#last art post of this year! the past three months have been a lot so I'm mentally still stuck in october

[galentir]

Alternative universe where Luke and Reggie share the best werewolf vampire solidarity 🤝

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #jatp willie #jatp art #jatp fanart #digital art #my art #this AU hasn't left me I love this so much already #telling by Luke's messy hair... werewolf!Luke was predestinied to be a big floof #and Reggie would absolutely LOVE IT #Alex is having none of it #he wouldn't know what answer he expected to hear from Reggie #last art post of this year! the past three months have been a lot so I'm mentally still stuck in october #but today I finally finished a big project and can now post some art I originally started with the halloween picture #can't believe it's the end of december #so instead of happy halloween have a happy new year!

[rmd-writes]

a love note (and some fics)

Sometimes I wonder if there's really anything bigger out there - the universe, some kind of higher power, fate - and then I think about how extremely lucky I am that I became obsessed with a certain tv show and its characters at just the right time so that I could befriend someone who then introduced me to a particular book at exactly the right time to fall in love with those characters as well. And then, because of my need to have more of those characters, I went looking for more stories about them at exactly the right time to meet a group of people (some of them together, some of them later, but that doesn't matter) who would go on to become my friends.

There must be something, right? To bring together a group of people who live in five to seven different time zones depending on the time of year. To create my safest spaces on the internet. To share not just our love for a book and its characters, but parts of our lives with each other. To have them all wedge themselves into the soft spaces of my heart and never leave.

I've been thinking about this a lot over the last two weeks, because those people conspired and collaborated to gift me a collection of 10 incredible fics for a milestone birthday (tomorrow!) - even though some of them haven't written fic for months and months, or don't write for this fandom at all anymore, or have recently been finding it hard to make words work and finish fics, or are just plain busy with other projects and life. That they took the time to find and make words for me means everything and more 💖💖

I've been absolutely overwhelmed with love these past 10 days (probably to the surprise of no one, I have cried at every single fic drop and I'm crying writing this now). So, I want to share the wonderful fics that they've written for me with you all because it's the least I can do to pay it forward and they're objectively stellar fics. If you haven't come across them already then you should definitely add them to your to read lists/open tabs/MFL. Please show my friends some love and read their work.

The Rae of Sunshine! collection, in order of publication (with my very short summaries):

Take It Back (4.2K) by @three-drink-amy

Henry is the head chef at a French restaurant and there's one patron who keeps sending his dishes back. How can they resolve this?

Dick, Dick Dick (You Down) (10.2K) by @everwitch-magiks

Alex runs the craft services trailer on the set of actor!Henry's latest movie. Is he the only person who sees behind the façade?

A deceptively soft story, given the title.

Precious Love (1.3K) by floatingaway4

The fluffiest follow up to one of my favourite AUs Amigos y Migas (aka the food truck au).

Midnight ice cream (5.8K) by @the-amber-fox

Emotional support Cornettos? More likely than you think.

Make it Right (5.3K) by @three-drink-amy (that's right, Ally wrote me TWO FICS)

A rogue little Tarlos fic in amongst the firstprince - a post-season 1 canon divergence that sees TK working in a taco truck while he finds his feet.

a taste of life (7.4K) by @indomitable-love

A journey through Henry's life, told through food. (This one is not my summary, indomitablelove already summed it up perfectly)

Risotto + Melanzane + Dolce (a love story) (16.8K) by @villiageidiot

Alex starts working at an Italian restaurant and is terrible at his job. Somehow, Henry doesn't seem to mind.

Cursed is a State of Mind (WIP) by @welcometololaland & @dustratcentral

A 5 + 1 treatise on cursed coffee consumption.

12 Year Starter (6.6K) by @clottedcreamfudge

When Pez can't make it to Henry's Michelin-star birthday dinner, he arranges for Henry's friend, Alex, to take his place. Featuring CCF's signature banter and fun, and a menu that I wish was real.

Pour Your He(art) Out (WIP) by @athousandrooms

A 5+1 ode to latte art (featuring actual art!)

You can find the entire collection here on Ao3.

#rae gets sappy #i have the best friends #fandom friends are the best friends #rwrb fic rec #tarlos fic rec #rwrb fic #firstprince fic #red white & royal blue fic #tarlos fic #rae of sunshine

[dragonflylady77]

Mr Steve and The Monster Hunter

It's finally there, time to post my fic for @bigbangharringrove (thank you mods for all your work for this event!)

I've been working so hard on this one... I even did some doodles of a couple of scenes from it (I might post them once I've posted all 6 chapters).

Art by @adelacreations (so very excited about this!!).

I want to thank @ihni for Olivia’s name, @spaceofentropy for noticing I'd forgotten about Will (oops!) and @akioukun for Cindy’s name

Also on Ao3

Steve gets the surprise of his life when one of his students gets picked up by her father. A man who Steve thought had died on the dirty floor of Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago.  Billy Hargrove is alive... and a dad. He runs a security company called HellGrove and he hunts monsters in the Upside Down for a living.  When Billy opens a portal into the Upside Down in Robin and Heather’s backyard, Steve follows because he wants answers.

Chapter 1 - Mr Steve isn't a boy

Steve is looking forward to the weekend after a long week teaching six-year-olds. Having the school trip to the zoo the same week as the talent show is not something he’s keen to do again in a hurry and he let his principal know as much. 

He smiles as the last of the kids rush past him, waving him goodbye as they squeeze in the doorway before running down the hallway towards the exit, a spring in their step. He notices Olivia is still in the classroom and he walks over to her desk.

