 5 Connecticut, women’s college basketball: When UConn announced that Paige Bueckers, the former national player of the year, would miss this season because of a knee injury, all eyes fell on Azzi Fudd, one of the game’s brightest young stars. Then Fudd hurt her knee, too. “So much for having two of the generational players, right?” Geno Auriemma, UConn’s longtime coach, told The Times. Injuries have so depleted UConn’s roster that the team had to postpone a game last month. And yet, the Huskies keep winning; the team is now 21-2, despite sometimes having only seven players in the lineup. Noon Eastern tomorrow on Fox.Related: Women’s basketball has seen a rash of injuries this season.NOW TIME TO PLAY [ad_2] Source link

[heyiwrotesomethings]

I saw your request was open so don’t mind me swooping in heh. May I please have Shinobu x she/her reader fluff oneshot? Shinobu wanted to try out a new drink on the reader but it went wrong and now the reader is sick. None of them noticed at first until midnight or later that evening. So it ends up with Shinobu having to take care of the reader who’s so sick she can only stay in bed. Your writing is amazing and I love your blog so much! Please take care and stay safe! Hope this counts as a prompt! Idk if someone can get sick bc of drinks so if it sounds illogical you can change it, as long as the reader gets sick thanks to Shinobu (sorry if I sound demanding). Thank you again!

A Regretful Mistake

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: Thanks for stopping by! I hope you’ll enjoy this! Warning that there is one instance of throwing up in here. If you want to skip it, read until reader asks for a bucket and skip the next little paragraph that follows. It’s not very graphic, but just a heads up. Word Count: 1,700

“It’s finished.” Shinobu declared with one final swirl of the glass bottle, the orange colored liquid sloshed inside. She had been working on this particular booster drink for months. It was supposed to be an energizing drink, chocked full of all sorts of good vitamins, a hearty dose of protein, and antioxidant power all with a smooth and fruity finish. Shinobu left her lab with an extra pep in her step, her new drink still in hand. She knew exactly who she wanted to have the honors of first sip.

(Y/n) was finishing up situating a new patient in the infirmary when she noticed Shinobu leaning against the doorway. The Hashira smiled wider when their eyes met and waved playfully at (Y/n) before motioning her to join her. With one last glance over of the recovering slayer, (Y/n) left them to rest and joined Shinobu out in the hallway.

“Good afternoon,” (Y/n) greeted, looking around the empty hallway before deciding she could punctuate the greeting with a chaste kiss. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Good afternoon indeed.” Shinobu greeted in return, then raised the bottle between them, “I am holding about three months of on again off again research in my hand. Care to be my taste tester?”

“Ooo,” (Y/n) lit up, “of course I’ll give it a try. What is it?”

Shinobu handed off the glass bottle to (Y/n), all the while explaining all of the properties she instilled into the drink with notable excitement. She watched eagerly as (Y/n) took the first sip, waiting for a verdict.

“Wow, this tastes pretty good! Better than your usual medicines anyway.” (Y/n) teased, already taking another sip.

“Medicine isn’t supposed to taste good, (Y/n), you know that.” Shinobu rolled her eyes, “Tell me what else you think about it.”

“It’s very smooth going down, the citrus smell alone makes me feel energized. I think you did very well with this like you do with everything else. Can I finish this?”

“You may, thank you for being my test subject.”

“Hey, when the stuff tastes this good, I’m available whenever you need me.”

“Oh? You only want to hang out with me if I’m making tasty things? I’m hurt.” Shinobu said, a faux pout upon her lips.

“Please, if one of us is ever too busy to hang out it’s usually you.” (Y/n) scoffed, downing the rest of the drink in one go. She handed the now empty bottle back to Shinobu, “Now that being said, I told Aoi I’d help her with recovery training today. I’ll see you later.” (Y/n) turned to leave, but Shinobu held her back for a second more for another quick kiss before heading off to complete their separate duties, both smelling faintly of citrus.

***

The sun had only just begun to set when Shinobu was assigned a mission nearby. Apparently a demon was lurking somewhere in the woods near her estate. She had hoped to see (Y/n) before she left, but strangely she hadn’t seen her since that afternoon. Luckily the demon was nothing to write home about, an easy kill, so she got to head home just before midnight, not expecting to find Aoi waiting stiffly for her return.

“Shinobu-sama!” Aoi started in on her immediately, “Something is wrong with (Y/n)-san, she became very ill while you were away.”

“What happened?” Shinobu asked, focusing intently on collecting all the information she could while walking quickly to the infirmary to see her for herself.

“I’m not sure. I had noticed she seemed off during recovery training today, but she insisted she was fine.” Aoi said, trying to keep up with her Master. “Kanao found her passed out on the kitchen floor. She’s running a fever and we haven’t been able to wake her yet.”

Shinobu burst through the infirmary door and strode quickly to where the youngest girls were fussing over (Y/n) with cold presses while Kanao prepped an IV. Aoi came to the Tsuguko’s aid and expertly inserted the line into (Y/n)’s arm.

“Shinobu-sama!” Naho cried in relief, “we don’t know what happened, she’s very dehydrated!”

“Move to the side girls, I’ll take care of her,” Shinobu said, managing to keep her voice steady and confident, “Thank you for your hard work.”

Shinobu pressed her forehead against (Y/n)’s noting that she really was burning up and her breathing was heavy and labored. She settled her head lower to rest on (Y/n)’s chest, her heart was beating very fast as well.

“Keep the ice packs coming girls, and continue a steady flow of fluids. Her temperature is dangerously high.” She ordered.

Then she heard (Y/n) groan and snapped her attention back to her, watching with thinly veiled concern as (Y/n) gripped at her stomach and weakly tried to sit up. Shinobu tried to keep her down, speaking softly to her to try to comfort her.

“Don’t move around too much love, just relax we’ve got you—“

“Bucket.” (Y/n) gagged, slapping her hand over her mouth as she struggled against Shinobu to sit up.

Shinobu didn’t need to ask for clarification and quickly switched gears, helping (Y/n) to sit up while Kiyo practically threw a trash bin at her. She had barely gotten the bucket into position when (Y/n) couldn’t hold it in anymore and emptied her stomach until all she could do was dry heave. Shinobu stayed right with her, rubbing circles into her back and giving her soft affirmations. Finally, (Y/n) pulled back and flopped back limply on the cot, shaking, breathing audibly hard and sweating profusely.

Shinobu chanced a look into the bin and felt guilt clench at her heart as she put together the puzzle in her head. The bottom on the bin was absolutely coated in bright orange. It was clear in her mind that this sudden illness must have been caused by her own creation. Shinobu was distracted from her spiral into self loathing by a clammy hand brushing against hers.

“Hey,” (Y/n) croaked, “I know what you’re thinking in there. Stop it.”

“What am I supposed to think then? This is all my fault, (Y/n).” Shinobu said, putting the trash bin on the floor with a loud thump.

“What are you talking about, Shinobu-sama?” Aoi asked.

“(Y/n) is having a very negative reaction to the drink I gave her this afternoon. She is as ill as she is because of an unforgivable error on my part.”

“Shinobu!” (Y/n) yelled, as frail as she was at that moment, she still had enough energy to give Shinobu warning glare and pinch the skin on the back of her hand. “It was an accident, I’ll be fine.”

“You were fine until I used you as a test subject without running through my math again or reviewing my notes more thoroughly.” Shinobu grumbled. She couldn’t be more annoyed and upset with herself if she tried.

“I’m too tired to argue with you right now,” (Y/n) groaned, “Girls, do your thing.”

Sumi, Kiyo and Naho did not need to be asked twice. Eager to please, they jumped Shinobu and did what they do best and eventually finagled a smile from Shinobu with their contagious optimism and adorable antics.

“Okay, okay,” Shinobu sighed, patting the girls on their heads, “It’s been a long night, you five head to bed.”

“What about (Y/n)-san, what about you?” Aoi asked.

“I will stay with her. As long as (Y/n) is fine, I will be fine.”

It took some convincing, but eventually Shinobu was able to shoo the girls off to bed. She returned to (Y/n) with a couple of fresh ice packs to replace the old and carefully joined (Y/n) on the cot without another word. All she did was place an apologetic kiss on (Y/n)’s forehead before the other girl could stop her. Weakly (Y/n) tried to push her away to keep some distance between them. Upon seeing the hurt look on Shinobu’s face, she tried to explain.

“I’m gross, Shinobu. I’m covered in sweat, I just threw up, need I go on?”