“Everything okay, Olivia?” he asks as she shoves the last of her drawings in her backpack. He reminds himself for the hundredth time to ask Robin where she found the Hawkins Lifeguard backpack because he didn’t know such an item existed and he was a lifeguard at Hawkins Community Pool for a few summers, both while he was in high school, and after, during summer breaks from university.

He knows he isn’t supposed to have favorites but Robin and Heather’s daughter is one of the brightest students he’d had in his ten years of teaching elementary school and she is extremely funny to boot, at a level that her classmates usually don’t get.

“Yep, Mr Steve, I’m spending the weekend with my dad so I want to show him all my work.”

“Your dad?” Steve asks, confused. As far as he knows, the little girl only has her two mums. Of course, Steve figures there has to have been a man involved in the process, he did pay some attention in biology class, but he never asked. Heather still scares him a little and he isn’t as close to Robin as they were fifteen years ago.

Nope, not thinking about it.

“Yes, he works a lot all over the country so I don’t see him very much.”

“Then I bet you’re very excited to see him!” 

“I haven’t seen him since Christmas, he’s very busy but he rings me when he can,” Olivia says matter-of-factly as she closes her bag. 

“That’s nice,” Steve says, smiling even though he thinks two months is a long time without seeing your child, not that he has any of his own.

“He lives in California, you know,” she adds as she starts walking to the door. 

Steve follows a few steps behind, in a daze, her words unleashing the memories of loud metal, leather and cigarettes, and a blue Camaro.

Nope, not thinking about him.

He watches Olivia step out of the classroom and turns towards the mess he still has to clean before he can go home when the voice coming from the adjoining hallway stops him in his tracks.

“Hey, princess!”

It can’t be. But that voice… He’s heard it before, and those words…

Shaking like a leaf, Steve turns towards the open doorway and takes the three steps that separate him from the owner of the voice.

It isn’t possible. Billy Hargrove is dead, Steve reminds himself. He died at Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago, in what remains the scariest night of Steve’s life. This is just his brain playing tricks on him. 

He steps into the hallway and freezes. The shock of seeing Billy Hargrove, alive and in the flesh, dims Olivia’s gleeful screams.

He looks… Steve feels all the air leave his lungs. Billy looks fucking good for a dead guy. His hair is cut short, some golden curls on the top still, he looks broader in the shoulders, his muscles more defined than they were in high school, not that Steve is looking, but the guy is wearing a t-shirt that looks painted on, okay?

He is also sporting a scar across his left cheek that looks not too recent but doesn’t make him look any less handsome, as well as some gnarly looking, but silver, older, scars on his arms and Steve knows there would be matching ones on his sides and in the middle of his chest, where the Mind Flayer had hit him with its tentacles.

“Pretty boy?” The shock is evident in Billy’s voice. He clearly didn’t expect to see Steve either.

“Daddy, you’re silly. Mr Steve isn’t a boy, he’s my teacher!”

Billy clears his throat and looks down at his daughter. “I can see that, princess.”

Billy Hargrove has a daughter!! What. The. Fuck? 

“Billy. Long time no see.” 

“Mr Steve, you know my daddy?” Olivia is looking between the two of them, trying to work out the connection.

Billy crouches so he is level with Olivia. “Mr Steve went to school with me and your moms, Livi.” He looks around and picks up her cardigan from her hook. “Is that all your stuff?”

“Yes, Daddy. I gotted all the stuff in my bag to show you.”

“That’s great, princess. Can you wait here a minute while I have a super quick chat with Mr Steve?”

She nods. “Can I play the word game on your phone?”

“Sure thing.” 

Once Billy sorts Olivia with her game, he looks at Steve who is still hovering in the doorway and gestures towards the classroom. Steve nods and heads back inside, Billy a few steps behind him.

Steve stops when he reaches his desk, trying to compose himself. He hears Billy behind him and turns around.

“Robin never said—”

“You probably hav—”

They both stop at the same time and Steve knows he’s being awkward but he is not prepared for this. It’s not like he was friends with the guy back in high school, but Billy sacrificed his life to save them that day in1985 so for him to just show up like that is just… Steve doesn’t even know at this stage. He needs time to process. 

“Listen, I have to run, haven’t seen Livi in way too long and I want to make the best of it but if you want to talk, or like, I dunno, have questions for me, here’s my card. Call me.”

Billy pulls out his wallet and hands Steve a business card with a tentative smile. Steve takes it, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. He nods as Billy puts his wallet away.

“See you around, pretty boy.” Billy doesn’t wait for a reply and he heads out. 

Steve hears Olivia’s voice then the chatter moves further away as they walk towards the exit. 

He finally looks down at the card in his hand. It’s dark gray, almost black, with the letters HG in white in the middle. He flips it to find the same monogram on the left then his eyes read over the words, taking them in.

HellGrove Security Consultants

William H. Hargrove

CEO & Head of Security

Followed by a phone number and an email address.

What. 

The. 

Fuck?

***

It’s after midnight and Steve is lying on his bed, flipping Billy’s card over and over, the dim light of his bedside lamp catching on something in the corner of the card. It’s embossed in the same color so he didn’t really notice until now. He brings the card closer so he can have a proper look and…

It’s a demogorgon flower head. 

Motherfucker. 

He grabs his phone to call Robin but then remembers that they’re not really best friends anymore, besides it’s late and she’s a parent now. Olivia did say she was spending the weekend with her dad but Steve isn’t sure what the arrangement is. 

Billy Hargrove is alive and he’s a dad. 

More questions than answers and it’s making Steve want to scream. So he sends Robin a message, figuring that she can choose to reply if she’s awake. 

He hopes she does.