Shinobu was not perturbed in the slightest.

“Nothing you could ever do would be gross enough to make me stay away from you.” Shinobu smiled sadly, “I’m really sorry I made you sick.”

“I know, love. You are already forgiven.”

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“I really want to rinse out my mouth.”

“Of course.”

Shinobu stayed up long after (Y/n) fell back to sleep so she could monitor for even the smallest change in (Y/n)’s health. Though (Y/n) felt better after expelling the orange drink that made her so sick, she was still bed ridden for the next couple days that followed. Shinobu hardly left her side, only relenting in her care when important matters arose. When she did have to leave, she made sure to leave Kanao or Aoi to watch over (Y/n) in her stead. When she came home from a Hashira meeting a few days later, she could feel the world around her become lighter when she saw (Y/n) standing out on the engawa waiting for her. She still looked a little tired, but seeing her upright did wonders for Shinobu’s mood. It didn’t take her long at all to cross the distance between them to cup (Y/n)’s face in her hands and give her a once over.

“Feeling better today, are we?” She checked, receiving a nod and a small smile in return.

“Still a little tired and achy, but I wanted to get out of bed for awhile. Want to sit in the sun with me?”

“Nothing would make me happier in this moment.”

They sat together on the grass, quietly talking and watching the butterflies dance around them. Shinobu watched (Y/n) begin to tire, smiling sympathetically when (Y/n) began leaning on her for support. She moved to rest on her back and guided (Y/n) by the arm to rest her head on her stomach. When (Y/n)’s head found home, she was out like a light. Some guilt still resided within Shinobu’s heart about the her miscalculations, but knowing that (Y/n) was recovering and still loved her the same made it all the more bearable. She weaved her fingers through (Y/n)’s hair until sleep found her as well.

[sirisuorionblack]

Professor Lupin

Professor!Remus Lupin x Professor!Slytherin!Reader

Request: Hey! Could I please request a Professors AU with Remus? I melt over the idea of him reuniting with someone from his school days when they both become professors and potentially a shit ton of pining from our boy Prof. Lupin ☺️ ty lovely!!! Xxx

Warning - none that know of.

A/N I hope you like it @cherrycolakxsses! Had so many doubts to post it but this I finally out. It's quite lengthy and might feel rushed at the end. Sorry!

"(Y/N) (L/N),” Professor McGonagall’s voice tore through the music blasting inside (Y/N)’s office. Does it set a bad example? Definitely. Does she care? Maybe.

“Old habits die hard, Professor,” she said, extinguishing the candlelight on her desk that's been lit since last night when she was going through a few papers. McGonagall chuckled at that.

The two of them walked down the corridor to the great hall for breakfast when Professor McGonagall said something, “Who do you reckon is going to be this year’s Defence Professor?”

“The dementors?” (Y/N) asked, looking genuinely confused.

McGonagall glared at her, “I wish you weren’t a professor, I could have deducted points,”

“Professor Slughorn would have been mad at that,” (Y/N) chuckled.

Professor McGonagall smiled at the fond memories of her past colleague complaining to her about “unfair deduction of house points”.

“But tell me a plausible guess of who might be this year’s Defence professor,” she insisted, a small smile tugging on the corner of her lips.

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes, “What are you planning, Minnie?”

The said person rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Well, I will tell who the Professor is - Its Remus Lupin,”

She could see the young professor straighten, staring at a spot on the ground as her thoughts ran wild, mind flooding with memories of a certain familiar Gryffindor.

“Oh,” was all she could muster.

“He will be joining us tomorrow,” McGonagall said carefully, looking intently at the girl before her.

“What!? Tomorrow?” she said, her eyes blown wide.

“Yes, and I except for him to have a good welcome,”

“You think I would be...mean to him?”

“What are you two still in your fifth year?”

“Oh come on, Minnie! Don't do that!”

“I should give it to the two of you, it was rather hilarious,”

“What is hilarious in watching two fifteen year olds duel!?”

“You will know it,”

That night (Y/N) rolled on the expanse of her bed, wanting nothing but the face of the Gryffindor to just disappear and allow her to sleep but all she could think about was him. She wondered if that same high school crush was turning, she wished not.

“Welcome, Remus,” Professor Dumbledore greeted him with a wide smile as Remus looked around the Headmaster’s office. He had come here only a handful of times and every single instance was just not the best.

“Hello, Professor,” He said, smiling politely.

After the introductory chat, Dumbledore said, “Well, come on, then, let me introduce you to the rest.” Remus smiled awkwardly as the Professor clapped him on the back.

Remus stopped dead in his tracks as Professor McGonagall and another young woman walked in. He immediately identified her, it was (Y/N) (L/N), his once upon a time arch-nemesis. He clearly remembered her 16 year old self, a bright smile on her face as she spoke to him rationally for once, settling everything, that contrasted the taboo of students with green robes having cold look.

(Y/N)'s smile slipped as she saw him, he was extremely thin and malnourished but he did have a smile on his face that compensated for everything else.

“Hey,” she said, mustering the smile back and outstretching her hand.

Remus coughed as he managed to break out of the trail of memories and shook her hand, “Hello,”

“Ms (L/N), can you please accompany Mr Lupin to his office?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, professor,” she said without giving it another thought.

“Do you remember this place?” (Y/N) asked with a smile as they reached a deserted corridor.

Remus barked a loud laugh, “Oh, how can I not! Wasn't this the place where we charmed the water balloons to pop right above your head?”

“Yep, it was the very same place where the epic duel happened, the time I had almost won,”

“But you didn't,”

“And neither did you,”

“I think - what was his name? - Liam Holloway! Yes, he ended up in the hospital wing,”

“That's what you get when you try to get in between a duel,”

Remus chuckled, “One of the reasons that was epic because that's when they saw Hogwarts’ most silent people have a fully-fledged duel,”

"Oh, yes! But honestly, to this day I have no idea how it started,"

Remus chuckled, "It was because the water had drenched your potions and charms essay "

"My potions and charms essay? Remus," (Y/N) dissolved in a fit of giggles, "Oh goodness,"

"What?" Remus asked, a smile spreading its way on his face. He waited for her to calm down.

"Professor Slughorn had looked at me pitifully the next class and then said I didn't have to hand in that essay and Flitwick did too. I hadn't done either of their essays that time. And when they told me that I was so confused as to why they did,"

Remus' jaw dropped as he looked at her incredulously, giggles still escaping her lips, "And I being the nice person I was, I wrote that essay for you and had James put it "discreetly" into your bag. Wait, that green bag was yours, wasn't it?"

"That was you!?" She asked, her eyes wide.

"Yes," he said, nodding.

"Oh, Merlin, I thought it was Snape for some odd reason and I was being good to him!”

“Should I be offended?”

“I dunno, I am sorry,” she wiped the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes with the amount of laughter she did within the few minutes.

Remus watched her as she smiled and looked around, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence.

“This will be your office,” (Y/N) said, opening her arms wide open at the entrance, “the terms start in a couple of days and then-” she grinned at him.

Remus was slightly distracted by the tank that stood at the side of the room, perhaps it was a fish tank; it was empty so he had no idea about the use of the tank and the thought of buying a fish for it ran high.

“No, honestly, the kids are great!” she said proudly, misinterpreting his silence.

“Are they?” Remus asked as he looked around his new office.

“Yes! I mean they are so lovely and sweet and just amazing, unlike some,” she said pointedly.

Remus chuckled, “What are you insinuating, (L/N)?”

“You know exactly what I am insinuating, Lupin,” she said, smirking.

(Y/N) squeezed Remus’ arm, watching his eyes turn glossy as he looked at the boy seated at the Gryffindor table laughing with his friends, resembling a lot like Remus’ late best friend.

He sighed and looked away. Soon, Professor McGonagall engaged him in a conversation, as though sensing the situation long ago. He spoke to her, a subtle forced smile on his face though all he could think about was his friends at the age of fifteen running along the corridors hollering and howling with laughter as they did so, and (Y/N).

“Good morning, Professor Lupin,” Remus heard as he walked through the corridors of Hogwarts - his once upon a time home, where he laughed and found friends and people who loved him, people he loved - he turned around to find (Y/N) grinning at him, “You know, I never thought you’d be a Professor,”

“You think I don't have the capability?” Remus asked, his eyebrows scrunched in offence.

“No, I mean you were after all the brain behind those petty pranks,” she said, grinning at him, “Do you think I didn't notice those “secret” whispers?”