Steve: So I met Olivia’s dad at pick up today. 

Immediately the reply box shows three littles dots. Steve holds his breath for a bit but has to give up after a minute. Either Robin is typing a novel-length explanation or she is not sure what to say.

Robin: Surprise? <cringe emoji>

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve yells in the empty room, his frustration at boiling point. His phone dings again and he looks to see what else Robin had to say.

Robin: Come over for lunch tomorrow. We’ll talk.

Steve sends a brief text saying he’ll be there then puts his phone down and switches to his laptop, giving into the temptation to visit HellGrove.com.

The website mentions the usual stuff: the various services offered (most of which mean little to Steve), reviews from clients as well a page about the company and its staff. Steve keeps looking on the main page for the freaky flower and finally finds it, hidden on the Reviews page when his cursor hovers in the bottom left corner and HOLY FUCK!

There’s no photos of the Upside Down but the hand drawn illustration in the banner is enough for Steve to suppress a shudder at the memories. There are a handful of anonymous written accounts by survivors who were rescued by HellGrove and reports about unsuccessful rescue missions. The wording is vague but, to someone who’s experienced it first hand, it’s clear they’re talking about the Upside Down.

Steve goes back to the home page and clicks on Staff. His eyes immediately focus on the black and white photo of Billy. It must have been taken some time ago because the scar on his face is missing. 

The short bio tells Steve that William H. Hargrove joined the Marines at eighteen and left after six years to start his own security company. Steve scrolls down and he is surprised and a bit shocked to find out that Max, Lucas, Will and El also work for Billy. And some guy named Argyle, who apparently has no last name.

He vaguely remembers Dustin mentioning that Lucas got a job in California after college and he knew El and the Byers already lived over there. He feels bad when he realizes he hasn’t thought about Max in years. He ponders reaching out to Dustin but that would open a can of worms and even more questions.

He closes his laptop and dumps it on the other side of the bed and settles on his side to go to sleep.

The feeling of an arm around his waist pulls Steve from his slumber. He gasps when he realizes there’s a (warm!) body behind him, the owner of which is dragging him closer and dropping a string of kisses on his shoulder.

Steve can’t remember the last time he shared a bed with someone, especially while being naked, though he is sure he was wearing pajamas earlier. The kisses morph into a bite and a needy moan escapes his lips when he feels teeth nibbling on his skin. The embrace around his middle tightens and Steve’s hand drifts to the one holding him, fingers locking with the ones of the man behind him. Because it is a man, of that Steve has no doubt.

He looks down, noticing the silver scars in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. “Billy?”

“Sorry I woke you up, pretty boy,” comes the hushed whisper from behind him.

“No, it’s okay. What are yo—” The words die in his throat when Billy moves their linked hands south. Steve can feel Billy harden against his ass as their hands start stroking his dick and he shivers.

Billy gives a light squeeze and Steve rolls his hips, arching his back and groaning when Billy bites down on the crook of his neck.

“Oh god… Billy…”

Steve lets go of Billy’s hand to bury his fingers in golden curls instead. It’s been so long since the hand touching him wasn’t his that the pleasure of it is blinding in its intensity.

He moans loudly, earning himself another bite from Billy.

“Shhhh, pretty boy, not so loud, you’ll wake the baby.”

Steve sinks his teeth in his bottom lip in an effort to be quiet, so he doesn’t wake this baby he doesn’t remember having. His entire focus is on not making noise while Billy does unspeakable things to his body. He shudders; he’s so close already…

Billy notices, because of course he does, he always did notice things, and his hand starts moving faster, his closed fist squeezing the head of Steve’s cock on the upstroke. It’s slick, it’s heady, and too soon, Steve can feel his orgasm rushing at him.

He comes with a shout he can’t silence, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s alone in his bed. It’s his hand around his cock, his mess in his pajama pants. 

Chest still heaving, he quickly cleans up using his pants and gets back into bed wearing a clean pair, reeling from the shocked realization that he wants Billy Hargrove. And a baby.

What the fuck?

Chapter 2

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove big bang #harringrove bigbang #harringrovebigbang #dragonflylady77 #collab #mr steve and the monster hunter

[tblsomedoodles]

I

C R A V E

more Donnie VS The World content. It makes me vibrate and scream and wiggle like I'm off my meds. I would love anything, even a solid block of text, but your doodles/full artworks/comics are my favorite.

Please? All I've found so far is what we see in the donnieverse comic and the MVA/AMV (music video animatic/animatic music video). So many questions, like - is Casey (Sr) involved in any way, whethercas a fellow captive or rescue mission teammate? Is this the True Apocalypse or Averted Apocalypse timeline? If the latter, where is Casey (Jr)? How is Splinter handling it? (Is he even still alive to be Having Emotions About It?)

(Please feed me.

B L E A S E)

(If you don't mind, could you show/tell how Donnie escapes, one of his first Big Leads that gives him so much hope he cries, and/or the Big Reunion? One would be nice, two would be great, and all three would be amazing. If they aren't planned/are too spoilery, that's okay. Anything you can/are willing to give would be lovely.)

Thank you!! I'm glad you like it : ) I don't think I've answered many asked about this particular au, so i'm more than willing to talk about it! : )

I don't really have much up for it, mostly b/c it deals with a lot of angsty material that i can be a little uneasy about posting. I have a bit of old concept art, and an unposted fic i'm editing/rewriting (b/c it's the first fic i wrote for Rise and i did not have those character voices down lol.) I can probably post the first bits of it later this week. I did say at one point that i would once 'proud family tradition' was over, and it now is.

but yeah, here's the concept art, i'll put the explanation under the break b/c i'm going to be rambling lol.