“You-how?” Remus asked.

(Y/N) froze, biting her lips to prevent the blush from spilling onto her cheeks, “That doesn't matter. By the way, I must say, that prank on Snape where his hair was neon green for a week-?”

“That was epic and you know it,” he cut in.

“Yes, I know, Lupin, let me finish, will you? The part of the reason why it was because I did something,” she smiled cheekily, looking at him through her lashes and making Remus’ heartbeat cease and he felt as though the air in his lungs were knocked out.

Remus blinked, looked at her and asked, “What?”

(Y/N) chuckled, “Yes. The potion was to turn Snape’s hair a shade of purple, it was quite nice on him I must say but it wasn't - how do I put it, um,” she snapped her fingers in the air trying to find the right word.

“Humiliating?” Remus suggested.

Her eyes widened as she chuckled, “No, more like embarrassing?”

Remus smiled, “Alright,”

“So, I had mixed a neon green solution I had stored for, well...you,”

“For me!?”

“Yes,” she said with a giggle.

Remus blinked, “Why would you do that?”

“Um, good question but remember I hated you at that period of three months,” she said, shrugging.

“Well, now?” Remus asked, tilting his head slightly and staring at her intently.

“What now?” she asked.

Remus looked away from her striking orbs and at the sea of students, “You know, do you still hate me,”

“Nah,” she said and proceeded to mumble incoherently.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,”

The two of them fell into the depths of awkward silence, struggling to get back. Students who passed the greeted and smiled, giving (Y/N) an opportunity to break the silence.

"What are you planning to do in your first class?" (Y/N) asked.

Remus had brainstormed the past night. He wanted something that would make his first class a good one, an opportunity to teach the students all while taking a place in their heart and getting to know them. Remus believed that a student would like the subject if they liked the teacher.

"I thought of doing some theory part or something like that," Remus shrugged unsurely.

“Theory? On your first day?” She looked at him as though he was an alien, “Wow, Lupin, I thought you were genius,”

Somehow, as she muttered those words Remus felt a blush forming on his face, perhaps because she thought he was a genius (which he was), or it was embarrassment.

"You could do like practical like, I dunno, something cool," she said, waving her hands wildly.

"Um, what is cool?" Remus said, blankly.

(Y/N) stopped, gawked at him and left forward, shaking her head, "Do whatever you want, Lupin!" She yelled.

"Hey, hey, wait! (L/N)! HEY!" He called after her, watching her go without another glance at him, "And there she goes. Great, Remus, scared the girl away,"

"You did a boggart!?" (Y/N) exclaimed, the evening Remus had come into her office uninvited - definitely startling her - and boasting about what he taught that day.

"Yes," Remus chuckled, "Neville's boggart was Snape, you know,"

(Y/N)'s jaw dropped, "Wait, I, oh my goodness, his worst fear is Snape?"

"Yeah," Remus mumbled. (Y/N) fell silent as her eyes connected with his, both of them drawing deep breaths. She got lost into the depth of his eyes, concentrating on trying to find which colour they adorn - green? brown? amber? - it would take her years to find out.

(Y/N) coughed and looked away, breaking herself from...whatever she was put into.

"Um, uh," Remus shifted on his feet, one hand stuffed into his pocket and the other scratching his neck, "Would you - um, perhaps we could, I mean, if you want to-" Remus stopped his stuttering and took a deep breath, "We could take a walk? Like just down the-"

(Y/N) chuckled, standing up and crossing the desk. She grabbed the jacket that hung on a stand in the corner of her office. The coat was an obnoxiously dark colour of green that made Remus scrunch his face.

"What?" She asked, narrowing her eyes, "You don’t wanna come?"

Remus grinned extremely widely, and snatched his coat, stumbling to join her pace.

The two of them walked down the corridor to the black lake, their surroundings cold, the chill air swishing their cloaks yet the two of them felt warmth seeping into every inch of their body.

"You do know that it's way past curfew, don’t you?" Remus tried to joke. The keyword being - tried. He was bad at that, he was bad at flirting, he was absolutely terrible with girls.

But to his utter surprise, (Y/N) threw her head back, laughing, "You do know that we are Professors, don’t you?"

"Well, it’s my first day," Remus shrugged.

"Oh, now about that again - did you really do a boggart with your students? Really? In the first class you wanted them to show their fears?" She said, glaring at him.

Remus shrugged and looked around, his eyes catching the moon, it was waning gibbous, 7 days due to full moon. He was finally back at Hogwarts for the full moon. 16 years later.

"Remus," (Y/N) laid her hand on his arm. He suddenly whipped his head to look at her, the movement adding to their close proximity.

Remus froze. Her eyes. They were captivating to him. They shined under the moonlight, her eye colours modified into bright, shining ones. He fell into the mysterious depth of her eyes that pulled him closer, quite literally.

Both of them did not know when but soon their lips connected in a messy kiss but it was perfect for them. Their hands manoeuvred until hers were buried into his brown curls and his arms wound around her waist, pulling her closer. Remus tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

Kissing under the moonlight, what a cliche, yet, Remus Lupin wouldn't want it any other way.

[rivalsforlife]

I Once Again Attempt (And Likely Fail) To Predict An AA7 Announcement

Hey there. So it’s been about nine months since my last post trying to predict when AA7 would be announced, wherein I said I expected an announcement in September/October 2021, and it’s now May 2022 and I still look like a fool. So, in an attempt to sound smart eventually (which really just means I’ll be digging myself further into this hole I’ve found myself in) I’m going to go attempt a guess again.

In this post I will be discussing a few possibilities in which we could expect an AA7 announcement, and hoping that random chance will finally make me look smart. I will also be discussing an apparent “leak” of dubious credibility that may give some more information. And I’ll throw in a few cents about what I expect from the series in the coming years, just for fun. All the while hoping that tumblr doesn’t randomly delete my post again.

And to spare you all, the rest will be under the "keep reading”.

Let’s Pin Down A Very Wide Time Range

The first thing I want to do is get a wide range of when we might expect an announcement, based off of the announcement -> release time frames for new games (not rereleases) in the past decade. (We’re really reaching here.)

AAI: announced April 9 2008, released May 28 2009.

AAI2: announced September 7 2010; TGS this year was 16-19th, therefore it was announced in Famitsu the week before TGS. It was released February 3 2011.

DD: announced January 29 2012 as part of the 10th anniversary event. Released July 25 2013.

DGS: announced April 22 2014, released July 9 2015.

SOJ: announced September 1 2015; TGS this year was 17-20th, so it was announced in Famitsu about two weeks before the event. Released June 9 2016.

DGS2: announced during TGS 2016, on September 17. Released August 3 2017.

Overall, the shortest announcement -> release period this past decade and a bit is AAI2′s five month period from September 2010 to February 2011. The longest is Dual Destinies’ year and a half. I’m not counting rereleases in here because those tend to be shorter (for instance, Chronicles took three months). 

For purposes of this post, I’m going to assume an announcement -> release period of about nine months, because that’s what Spirit of Justice, the most recent mainline game, had. As I recall, Dual Destinies was announced at a 10th anniversary event, and was just a title reveal. (According to wikipedia, it was initially announced in 2007, but I’m not counting that because that’s not a real concrete announcement by the sounds of it.) Spirit of Justice’s announcement was more substantial (a spread in Famitsu, a Japanese gaming magazine) and therefore I’ll be counting that one.

But of course, an announcement to release period means nothing when we know neither announcement nor release. The only source of any sort of credibility I could find about when we can expect an AA7 release was from a leaker whose credibility seems to be rather contested. I do not follow gaming news most of the time and I do not know the history of this person’s reliability. So please take this next part not as confirmation and definitely not as credible as confirmed leaks like the 2020 Capcom ones. 

The full post is here, but I will post the relevant part for your convenience:

Capcom has a pretty good 2022 planned, it seems. Most of their major franchises have something big planned, and Ace Attorney will probably not be an exception. Ace Attorney 7 is indeed in the works, and will be announced in the coming months. It's been speculated that there will be a new protagonist, but nope, I don't think so. Phoenix and Maya will return for a whole new batch of cases. Shu Takumi will direct this new installment and I predict that it'll release worldwide in early 2023.

Overall, this isn’t something completely unreasonable with what we know. The November 2020 Capcom leaks did confirm that AA7 was in the works, even though we’re way past the supposed release period of October-December 2021. (Presumably, we can blame our friend COVID for that.) Assuming it hasn’t been cancelled, it coming this year or next is a reasonable guess. The content, too, seems pretty standard to Capcom. Phoenix and Maya being the leads again will be disappointing to Apollo fans who are still waiting for a proper sequel to AA4 or Athena fans wanting literally anything about her, but fits with Capcom’s general attitude towards 5 and 6 of “go for as much trilogy nostalgia as possible.” (Sorry. I’ll try to keep my opinions out of the rest of this. No guarantees.)

Similarly, Shu Takumi coming back to direct also makes the most sense. We have no idea what he’s been working on since the release of DGS2 five years ago. And with Yamazaki, who did 5, 6, and the AAIs, having left Capcom, bringing back the original director is really the thing that makes the most sense. This should make Takumi fans happy. I *am* admittedly curious about how he feels about 5 and 6 and how he’s going to handle the content introduced in those games.

But we don’t really care about the content in this post, we care about the dates. This leak speculates an AA7 release in early 2023 with an announcement “in the coming months”, which is extremely vague, as I’m sure it should be if you’re leaking something that can be changed at any time. This post was made in early January 2022, for reference, so here in May we are well into “the coming months” with no real sign of an announcement. But, assuming my general guess of “nine month announcement -> release period” and assuming early 2023 is anywhere from January-June (a very generous range), we could see an announcement any time from now to September 2022.

Again, a very generous range.

It’s also relevant to point out that this is a “worldwide release in early 2023″. Typically, AA games have taken a few more months to come out worldwide compared to a Japan-only release, but this has changed with Great Ace Attorney Chronicles (wherein the English release was actually two days earlier than the Japanese, at least in the Americas.) However, for the purposes of this post, I will assume that worldwide and Japanese releases are either synchronous or close enough that it doesn’t matter.

But of course, “now to September” is way too broad for any actual concrete predictions. I’m going to predict a few events/times that I personally think are likely times for an announcement. And probably get all of them wrong. :/

Option 1: THIS WEDNESDAY, MAY 18TH 2022

Disclaimer: This is not based on anything other than I think it would be extremely funny.

So. For those of you who weren’t here last year: Capcom had an orchestra concert April 10, 2021. This concert was streamed online because of the ongoing pandemic. The concert heavily contained music from the as-of-yet unannounced Great Ace Attorney Chronicles, and included the English version of the title and a few localized names from the leaks.

This, everyone thought, was an opportune moment for the announcement of Chronicles, which we all knew was coming from the leaks. It’s a concert featuring TGAA music!

The concert passes. No announcement, to the shock of everyone.

April 21st 2021, a random Wednesday morning, the official Ace Attorney twitter accounts post an announcement for The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles, instead of the fan event a week and a half prior. Everyone wonders why they just didn’t do it at the concert.

Jump ahead a year. May 7th, 2022, Capcom has an orchestra concert. The concert contains music from all games in the series (except aai :( and pl vs pw). There is no announcement.

I just think it would be extremely funny if they pull the same thing and announce it on May 18th just after another fan event. Like, who decides that’s a good idea.

Option 2: A 20TH ANNIVERSARY EVENT

“But Grace,” you might be saying, “wasn’t the concert a 20th anniversary event? And isn’t there no 20th anniversary event currently in the works?” you may be right. but let me explain my reasoning.

Ace Attorney has, to my knowledge, run anniversary events for both the 10th and 15th anniversaries. The 10th anniversary event was January 29th 2012 (though I cannot find a site or official record of it, this is from wikipedia’s DD announcement). And the 15th anniversary event was January 22nd 2017. These correspond to about “late January following the anniversary date (October 12th)”.

As for concerts? The 15th anniversary concert was May 6th 2017. If that sounds a little familiar, May 7th 2022 (the first Saturday in May following the anniversary date) was the day of the 20th anniversary concert.

My theory is this: Capcom intended for there to be a 20th anniversary event in late January 2022. This was not announced and postponed because of pandemic concerns (it was around the time Omicron was taking off, which was a lot of uncertainty.) The 15th anniversary was announced September 17 2016, during TGS. AA did not show up at 2021′s TGS, and again, this was in the middle of pandemic uncertainty. This is a reasonable assumption; the previous events were held in person. Already, they’ve had to cancel the stage play Turnabout Parallel World twice because of the pandemic. They may not have wanted to take the risk, given the situation in late January.

But now, with things being... well, I definitely don’t want to say the pandemic is over, but with more people being vaccinated and things opening enough for them to hold the concert in person, maybe they’d reconsider holding the 20th anniversary event for a little celebration. No idea when that would be. No idea how much notice there would be. But that is a reasonable time, assuming it happens, for a game announcement. 

... Or the week after the event. That’s also a possibility.

Option 3: ... E3?

Honestly I’m not really buying this one. E3 is a typical place for game announcements, but Ace Attorney has to my knowledge never announced anything at E3. And furthermore, E3 isn’t really officially happening in any capacity. There are rumors that Nintendo would do a massive Nintendo Direct around E3 time anyways, which is the most likely place within E3 for an AA announcement unless Capcom is doing their own separate thing (which I have not seen any indication of). 

This is really just based on “Games are sometimes announced at E3″ and I don’t think it’s likely at all, but I wanted to cover the basics just to be safe.

Option 4: THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY TIMES TOKYO GAME SHOW CAN FAIL ME

Tokyo Game Show is my go-to prediction for a new AA announcement every year since 2018′s “unmissable announcement”. And I firmly believe that fifth time is the charm! I Do Not Learn From My Mistakes! And I Still Think That TGS 2022 Is My Year!

This is the one I think is most likely. It falls at the end of my range of “now to September 2022″. Either during or prior to TGS is the most common place for Ace Attorney games to be announced, with 3/6 of the games I covered above being either announced during TGS or in the leadup to it through Famitsu. I still think this is the time. I still think this is the place. September is the month of disappointment but perhaps, this once, it will bring me joy.

Apparently this’ll be September 15th-18th; meaning an announcement in the first few weeks of September (or perhaps late August) is a likelihood. And now that I said it, it probably won’t come true. :(

Option 5: SOME RANDOM DAY OUT OF NOWHERE

Timing has no meaning.

Option 6: WE’RE NEVER GETTING AN AA7. GIVE UP AND ACCEPT YOUR FATE.

And with that, I have covered every possibility. I now cannot physically be wrong. Finally, Capcom, I have outsmarted you.

A Place For General Speculation

Of course, all this is covering AA7. I made a post a couple months ago about some possibilities for a 456 port given a recent trademark for “Apollo Justice”, though that’s inconclusive.

There’s also, of course, the possibility of an eventual DGS3/TGAA3, given the success of Chronicles on modern platforms. Personally, I doubt this would come out before AA7 and 456 ports. I plan to make a post covering that stuff....... someday. Maybe. Eventually. 

But, if this leak I discussed in the post is true and Takumi is the writer for AA7, that opens up a few interesting possibilities. It could mean Takumi is going back to being the primary mainline writer, meaning that TGAA would be taken over by a new director. This would give Capcom the ability to be working on a “mainline” and “spinoff” game at any given time and kind of alternate them (sort of like the 2009-2017 period of more or less interchanging mainline games with Investigations/Great games.) This... could be interesting. Takumi hasn’t worked on mainline for quite a while. I have no idea if DD and SOJ at all line up with his vision. I don’t know what he planned after AA4. He could try to branch off of plot points introduced in DD and SOJ, or he could ignore them completely and go for an AA4 followup, or he could ignore everything and do a “soft reboot” with Phoenix and Maya. 

Similarly, the possibility of Takumi not on TGAA raises some interesting questions. Without spoiling anything, the way TGAA wraps up is pretty tidy. While I loved the games, I’m not dying for a sequel or followup on the protagonists. And maybe Takumi feels the same way - he didn’t seem to want to continue the story of Phoenix & Co after the trilogy, which is why AA4 tried to go with an all new cast. Maybe he doesn’t have any more ideas for Ryunosuke and Susato, but a new writer could come up with some adventures for them, which could be good or suck a lot. We’d have no way of knowing.

Also, it is possible that Takumi is working on AA7 now but will switch back to TGAA3 if one gets greenlighted - there’s no reason to believe they thought they’d be doing another TGAA at the time of the capcom leaks and aa7 development. 