So Donnie vs. takes place after the thwarted apocalypse (not-apocalypse future). They get taken by Bishop a few months afterwards, and it isn't until about a year after that, that Donnie gets free.

He's the last one still with Bishop at that point, and had been told/convinced through various means that his brothers were dead.

Bishop did a lot of experiments on him, leaving a lot of scaring. One of which was injecting him with Krang DNA to see what would happen. (the eye and veins thing. I think he has some side effects from that but i'm not entirely certain what they are atm)

The fic itself starts after his rescue, b/c i'm focusing on Donnie's search for his brothers (and his own recovery) Rather than the traumatic event itself.

The rescue itself, was certainly a rescue. April, Casey, and CJ worked together to get him out of there as well as gain whatever information they could before they were found out. (Casey went undercover and was able to get some incomplete files and help get donnie out before she was discovered and had to leave.)

donnies in...pretty bad shape at that point, mentally and physically. Physically, he's malnurished, injured, scared, the works. Bishop did a number on him in the year he had him.

Mentally, he's pretty much shut down. He's completely non-verbal, unresponsive most of the time, when he does respond it's very slow and seemingly difficult for him to do so. He describes it that it feels like he's behind several plates of thick glass. He can see and hear what's happening, interacting (or even just feeling anything about it) is very hard to get past the glass.

How he goes from that state to hunting down his brothers is fairly simple. One of the broken, encripted files Casey acquired was Leo's file. None of the three could open it, but they managed to get Donnie to try to do so. He manages it, sees the file, and for the first time in about a year, has hope. He doesn't even wait to show the other three, he just takes off while no one was looking, with April's laptop and CJ's coat (he steals a backpack along the way.)

I don't really want to say much past that. A lot of the rescues/reunions are pretty spoiler heavy, and i don't want to ruin some of the mystery of what's going on in the fic. But know this, he does get all his brothers (and family in general) back. Also, splinter is alive and is part of this, but again, that's spoilers for some things i don't want to ruin.

Again, i'll probably start posting this sometime this week. It's an interesting fic that i've put quite a bit of time into at this point, so i'll be excited to see what is thought of it.

Thank you!

#asks #tmnt #rottmnt #donnie vs the world #my doodles #medical experimentation

[femslashfeb]

HELLO ALL

TLDR

No reblogging from the blog this year - posting prompts tomorrow the 31st

For the past few years I've very much struggled with reblogging everyone's activity in the tag. So this year I will not be doing so.

(OR maybe I will? I just don't want to commit)

Even if I knew how to make a bot that reblogs - a lot of people still use the unique tag to tag outside challenges. So I've always had to hand submit. However it became too stressful for me and for the past few years I ended up avoiding it until later weeks or even months.

If you noticed I didn't finish reblogging last year so- I've just given up on that.

Honestly I've struggled a lot with depression for the last 7 years or so. It's been harder and harder to find my way back to tumblr. It doesn't help that my phone can barely handle the amount of apps it already has.

My main account @puff-pink hardly ever updates because of my big sad. And I don't know if I'll ever get back on the horse in the same way I did before.

Some of you know me as an artist, and tho I still churn out subpar art for my day-job I've struggled a lot to make art for myself during my depression. Partially because one year I overworked my hand - and still deal in continual wrist aches. Even the weeks I don't pick up a drawing tool.

I intended this challenge for myself and maybe the small fandoms I was in at the time. But it took off among writers and creators of all types across all fandoms.

One year I even tried to tally the most popular fandoms but there were honestly too many to keep track of- and I stopped after the first three pages of submissions.

I don't claim to have invented the concept of FemSlash February. Before I started the prompts I swear I had heard the phrase somewhere. Tho not sure where. Perhaps it had been amongst my friends on Skype. Back when I had online friends and Skype(I'm still not sold on Discord🤷‍♀️).

However that January I thought it would be fun to partake in a challenge of some kind. But scouring tumblr and the general internet. I could only find half hearted efforts on fanfiction sites from years past.

I'm so proud of all my Sapphic creators on here that have partaken every year. Even if I've never shown favoritism or awarded anyone. I do notice those that actually complete the challenge AND those that keep coming back each year(looking at you H20 writer(I don't remember your username but there's a mermaid writer that's a writing machine)). I truly am proud of you especially in my shriveled state of creativity. Thank you for your efforts. For your hype. And for your love of women of all kinds across all the universes.

Each year I'm surprised to find even more categories I never thought to include. From mood boards, to doll photography, to ofc the classic art and writing. May your pencils forever be in union with your sister mediums.

On that note. There is a strict NO AI GENERATED ART or writing this year.

Not that I could physically stop anyone who does use AI. But I do not want that sort of thing associated with this challenge. It's become scarily good in 2023 to the point it can't always be identified. So I simply ask for the honor system when it comes to AI generated creations.

That being said. If you've made it to the end of this post:

Prompts will be posted tomorrow.

I usually prefer to give yall more of a buffer, but I've been busy. Both with Big Sad, rescuing some feral cats, my own life, errands, chores and work.

If you're still here- here is a preview of the first three days.

FEB 1 - black

FEB 2 - spring

FEB 3 - cake

The 14th as usual will be some sort of Valentine romance type theme(haven't decided specifically yet) and as always there will be a Rest Day.

Expect some repeat prompts. In the past I tried to avoid them but idc anymore.

It's also a Leap Year this year so expect one extra prompt to throw off the symmetry of what's normally 28 days.

Thanks for coming back this year. And thank you to those that still check on this blog.