Overall, for future games in the series, I’m anticipating AA7 is next. Assuming they made some progress pre-pandemic and have been slowly putting it together over the past two years and they’ve *got* to be close to an announcement time now. Following that, I think that the relative success of TGAA and the demise of the 3DS eShop mean that they’d want to work on a 456 port to come next, and maybe, eventually, a TGAA3. No sign of investigations ports though, because I have given up on expecting a miracle, and Capcom hates my guts.

If you read all of this, thanks! I’d always be interested to hear what other people think about my speculation.

TL;DR:

- I once again am expecting an AA7 announcement this year. I think that Tokyo Game Show is still the most likely, though there are softer possibilities for Very Soon, E3-range, or an as-of-yet unannounced 20th anniversary event.

- An unconfirmed leak of dubious credibility says that AA7 will be coming out early 2023, starring Phoenix and Maya and written by Takumi. Again, the credibility of this is unknown, so definitely don’t take it as confirmation of any sort, or any more reliable than anything I’ve said here.

- If Takumi does come back to mainline, we might get a new writer for any TGAA sequels. If we are getting a TGAA3, I’d expect it to be after AA7 and a 456 port at the very least.

- I Am So Normal. I Am So Completely Normal Right Now.

- I really need to stop making these kinds of posts because it’s so embarrassing when I’m wrong, but I’m going ahead and doing it anyway.

[parkerslatte]

Years Passed [Chapter One]

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Part Summary: After a decade of living in England, Y/N finally moves back to America to be closer to her family.

prologue / next chapter

Years Passed Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist

***

CHAPTER ONE: FAMILIAR FACES

Y/N was always one to follow her dreams. Originally her dream was to become an astronaut but she soon found that she wasn’t smart enough for that. That’s when she found herself falling down the route of art. Y/N had always been a gifted artist since she was a child. While everyone in her class was drawing stick figures and calling it a day, Y/N would take time to get the proportions of the body right. People would always say she was trying too hard or just trying to get attention. Y/N didn’t care - she was doing what she loved.

It wasn’t until high school where she began to take art more seriously, people would come to her to do art commissions. At first Y/N refused, she didn’t want to charge people for her art but once she realised how much she could make from it, doing art commissions became her job. Throughout high school it was her main source of income. However, it wasn’t until the end of high school where Y/N decided that art was the thing she definitely wanted to go down. 

Opening up her own gallery became her dream. A couple of years after breaking up with Spencer Reid, Y/N moved to England. She didn’t exactly know why, all she knew was that she wanted a fresh start. Y/N moved into a small flat in Cornwall. It was perfect for what Y/N needed. She spent just over ten years of her life living in Cornwall and Y/N couldn’t be happier, however there were many instances where she missed her family. Y/N could never afford to constantly go between England and America and neither could her family. A lot of her time was spent on phone calls and video calls with her family. 

It was only recently that Y/N moved back to America. Six months to be exact. After nearly eleven years of being away from her family constantly, Y/N decided to move back to America. She didn’t make the decision lightly, it took her many months to come to the conclusion. Y/N had many friends in England. She had her small art gallery. Most importantly, her daughter had her friends in England and her school - everything she had ever known. 

Y/N’s daughter, Harper, was seven and she was the light of Y/N’s life. Everything she did was for Harper. Y/N didn’t want to pry Harper away from her home, but she wanted her to get to know her family. When Y/N told Harper the news, Harper was excited, she had always been a curious girl and moving to a new country was exciting for her. 

“Mummy!” Harper yelled, running out of her room to Y/N who was sitting on the couch. Her daughter’s accent was a little messed up. Some words would come out in an American accent and some in a British accent - more specifically the Cornish dialect. 

Y/N smiled upon seeing her daughter. As she ran, the wild curls on top of her head bounced up and down. Harper approached Y/N and climbed onto the couch next to her. Y/N wrapped her arm around her daughter and pulled her in close to her side.

“What’s got you so energetic?” Y/N questioned. 

“Can we go to the park?” Harper asked, “You said that we could go today.”

Y/N checked the time on the clock on the wall, “You really want to go at ten in the morning? You don’t want to wait until midday then we can go out for lunch?”

“Can we go now? I’m bored.” Harper draped herself over Y/N’s lap dramatically.

Y/N shook her head, a smile on her face. Harper was definitely one for dramatics, something she inherited from her father.

“Okay, how about this?” Y/N started, “We wait until eleven and we can invite Melanie and Toby and we can go and get lunch with them?”

Harper nodded her head vigorously causing Y/N to chuckle slightly. The only reason as to why Y/N wanted to wait longer to go out was because she was waiting for Harper’s birthday present to turn up. It wasn’t her birthday for another three weeks but Y/N always wanted to leave time in case the package never turned up in case she needed to buy something else. 

“Why don’t you go and play in your room and I’ll come and get you when it’s time to go?”

Harper nodded before running off to her bedroom down the hall. Checking the clock again, Y/N realised the package wouldn’t be here for another half hour. Deciding she had time to kill, Y/N made her way to her bedroom to get changed. If she was going to be out for most of the day, she decided that being in sweatpants and an old shirt wasn’t going to look so good. 

Picking out a simple sundress, Y/N got changed in a flash before she found herself seated on the couch again. Over the last few days, Y/N had found herself being more tired than usual. Everything she did drained the life out of her, obviously she wanted to run around and play with Harper but she would tire out quickly. Harper would try not to get sad about it as she understood why Y/N got like this once a year. Y/N wasn’t going to explain it until Harper got a little older but she understood perfectly. 

Grabbing her phone off of the coffee table, Y/N pressed on Melanie’s contact. Melanie had been Y/N’s friend for a while. They met a year before Y/N had moved to England, due to their long distance friendship, Y/N had expected that they would fall out of contact but they never did. Melanie was godmother to Harper and Y/N was godmother to Melanie’s son Toby. 

The phone rang a few times before Melanie picked up. 

“Hello?” Melanie’s voice came through the phone.

“Hey Mel!” Y/N greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Well Harper and I are going to the park in an hour and I was wondering if you and Toby would like to join us?” 

“We’d love to,” Melanie answered, “Toby’s been pulling my leg asking when he would see Harper next.”

Y/N chuckled, “We’ll meet you at the park if that’s alright.”

“That’s more than fine, we’ll see you then.” Melanie responded before hanging up the phone. 

Y/N tossed her phone back on the couch and slumped back down. She could easily turn on the television and watch something but she didn’t feel up to it. Getting back up from the couch, Y/N headed over to Harper’s room and pushed it open. Her daughter was hunched over her small desk, scribbling away on a piece of paper. Y/N smiled at the sight. Her daughter had taken after her in artistic skill, always having the dream that one day she would be as good as her mother. 

“Hey Harp.” Y/N said, entering her room. 

“Mummy, look I’ve done a drawing!” Harper said excitedly holding up the picture, “It’s the same one you painted.”

Y/N took the drawing out of Harper’s hands and held it up. Y/N had painted a landscape of a forest a few weeks ago and Harper had copied it almost exactly. Every time Y/N would do a commission or a painting for fun, there would always be smaller versions of the same painting but made with colour pencil. Sometimes Harper would sit next to Y/N while she was painting and they would do it together. 

Y/N always enjoyed doing art with Harper by her side. She would constantly ask questions about it and Y/N was always more than happy to answer. From sitting next to her and watching her paint, Harper had been teaching herself how to paint. Y/N would always offer to help her but Harper always refused the help, letting Y/N only watch from a distance. Their whole house was filled with paintings from both Y/N and Harper. 

“It’s incredible, Harp.” Y/N said crouching down, “Even better than mine.”

“No it isn't, your one is better.” Harper said, “Yours are always better. I want to be like you when I grow up.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to the side of Harper’s head, “I don’t want you to be like me, I want you to be like you. You are going to grow up and be an extraordinary person, like you already are.”

Harper hugged Y/N tightly, “I love you mummy.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.” Y/N pressed a kiss to the side of her head once more before she heard the doorbell ring. 

“Is that Melanie and Toby?” Harper questioned.

“No, it’s someone else, Mel and Toby are meeting us at the park,” Y/N explained, “Now why don’t you clean up in here before we head out.”

Harper nodded before she began clearing everything away. Y/N headed out of her room and opened the front door. Y/N expected it to be Harper’s present however she was greeted by two people - more specifically FBI agents. Y/N looked between the two, very obviously confused. 

When Y/N looked up at the male agent, her eyes widened the slightest amount. His hair was curlier and he had a slight stubble. He looked as if he filled out his clothes more as well. Even if it had been more than a decade, she could recognise him anywhere. 

Spencer Reid.

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[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Smile, Draco II Draco Malfoy x Reader

Requested by: @venuswrites​ - I hope you like it! <3

Summary: You are destined to show Draco a little bit of happiness in the midst of a troubling 6th year at Hogwarts. (fluff/angst)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader Words: 1.3k Warnings: none

Ducks

Draco opens his book and a little piece of parchment falls out of it. It lands in his lap and he grabs it, intending on throwing it away, when something catches his attention. Black lines moving across the parchment. He frowns and unfolds it. A single “huh” escapes him.

Ducks.

Two drawn ducks that someone enchanted so that they’re now waddling across it. One of them carries a little basket in his mouth, filled with cheese and a bottle of wine. The other one reaches a corner and starts picking at the edge of the paper as if it is trying to escape its two-dimensional prison.

 Draco stares at it for a few seconds. He doesn’t understand how it got between the pages of his potions book. Did someone put it there or is it just a long forgotten doodle from the years before?

He looks up. Draco sits in the last row of the classroom, alone at a table for four. The same seat he has chosen since the beginning of his sixth school year. His classmates all seem to be focused on the words of Professor Slughorn, their eyes fixated on whatever words appear on the blackboard. Movements in the corner of his eyes causes him to turn his head.

There’s no one.

Well, no one except for you. He doesn’t know who you are. Six years of sharing classes and yet he still never bothered to learn your name. He has seen you around, obviously, and he vaguely remembers Blaise talking about you at some point. But when he tries to remember your name, his mind goes blank.

You are opening a new inkpot and your eyes quickly glance over to him, when you notice his stare. They drop to the piece of parchment in his hands and then back to the inkpot.

Draco shakes his head. Coincidence.

He looks at the ducks another time. One of them had put down the basket and now sits on a little picnic blanket. It watches the other duck who still picks at the corner of the parchment. The corners of Draco’s mouth twitch and he decides against throwing the drawing away.

Chocolates

Eight days later, Draco finds a box of chocolates with his name on it. It rests in front of his dorm room. He picks it up suspiciously and opens it. Twelve pieces of chocolate sit inside the dark green box. They smell heavenly and the sight makes his mouth water.

“Look at that, Theo!” Draco flinches at Blaise’s loud voice. “Draco has a secret admirer.”

“Oooh, who’s it from?”, Theo asks. The two boys appear behind Draco. When Theo reaches for the box, Draco closes it quickly.

Blaise rolls his eyes. “What do you think does the word ‘secret’ entail, idiot?” They disappear inside the dorm. Draco doesn’t join their conversation. By now, they don’t expect him to anymore.

He puts the chocolates in his bag and wonders who sent it to him. The drawing comes to his mind and he can’t shake the eerie feeling that the two instances are somehow connected. When he reaches the Room of Requirements, however, his thoughts darken again. Inside, the vanishing cabinet waits for him and he grits his teeth.

Draco eats the first piece of chocolate when he opens the doors to the cabinets and finds a dead bird.

Frogs

Draco used to love the weekends in Hogsmeade. Drinking Butterbeers at ‘The Three Broomsticks’, buying way too many sweets at ‘Honeydukes’, judging the people shopping at ‘Gladrags Wizardwear’ together with his friends - those weekends were the highlight of his years in schools.

They aren’t anymore.

His friends left without this morning and Draco doesn’t blame them. It was him who commented on Pansy’s supposed clinginess after she asked him if he wanted to come. Insulting her is a guaranteed way to get the whole friend group off his back. It hurt. It hurt watching them leave but it’s better this way. Easier.

Especially today.

Draco walks out of the ‘The Three Broomsticks’ when you bump into him. He reaches for your arms instinctively and holds you up so you don’t slip on the icy ground. You thank him and smile at him. Draco doesn’t reply. He lets go of you, buries his hands in his pockets and is about to turn around when he suddenly notices something. A small piece of paper, crumpled in his left pocket. Draco pulls it out, a confused look on his face, and opens it.

Another drawing. This time, it’s three tiny frogs that stare up at him. One of them makes a ‘ribbit’-sound when he smoothes over the paper. It wasn’t there before.

A second passes and it finally clicks.

You.

Draco’s eyes widen and he looks up, searching for you. You are already a few steps ahead.

“Hey!”, Draco calls out.

You stop and turn around. You wear a black coat and your scarf is wrapped around your tightly, glowing brightly in your house colors against the snowy landscape. There’s a smile on your lips. It irritates him.

“Did you …?” Draco holds up the drawing. You open your mouth as if you want to say something and then close it again. He sees a hint of embarrassment in your eyes. He caught you red-handed. “The drawing with the duck, it was you?,” he asks. “And the chocolates?”

You nod.

“Why?”

“You’re sad.” You give a half-shrug. You say it as if drawing little animals for strangers is the most normal thing in the world. “I don’t like it when people are sad.”

Draco frowns. “You don’t know me.”

“So?”, you ask. 

Draco doesn’t have an answer.

“Did they cheer you up?”

He looks down at the drawing again and it happens again - the corners of his mouth twitch. He hears you chuckle.

“I’m glad,” you say. “Have a nice day, Draco.”

He doesn’t remember the time someone called him by his first name in Hogwarts who doesn’t belong to his immediate friend group. “Wait!”, Draco calls out again when you want to turn around again.

“Yes?” You tilt your head.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

Beautiful, Draco thinks when he hears it. How could he not have noticed you before? A sudden idea pops in his head and he starts speaking before he can think about it: “Do you maybe want to …”

He trails off when the bell of the door chimes again and Katie walks out, in her hands a black box. Draco feels the dark magic oozing over to him. She doesn’t notice him but he can’t stop staring at her.

“Do I maybe want to …?”

He snaps out of it when he hears your voice, and clears his throat. “Have a drink with me? It’s cold.”

“You don’t have to feel obligated-” You raise your hands.

“I’m not one who does things out of obligation,” Draco interrupts you.

You hesitate and for a second, Draco is convinced you’ll say no. When the next word leaves your lips, relief washes over him. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats. You come towards him and he opens the door for you. When you walk past him, the whiff of your shampoo reaches his nose and Draco is convinced he’d never smelled something more calming.

 “Are you friends with Looney Lovegood?”, Draco asks when the two of you sit down. You reminded her of him.

“Pansy’s girlfriend?” You shake your head. “No, but I wish. She seems cool.” You smile again, a soft, much more shy smile, and for the first time in months, he returns it.

***

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[stardustincarnate]

CONFESSION // Mello x Reader

word count : 4016 genre : fluff a/n : i haven’t gotten over my writer’s block, so yes -- here i am, once again posting old fics from my wattpad account. 

Today is the day.

After contemplating about it for a couple of weeks and confiding it to his best pal, Matt, Mello has finally decided to confess his feelings for you tonight, exploiting the situation where you two will normally go riding on the city streets during Friday midnights such as this one.

To say the least, he isn't the best in this kind of thing— love, that is. Before, all he could think about was one thing which was proving that he's better than Near, and besides, no one really piqued his interest. But then the enigma that you are came.

You can be cunningly evil at times if you want to. You'll often say to the ones you've fooled or to the other mafia members, "It's nothing personal, it's just business." You also have a harsh mouth as he would like to describe. Anything that comes out of it may sound derisive or blatant, but it's basically the truth. You don't sugarcoat things— you don't even try to. Although sometimes you seem to make the truth more cruel than it really is, which makes you look too intimidating for the others. They're only thankful that you don't talk very often and only will if you have something conducive to say.

But that's not all that you are. Mello could feel it, so he grew curious of you. Just a mere speck of curiosity, but then it grew. He wanted to talk to you, but then he asked himself what's the point of doing so, thus he disregarded the idea. That's why you developed a friendship with Matt, who you think is really fun to be with, first. Then as your friendship grew, he thought of introducing you to Mello, and that's when it began. To be frank the beginning of your friendship wasn't easy, and to think that friendship only started growing not until you celebrated a year and a half of being with the mafia.

It was a long process, but in the end, it was worth the wait. Day by day he started lowering the walls he barricaded himself with, and same as you. He became really outgoing and deep down truly caring as your friend, like he is with Matt, because after all you two are the only family he has. And— let's not forget his strange addiction with chocolates! And, well, you like it.

You like him.