❤️🧡🤍💜🩷

Keep loving girls

-PuffPink

#femslashfeb #femslash february #femslashfeb2024 #lesbian

[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...

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #mr ben au #mr ben x ofc #mr ben fanfic #professor ben x ofc #professor!ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[aflame4goinghome]

Part Of The Band

j.t.k x f.reader

part three

part two

a/n: present day! how exciting… what's in store for y/n and jake now? will he stay in her past or is there still something there? enjoy :)

word count: 5.2k

warnings: not much; some swearing, mentions of alcohol, references to sex but no smut, a bit of angst if you squint but it's more like sad angst, kind of fluffy. the next chapter will be super juicy! just wanted to fill in the gaps for the time jump

June 2023

“Y/N, did you pack the bath towels into one of your boxes? I can’t find them,” you hear Sophie yell from down the hall. You turn around to look through your boxes, digging through a few of them before finding the towels. “Yeah, Soph, they’re right here!” you reply then turn back to your dresser to pack the rest of your things.

You and Sophie graduated from UCLA a month ago and have spent the last few weeks preparing for this new chapter of your life. You got a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing, so you could start your life wherever you wanted.

Sophie, however, was a bit more limited on where she could find employment. She graduated with a degree in Entertainment Management, so she had to go to cities where she could use it. After doing research over the past year, she decided to move to Nashville, Tennessee to pursue a career. Knowing that you could continue your work anywhere, especially remotely, and not wanting to live with anyone else, you decide to go with her.

The two of you searched the housing market for weeks before finding your new home. It’s a cute little townhouse in Midtown with a rustic look and two floors, with enough room for you both and affordable rent. Your lease starts on Saturday, so you both are finally packing after weeks of procrastinating.

You guys are mostly finished, but you’re still packing up the small stuff in your bedroom before you pack it all up into the moving truck that will drive your things to your new house. It would take about two days for them to get there, so your flight will leave tomorrow morning for Nashville.

You pack up the rest of your clothes besides the outfits that you’ll bring on the plane and then turn to your vanity to pack up those things. You start adding some of your jewelry to the small box and then pull out a white rope bracelet. Your face drops at the sight of it and you sit down at the edge of your bed, looking down at it in your hands. You still remember the last time that you saw it.

It's been a while since you’ve thought about Jake. You left his hotel that day and returned to your apartment feeling like you’d just awoken from a dream that you never wanted to end. But you would never hear from him again. The holidays hit and then you were flung back into your schoolwork. He was embarking on a new tour with dates in the U.S. and Europe, jumping around from place to place.

You still followed him on Instagram, but his posts were few and far between. You’d get glimpses of him now and then on the rest of the guys’ socials, or the occasional post on the band’s account, but other than that you didn’t see much of him. You kept up with the band a lot at first and it would often cause a harsh sting in your chest, so you decided after a month or two that it would be best if you restricted how much you paid attention to them.

You do listen to the music a lot, though. Going to see them years ago sparked something new in you and you liked it. Josh’s voice especially pushed you to listen to their songs frequently; his voice calmed you and put you at peace when you needed it most. You also found yourself listening to Jake’s guitar solos and reminiscing about what it felt like for them to be played directly to you.

This was all in the past though, and now is not the time to be thinking about the past. You’re about to take a huge step toward your future. When Sophie mentioned the idea of moving to Nashville for the first time, you felt a bit hesitant. You knew that was where Greta Van Fleet lived and spent most of their time, and the last thing you wanted was to see Jake again. You knew that he was a rockstar, touring all over the world. You weren’t his first “fan” hookup, and you surely wouldn’t be the last. But Sophie assured you that it was almost two years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember that night. Nashville was a big city, it’s unlikely that you’d see him again, right?

You shook your head to snap yourself out of it and then tossed the bracelet into the box with the rest of the jewelry. You take one more look around your empty room and then start to bring your boxes out to the moving truck. You and Sophie share a bottle of wine, straight from the bottle since you’ve packed all of your glasses, and then head to bed. You have to be up quite early for your flight.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

As your plane starts descending toward the Nashville airport, your chest is lit up with feelings of nerves and excitement. You reach over and squeeze Sophie’s hand, smiling at her and turning back to look out of the window. This was the first time you’ve ever left California, having been born and raised in San Francisco and then attending college in LA. You’d never been on a plane before since your mom had a fear of flying, so your family vacations always stayed within the tri-state area. Now the East Coast was calling your name and you’re more than happy to answer it.

The Uber takes you from the airport to your new place and you and Sophie get out of the car and then take it all in. The truck was already there waiting for you, so the both of you walked up to the house to unlock the door and start unpacking. You watch as Sophie turns the key in the door and pushes it open and you enter the threshold to look at the empty foyer. It feels like a blank canvas and you both can’t wait to start making it your own.

The movers bring in the large furniture, like the couch, dining table, and mattresses, while you start to unpack the small stuff in the kitchen and Sophie unpacks the bathroom items. Once the movers bring everything into the house and leave, you and Sophie realize that you’re quite hungry. You search online for the closest pizza place and order delivery and then you both finish up unpacking the first floor. Once you hear the pizza delivery guy ring the doorbell, the two of you have finished unpacking the kitchen and dining room.

You grab the pizza and place it on your dining table, sitting down at it. You grab a few slices and put it on a plate, taking a bite. “Well, Soph. This is it. Our home. How’s it feel?” you say, looking across the table at her. “Feels great. But I could sleep for a week, babe. I’m so serious,” she replies, taking a bite of her pizza and then throwing her head back onto the back of the chair in exhaustion. “I know, girl. I think we did enough for today. Let’s just make our beds and then take care of the rest in the morning,” you say, eating more of your dinner.