Mello knows this as well. He knows that his feelings are reciprocated and he's happy with that. But the question is, who's going to make the first move? Certainly not you. Between fighting the devil and confessing your feelings for someone, you'd probably choose the former. You don't seem like the kind of person who will make the first move. He as well is like that.

And that leads us to his acquiescence of doing it instead. Did he have a choice? Well, maybe, if one considers you doing it instead, but that will definitely take several months, or even years, from now. And he can't wait that long! What if you suddenly start to develop feelings for another person? He can't lose you, you that is just in front of his eyes, one step away from him. He needs to grab the opportunity while it still is there.

Because with you, he feels happy and contented. And for the first time he finally feels like he is number one.

And he really is, in your heart.

"Wooh!"

Matt exclaims after slamming the door, causing Mello to jolt upwards from his reverie. "You know I almost got caught by another mem!"

"Is it done?"

"Of course."

"Hm. You sure this suggestion is for the better? You know how scary that woman can be when she's mad. Especially after finding out that her tires have been flattened."

"Didn't you say you wanted something more romantic tonight? So, I thought of flattening her tires so she can't use her own scooter, that way she can ride with you."

"Uh-uh... Is it romantic though?"

"You two will be close enough. And—no perverted thoughts—she gets to wrap her arms around you while riding. If that's not romantic, I literally don't know what is."

"I'm having qualms about this one."

"What? I'm just as clueless as you are when it comes to romance. I'm doing my best here to help you ya know?"

"I know, I know. Sorry."

"It's your fault you fell in love with her." Matt jests, chuckling. But he immediately behaves himself when he sees that deadly glare of his friend. "Hey! I was only kidding! Don't look at me like that, Mels. You're creeping me out."

"Hah. But I guess you're right. My fault. And great— now I'm having more doubts than before and feeling.. tentative."

"The almighty Mello is nervous? Wow. I never thought I'd live to see this day!"

"Say one more word and I'll make sure it's the last you'll ever emit."

"HE-HE-HEY! Now you're just being belligerent. Don't worry. I'm sure you two will come back here as a couple. Swear it on my life. So stop doubting yourself. And just.. don't act awkward and dorky when confessing towards your little devil."

"Just how am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know. Just don't."

Mello heaves a sigh. "Sometimes I do wonder if you're really the smart Matt they used to talk about back in the orphanage."

Matt only grins. He's about to reply, but then they both hear footsteps—angry footsteps—coming closer.

"Oh, speaking of the devil. Here she comes. In three.. two.. one.."

With that, you kick the door open and look around. You look like you're about to whip someone's ass and the men can almost laugh at your reaction knowing the reason behind it. You give them a steely look when they unknowingly start to curve their lips to a grin. They quickly change their reaction.

"This has gotta be one of the worse days of my life!" You exclaim as you slump on the sofa beside Mello. "I can't go with you. I've got a flat tire, and I have no idea why. Someone must've done it.."

"Who would do such a terrible thing? Especially to you, the devil no one else even bothers to approach?" Mello momentarily glances at Matt before taking a bite of his chocolate, which you then steals from his grip. "But don't worry, I gotcha. You can ride me... with me I mean! You can ride with me, NOT RIDE ME—good Lord I'm sorry."

'Aha, and there goes Matt's reminder that I shouldn't act awkward.' He looks away with a blush.

"I think [Y/N] is okay with either of that—"

You raise an eyebrow at Matt. "Oh, you mean you Mathematics. You can ride him all you want so don't be shy and put my name in your shoes."

"That's not—!"

"—ANYWAYS, Willy Wonka, you sure you okay with me riding with you? You won't mind?"

"Jesus, stop calling me that! And yes. You're my friend so I won't mind."

"Thanks mate!" To his surprise, you hug him from the side. And you are hugging him a little too much. "You know I've always wanted to ride your motor. It looks cooler than mine."

"Ah.. well— you're squeezing me a bit too much.. don't you think?"

You pull away and snicker. "Sorry. You're like a marshmallow that I just want to squeeze sometimes."

"EHEM. Pardon me, will you? I need to go to the restroom."

Matt stands up, thinking that his job here as cupid is done—or not quite yet. He has one last plan in mind. And even he isn't sure that that plan is going to make things better or worse.

"Enjoy taking another dump!" You shout as he leaves the room, making sure to lock it. Now you and Mello are completely alone, facing one another in utter silence. And it's too silent that you can hear some of the other mafia members arguing in a distant room. You can even hear someone moaning. Mello can hear it too.

You both give each other a look that only you two can understand.

"Oof. Must be nice. Err, so anyways," you start. "The usual place tonight?" And by that you mean stopping by to go atop a dilapidated building in a forsaken road to stargaze with him for ten minutes. You two make sure to always include going there to find tranquility in the stars and with each other. It temporarily removes all the problems and worries you have.

With Mello ruefully shaking his head, you frown. He puts an arm over your shoulder and nods reassuringly instead. You hide a smile.

"We can do that next week or earlier if we're not too preoccupied so don't be so glum. I'll be taking you somewhere new. I'm sure you'll like it."

"I hope so. Otherwise I'm gonna kick your ass."

"You'll be the one getting your ass kicked it if you don't give me back my chocolate right now."

"But I need chocolate too! Chocolate makes you happy. So I need it, 'kay?!"

"As far as I know that chocolate is mine and not yours???"

"But I'm your friend aren't I? You still have a lot of stock in there I'm sure."

"I'm running out of chocolates so give it back you little demon."

He hastily maneuvers before you can even stand up and try running away. He seizes your wrists and places your arms behind your back to prevent you from moving. Since you two are facing each other instead of him being behind you, the position is rather awkward. The proximity of your faces makes both of you blush and in an instance he backs away. You cackle in triumph as to his dismay of not getting his chocolate back.

You look at your wristwatch before taking a bite of the sweet. "Well Marsh-Mello, what are we waiting for? Let's hit the road! I'm already bored." You hold his hand the moment he stands up and you two run outside.

Mello throws the helmet to you which almost hit your face, earning an irked look from you. He then starts the engine as you wear your helmet.

When he starts to move just before you can take a seat, you panic. Of course he only wants to toy with you. He stops at a corner and waits for you, who's running and ready to smash his face. You pant as you finally reach him.

"You little bastard! Why'd you have to make me suffer?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You groan and then sit behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. The closeness of your bodies make you both blush. He makes sure you're all set before once again driving in a high speed that made you hug him tighter. You've always known that he drives this fast, but to experience it yourself? It feels like your skin is being blown away and seperated from your bones.

"W-Would you mind slowing down, just a bit?"

"Come on [Y/N], that's not fun."

"So you call this fun? You're gonna kill us both. I'm too beautiful to die right now!"

"Tsk. You're no fun." You're about to make a rebuttal but he slows down reluctantly and matches the speed you will normally drive at. You sigh in relief and absently rests your chin on his right shoulder, looking at the stores, buildings, and a few people walking on the sidewalk which you are hastily passing by. On your left you see numbered vehicles and a few more buildings.

You're enjoying the ride, however, you hear the tire from behind pop. That is already bad, and worse comes when the front one pops too. He goes to the side before halting.

"Shit! Just our luck!"

"Haha seems like you and I share the same fate, huh? Goals."

Mello sighs as a realization dawns him.

'Matt.. you little shit.'

"Whadda we do now?" You worriedly ask.

"We're still halfway to the place I'm taking you and this happens.. I suppose I can just park this somewhere. You wouldn't mind walking, would you?"

"Sounds fine with me then."

He nods and parks the motor beside a bicycle and a car in front of a store, placing a tracker in it just in case it gets stolen. But if it ever does, he can just get another one. Legally or not. Doesn't matter.

In silence, you and Mello start walking side by side. Arriving upon a city bridge you can't help but stare at the river. The limit to what you can see on its side is a lively city despite the hour, with skyscrapers and billboard signs lit up. You can hear the occasional, distant sounds of car engines.

You avert your gaze back in the front, meeting chatty people on your way who are walking opposite to you and Mello. You realize that they're mostly couples who are matching clothes and openly talking, not caring if they're to be heard by others. Mello also notices, and not only that but the way you two undeniably look like one. Without any intentions, your clothes match. Not that it's a big deal since everyday you two wear black, but because of your surroundings, he might as well seize the opportunity.

Beaming from ear to ear, he holds your hand and intertwines your fingers together. You're confused, but at the same time liking it, a blush creeping on your face.

"Don't mind if I do. We don't wanna look like a couple who can't bear with each other after some kind of quarrel, do we?"

"But we're not a couple."

"No, not yet."

You stop and raise an eyebrow.

"Oop. Did I say that out loud? My bad."

He cheekily grins. It's only a joke, you think, but at the same time you wish that he's not joking—which he really isn't.

"Hey, how long are we going to walk?"

"Why? Are your feet giving up already? Want a piggyback?"

You completely turn red. He smiles at that.

"Nah.. I—"

"Don't waste the opportunity. I might change my mind later."

"I don't care. This is enough."

You squeeze his hand tightly—too tight that he swears he feel his phalanges breaking—but unexpectedly, he just moans. And people look at the two of you.

"The fuck was that?!? I didn't know you were some kind of masochist!"

"DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO SAY IT OUT LOUD?"

"AHA so you do admit being a masochist!!"

"WHAT? NO! I'M NOT!"

"Why so defensive now?"

"Because people are hearing you???"

"Let them! HAHAHAHA! MY BOYFRIEND IS A MASOCHIST! ISN'T THAT CUTE??"

But after realizing what you just said, you stop and gnaw your lower lip.

"Oh earth swallow me right now.. Sorry! God I'm embarrassed. You're not my boyfriend—"

"Didn't I tell you? Not yet."

You punch his shoulder playfully. "Stop joking around! I might actually believe you ya know?"

"Who said I was joking?"

"..Of course you are—"

"—OH, here we are!"

He diverts the topic, leaving you to slightly pout to yourself as he turns left to an unoccupied and dark area, pulling you to the railing where you two halt and see the perfect angle to view the city and the river from. The water and its light ripples glimmer under the moonlight as the brisk wind hits your skin, making you slightly shiver. Mello notices this and takes off his jacket, insisting you should wear it instead. You don't argue.

"Mello, this is.. magnificent. And a nice spot to stargaze as well! It's pretty wherever I lay my eyes on."

"Except behind us, maybe. You don't like trees that much."

You cackle. "They give me the creeps, especially during night. But at least we don't have to face that way, do we?"

He shakes his head as he laughs, inclining himself closer to you. He places his hands just beside yours on the railing, looking up and then looking at you, who's still busy admiring the sky.

He can't help but smile admiring you in your adorable placidity.

"The stars are pretty tonight." You say as you notice him looking at you in your peripheral vision.

"You always say that. They're always pretty. Sparkly."

"Mesmerizing to look at." You add. He nods, still staring at you.

"That's why I love the stars.."

"Uh huh. And chocolate." You grin.

"And you."

You stand flabbergasted, daring not to look at him directly. Your heart feels like it's about to jolt out of your chest. Your fingers begin to tremble on their own as you feel something intangible whirling inside your stomach. You know what it is—and he's making your heart flutter. But you can't trust this feeling as you aren't even sure if he's joking or not. And if he is, you kinda hate it. You want it to be real.

"Aye, don't flirt with me. That's so not you." You snap, rolling your eyes.

It doesn't take him too long to perceive what's on your mind. He taps your shoulder before sitting on the railing, inviting you to join him. You're a little hesitant for the fear of falling to the water. And when it comes to this kind of thing, you don't trust Mello. You're sure he'll eventually push you. The number of times he had done this to you in some places before is something you can't even count anymore.

"C'mon [Y/N]. Don't be scared. I won't push you. Or if I do, you're free to drag me as well."

"Tch. So you do intend to push me." Nevertheless, you sit beside him and grip the bars tightly with your clammy palms. Luckily the concrete extends six inches after the railing.

Mello feels like you two aren't physically close enough, and he thinks it's not 'romantic' enough, so he slides even closer to you until his palm is already above your hand and your shoulders bump.

"Oh, no. You keep your distance, Mr. Wonka."

"It's not like we're having social distancing here you know?"

"You're too close."

"And I'm going to get even closer.."

He whispers, his hot breath tickling the side of your neck. You sigh and face him, and your noses bump. You urgently back away and you almost slip if not for him.

"What's gotten into your system for you to act so flirty all of a sudden?"

"You."

"MELLO!! I'm damn serious. Like, all the jests can wait but for now, just.. don't flirt with me. I'm in no mood."

"Aww, trying to shoo me away huh? After stealing my heart and my chocolates, here you are suddenly breaking my poor, poor heart."

"One more attempt and I'm going to drown you."

"Heeeeeeey. Don't be so vicious now." He softly bumps your shoulder with his. You only click your tongue in annoyance.

"Seriously. Stop messing with me. I hate you."

"No you don't. I'm not messing with you. I'm serious—"

"Tch. Serious my ass."

"..You don't have one—"

"See? You little fucktard. You keep on messing with me. So just stop flirting with me. I swear I'll kill you if you continue."

"Whaaat? Seriously, I'm not messing with you. You gotta—"

"Mels, no, no, no. You can poke fun of me, push me off right now or anything but just don't flirt with me. You're a bastard for torturing my feelings. That's not cool at all. Damn it," you spat. He keep his silence, his mouth starting to gape.

"Don't make me assume things because I really, really, really like you!"

The words pour out unbidden. Your voice resonates and immediately you shut up and look down with a furious blush.

'That's it, congratulations for possibly ruining your friendship.' You think as you bite your lower lip.

Your blush vanishes as the fluttering feeling in your chest does, being replaced with instant regret, as if your heart has dropped to your stomach.

The look of surprise in his face turns to a cheeky grin. With much glee, he chuckles.

"I've always known this devil is a pure softie inside..."

"M-Mello.."

You are about to tear up, but then he says, "Do you know what you just did? You ruined my plans, [Y/N]! But I suppose I can forgive you for that."

"What?? Plan?? Damn you, damn you, damn you! I knew you were up to no good! Damn it, Mello! Pretend this night never existed. I'm outta here—"

"No no, it's not what you think. 'I like you' was supposed to be my line, not yours!" He can't help but burst out laughing, leaving you momentarily dazed, but then when you realize what he possibly meant by that, it's as if your heart has come back to life. Your face turns red.

"I was going to confess to you tonight, but it looks like the tables had turned. You are a.. partypooper! Do you know how many times I've practice saying that in front of Matt, just to end up with you saying it instead of me? Unbelievable!"

He wheezes, catches his breath, then looks at you. "And look, I'm not complaining, alright? Haha.. but the way things turn out to be in the end is just so.. whimsical. But I'm gonna say it anyway: I like you. I like you a lot."

You scrutinize his facial expression just to be sure that he's serious, and you confirm he truly is. He's absently smiling, and just from staring at you is the reason. Rapture dances in his eyes. He looks genuinely happy and candid at the moment. And here you are left speechless, only staring at him as a sheepish smile slowly invades your face.

You almost lose your grip on the railing when he briefly kisses your cheek. And again, nothing comes out of your mouth.

"Do I also need to say that I wanna be your boyfriend? Because, isn't it obvious?"

"Mello..."

"No pressure, [Y/N]. If we both like each other but you're not yet ready for a relationship, I understand and I can wait."

"Well.." You hide your face on his shoulder because you feel like the longer you stare at him, the more probable it is that you'll faint. "Uhm.. Err... Have you ever been.. in a relationship?"

"No, not really. You will be my first one. If you accept."

You smile. "Well, same as you here."

"Really? I thought you already had a partner or two before."

"I had no time to be in love. Add that some of the people I was acquainted with sucked, and the kind ones.. well, let's just say that they seemed to be missing something.. something that, I suppose, only you have. And.. it will really make me happy if you are to be my first," you lift your head up to meet his eyes. "So I accept."

"You serious?? Right here?? Right now??"

"Need I repeat myself, partner-in-crime?"

"Haha! Course not!"

You peck his cheek as your warm smile broadens. You then rest your head on his shoulder, your eyes never leaving the distant city as he wraps an arm around your waist, meticulous so that you two wouldn't slip from the railing and fall down.

"I think it's safe to assume now that you're the one behind flattening my tires. And just so I can ride with you. You're a cunning man, so I suppose you also did something with your own scooter just so we could walk together, like couples in movies. Haha I never thought you'd think something like that!"

"It was Matt's idea. Swear. He thought it was more romantic that way. And he's probably the one who rigged my scooter. He really can be a huge pain in the ass sometimes."

"Like you are."

"Aw come on. Take that back you little demon!"

"Noooopeeeee! Pfahahaha— AAAA SHIT!"

And with that, you both plunge into the frigid water with a loud splash.