The next day, the two of you finish setting up the living room, the bathroom, and your bedrooms. You went out to thrift stores in the afternoon to find decorations to make the place more personal and homier, which helped a lot. You adorned the living room with cute string lights along the walls and placed some decorative blankets on the couch. You bought a little plant for the coffee table and a vintage table to put your record player on top of, with slots underneath to store your vinyl collection. The kitchen was decorated with cute floral tea towels and curtains along the window by the sink. You bought matching towels for the bathroom as well and a shower curtain to go with it.

In your bedroom, you bought new bedding for your larger bed, having upgraded from a twin to a queen, which is black and white, and decorated with constellations and planets. You unpacked all of your clothes into your vintage wooden dresser and placed all your makeup and jewelry on top of your matching wooden vanity. Amongst your bracelets and rings is Jake’s sailor knot bracelet, which you choose to keep out, despite the moral dilemma.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

You’ve been in Nashville for two weeks now and you and Sophie have finally settled in. Your house is starting to become a home and you’re really starting to like the city. You realize, however, that it’s time to find a job. You want to be more of a freelance writer, taking your own time on your first novel, so you’ll need a part-time job to help pay the rent. It’s July 4th weekend, so Sophie is off today on a long weekend and you decide to use this opportunity to go look around town for job openings.

“Hey Soph, can I take the car out to go look for jobs?” you ask, popping your head into her bedroom. You see her typing furiously away on her laptop and looks up at you when she hears your voice. “Oh, yeah babe that’s fine. I’m just getting some last-minute projects done before tomorrow. Good luck!” I smile as I grab the car keys from the top of her dresser and say, “Thanks, hon. I’ll bring you a coffee on the way back, yeah?” You turn and head toward the door and hear a muffled “Thanks!” from behind you as you walk out the door.

You head further into town and pop your head into a few places; a coffee shop, a vintage clothes store, a convenience store. None of them are hiring, though, and you’re beginning to feel a bit discouraged. As you walk back to your parked car, you see a sign for a building across the street: Rhythm of Space Records. You decide to cross the street and check it out- as if you need to spend any more money on records right now.

As you approach the door, you notice a help wanted sign on the window. Perfect. You open the door and the little bell on top rings, causing the person at the counter to raise their head from scrolling on their phone and look up at you. You approach the counter and she gives you a typical customer service smile. “Hey, welcome in! What can I help you with?” she asks.

“Well, I came to browse your selection, but I just saw on the window that you guys were hiring… Would I be able to apply?” She smiles widely, saying excitedly, “Yes! Totally! Dad’s gonna be stoked, we’ve been needing some extra help around here.” She pulls a piece of paper and a pen from under the counter and slides it over to you.

“Here, you can fill it out now if you want. I can give it right to my dad, he’s just in the office back there. I’m Iris,” she says, reaching her hand out to shake yours. You shake her hand, “Like the song?” you ask. She giggles. “Yes, like the song. My dad is a huge Goo Goo Dolls fan. A big music lover in general, if you can’t tell,” she says, waving her arms around, referencing the store. “Well, I like it. I’m Y/N.”

The two of you chat for a few minutes while you wait for her father to come out from the office. You learn that Iris is 20 years old and studying music at a local community college, commuting from home. She grew up in Nashville and has worked at her dad’s shop since she was 15, which he opened not long after she was born. She tells you that he’s also a musician and likes to play some of the local bars sometimes, inviting you to tag along. It felt nice to finally make a friend in this new city.

Iris’s dad, John, eventually comes out and you hand him your application. He looks it over and the two of you discuss your deep interest in music, and then he says you’re hired. You’ll start your first shift on Monday, opening the shop up with Iris. You accept excitedly, gather a staff shirt with the logo on it, and then head out to your car. You stop to get Sophie a latte before heading home, just like you said you would. You pop into her room to say hi, handing her the drink then heading into your room. You relax for a while and then decide to tuck in early.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Your alarm goes off at 9 a.m. on Monday and you roll out of bed to take a shower. You throw your long, wet hair into a loose braid down your back, leaving your curtain bangs hanging out to frame your face. You fix your bangs slightly with a blow-dryer and hairbrush before heading downstairs to have a quick bowl of cereal before leaving for work. The store is only about a fifteen-minute walk from your house, so you enjoy the short walk in the warm Nashville weather. Nashville is definitely a bit cooler than California in the summer, but it’s still warm enough for you to break a bit of a sweat.

You near the store and see Iris leaning against the window, looking down at her phone, waiting for you. “Morning,” you say as you approach her. She looks up at you and half-smiles, looking very groggy. She’s clearly not a morning person. “Hey, Y/N,” she says tiredly, then turns around to unlock the door. The two of you step into the store and she locks the door behind you. “There’s a coffee machine in the back room. We’re gonna need it,” she says, B-lining it to the back of the store. You follow her to the back and watch as she adds water and turns the coffee machine on.

“We really have to do inventory today. It sucks, I know, but if we both work together we can try and get it done before the shift change at 2.” She pours out a mug of coffee, handing it to you, which you happily accept. She then pours herself one, takes a sip, and then steps out into the main area of the store. She checks her watch, the time says 9:58. “Alright. Time to open up,” she says, heading to the front to unlock the door for the day. “I can start with the first half of the alphabet, if you wanna do the last half? Split up at M?” you say, to which you see her nod and then head to the other side of the store.

You start to go through every record from A to M, which is a lot. This store was certainly stacked with vinyls- you’ve been going through them for an hour and a half now and you’ve only just gotten to the G section. Combing through the albums and taking notes of what you have in stock, you come across a familiar album cover: Greta Van Fleet- The Battle at Garden’s Gate. Shit. You take it out from the rest of the records and look at it for a moment, a small frown spreading over your face. You start to run your fingers over the cover, feeling the texture of it, then place it back in the bin with the rest. You try to shake it off, not wanting to distract yourself from your work.

Two hours later, you’ve finished inventory and are taking some time to look around the store a bit more. You’re combing through the CDs on the far wall with your back facing the door when you hear the bell on the door jingle. Iris is closer to the door at the moment, so you decide to just let her handle it and don’t turn around to look in their direction. As you continue looking through the CDs, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You jump, feeling startled since you thought that you were standing there alone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you scared me-” you say, turning around to face them. That’s when you saw him. Jake. In the flesh, only a few feet away from you. Your eyes widen and your jaw drops slightly at first before you realize how crazy you must look and quickly pull yourself together. The moment that you’d been dreading ever since moving here has finally arrived. You start to open your mouth and say something, but he beats you to it.

“Y/N! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since…” he says with a shy smile, trailing off as he looks at you and takes you in. It’s been so long now, you’ve both changed so much. He’s cut his hair short now, just above shoulder length. He has some lingering facial hair, still clean-shaven but there’s some stubble there. Last you’d seen him online, around the end of last year, he’d had long hair and remnants of a mustache, which was a bit rugged-looking. This new look suited him.

He still dressed the same as the last time you saw him. A half-buttoned button-up, tattered jeans, and boots. His eyes are concealed by dark sunglasses, but you can still see hints of them through the glass. Despite being covered, you can feel them boring into you, studying you. You finally manage to get a sentence out after getting over the initial shock of it all.

“Jake… Hi,” you say, locking eyes with him. You watch his gaze soften as he looks at you, and you go on to answer his question. “Sophie and I just moved here a few weeks ago now, she wanted to work here after graduation and I don’t have much of a direction yet, so I decided to come along…” you say shyly, starting to avoid his eyes now out of nervousness when you see his face drop a little.

“A few weeks… why didn’t you call me?” he asks, a hint of pain in his voice. You really didn’t think he would care, you thought that he’d long forgotten about you. You pause for a moment, unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to offend him, but you had hoped to never have to run into him out of fear of awkwardness. “Jake, I-,” you start, reaching over to place your hand on his arm, “I honestly wasn’t sure if you would want to hear from me… I haven’t seen you in nearly two years, I didn’t want to bother you. I kind of figured that you’ve forgotten about me by now.”

He reaches up to his face to remove his sunglasses, sliding them into his shirt pocket. He looks up to meet your eyes again, with a disappointed look in his eyes. “Sweetheart… how could I ever forget about you?” he says, bringing his hand up to brush some of your bangs out of your face. “I told you that I wouldn’t forget you, didn’t I?”

You lean into his touch a bit and nod, “I know, I know. I just- it had been so long since I’d heard from you, I thought that maybe that’s what you say to all of the girls you…” your sentence is cut off as you see someone with a Rhythm of Space shirt on enter the shop, walking in with Iris’s dad. This must be your relief for the day, you think.

You look over to the left and see Iris watching you, smirking at you and raising her eyebrows when she catches your eye. Rolling your eyes, you look back at Jake, whose eyes still haven’t looked away from you. “You know what, I’m about to get off work. Can you wait here for a few minutes while I clock out and gather my things? I won’t be long. We can go somewhere to talk,” you say, looking up at him hopefully as you wait for a response. You watch the corners of his mouth turn upwards as he says, “Yeah, I can wait.”

You turn around and walk behind the counter to clock out on the register. You go into the back room and grab your bag, taking off your work shirt and replacing it with a baggy Beatles t-shirt. You leave the back room and Iris smirks at you, saying “Enjoy the rest of your day, Y/N,” teasing you. You jab her side with your elbow jokingly as you walk past her and then return to Jake, who has put his sunglasses back on, covering his eyes once again as he leans against the window with his hands in his pockets.

“Know any good places to go around here? I’m still new, so I haven’t exactly claimed any regular haunts just yet,” you say, trying to lighten the mood with him a bit. He smiles and says, “Yeah, I know a place,” opening the door for you to walk through, then following you out.

His car is parked right in front of the store, which you notice as he unlocks it with his eyes and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in. It’s a nice car, which doesn’t surprise you given the level of fame they’ve risen to. He rounds the car and gets in on the other side, sitting down and starting it. You drive for about five minutes before pulling into the parking lot of a cozy-looking diner.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Jake walks up to the hostess stand to get you both a table and you sit down at a little booth in the corner of the restaurant. The place has a retro aesthetic and each table is decorated with a mini jukebox where you can enter song requests from the catalogue. The waitress comes to bring you glasses of water and you take a look at the menu.

“This place is so cute!” you say, looking up at him. He’s smiling down at the menu to himself and says “I thought you might like it. This is Josh’s favorite place.” The idea of that makes you happy, knowing that you and his twin were so similar. “I should have guessed. Josh has great taste…” You order a cheeseburger and fries and Jake gets a sandwich. Now, here comes the hard part.

He takes his glasses off and slips them into his shirt pocket again, then laces his fingers together and places his hands on top of the table. His dark, chestnut eyes look into yours with a hint of sadness. He takes a deep breath and then decides to break the silence. “Y/N… I’m really sorry that I didn’t reach out after that night. Things really took off after the end of that tour and it got the better of me. I should’ve checked in with you,” he says, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours. You flick your eyes down to where your hands met and then back up to him, smiling timidly.

“Jake, you didn’t owe me anything. We only spent one night together, I’m sure you’ve spent plenty of nights with lots of different girls. I didn’t want to hold onto the hope that this was something more than it was.” You look up at him to wait for his reply, and he seems wounded by our words. He shakes his head a bit and squeezes your hand lightly.

“I never intended to make you think that I didn’t care for you. Because I do. More than I ever thought was possible. That wasn’t just a one-time thing for me, you’re not just another girl. You walked into our show blind, not knowing the band or who I was, and when I looked at you in the crowd, I could tell that you just saw me for me. Not just a rockstar in your favorite band, or someone who you can use to get whatever you want.”

He brings his hand from your hand to your cheek, cupping it and stroking it with his thumb sweetly. “You saw me and you heard my music and that was all you cared about. I’ve never had that before, ever. It’s something that I’ve been chasing ever since and I still haven’t been able to find it anywhere else, even after all this time…”

Your eyes soften as you look at him and how he’s pouring his heart out to you. “I’m sorry that I didn’t call. I wanted to, I just… I guess I felt embarrassed. I didn’t want to bother you after all this time if I was just one night to you. I wasn’t sure if you’d felt the same way and I didn’t want you to think I’d moved here for the wrong reasons, like I was obsessed with you or something.”

He continues to rub his thumb along your cheek as he answers. “Sweetheart, you were never just one night to me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since that night. Not just because of how good you felt under me,” he says with a smirk, “but because of how well you got along with my family, your love for music, and the kindness in your heart. You’re one of a kind, Y/N.” “Can we start over?” you ask, looking up into his eyes. “Yeah. We can start over,” he says with a smile.

The food comes shortly after and the two of you catch up as you eat. You learn that they finished their last huge tour a few months ago and that they have a new one planned to start in just two weeks. Their album comes out in two weeks as well, which he seems quite proud of. They worked on it for a long time while touring and Jake describes it as the best he’s ever made, sonically. You tell him that you look forward to listening to it, which makes his face light up.

You’re on your way home now, and you look over at him as he’s driving. You can see his eyes behind his sunglasses as they face the road, still dark and alluring as ever. You want to just lean over and bring your lips to his, closing the gap that’s been open for years, but you know that it can’t work that way. Just because you didn’t reach out doesn’t change the fact that he hasn’t either.

From what you know now, he had been back in California in March for their Dreams in Gold tour and he didn’t call either. The two of you have a lot to figure out and need to get to know each other now. You didn’t spend very much time together all those years ago, so there was a lot that you didn’t know about each other. There was a lot of lost time to make up for, and you know better now than to give in to him so soon.

You pull up to your house and Jake puts the car in park. He rests his arm on the center console and then brings the other up to brush some of your hair out of your face. “Can I take you out? A proper date, I’ll wear my best dress for you,” he jokes, smirking at you. You pretend to think about it, bringing your fingers to your chin, and say, “Hmm… I suppose I’ll have the time. But that dress better have cleavage or else I’ll turn right back around.” He chuckles and caresses your cheek with his thumb and then unlocks the car doors.

You grab your bag and open the door, stepping out of the car, and he says, “Same number, right?” You nod, smiling shyly as you shut the door and walk up to your front porch. You turn back around and see him still sitting there, smiling at you. You wave goodbye then head into the house, shutting the door behind you and leaning your back against it, sinking to the floor. You throw your head back against the door and groan, feeling so exhausted by the day you’ve had. The noise causes Sophie to pop her head out of the kitchen, making a confused face as she sees you sitting on the hardwood floor.

“You good there, babe?” she asks, walking toward you. You shake your head and she leans down to join you on the floor. She lets you rest your head on her shoulder as she rubs circles into your back for a moment then asks, “What happened?” You lean back to look at her. “I saw him, Soph. He came into my work this afternoon. We went to lunch and we talked a bit but I just don’t know… I feel like shit. He asked me why I didn’t call him and he just looked so sad. I didn’t even have a good answer for him. The only reason is that I was scared, and that’s a stupid reason,” you say, throwing your head against the door again.

“We said we’d start over, get to know each other better. He wants to take me to dinner later this week.” Sophie looks at you with a sympathetic expression and says, “Well, that’s good, babe. Right?” You think about it for a moment. “I don’t know. What happens if I get too attached? He’s leaving for another tour in two weeks and will be gone for god knows how long. We’re not really labeling it and I’m just gonna be here, while he’s playing all around the country. What if I just get my heart broken?” you say, standing up from the floor and pulling Sophie up with you.

“Don’t think about it like that, hon. He can only hurt you if you let him. Just give it a chance, you never know,” she says, rubbing your arm affectionately. You sigh. “You’re right. I’ll think about it. I’m gonna go lie down,” you say, then head upstairs to your room.

You flop onto your bed and curl up under the covers, full of questions and anxiety. You pull your phone out of your pocket and finally take it off of Do Not Disturb, which has been on since you left for work this morning. Much to your surprise, you already have a message from Jake.

Sir Jacob⚔️: Friday night? 8 o’clock?

You: perfect :)

You: thanks again for lunch. i really enjoyed it.

Sir Jacob⚔️: Anything for you, sweetheart. I’ll pick you up at 8.

You: you’re sweet. see you then

You plug your phone into the charger and then stand up to get changed. As you’re grabbing comfier clothes from the dresser, you see Jake’s bracelet sitting there on the vanity next to it. You pick it up and look down at it. Finding this a few weeks ago was a bit of a premonition, huh? Still, you smile to yourself and decide to slide it over your wrist before getting changed for bed. You tuck in and close your eyes, wondering what the next few weeks will bring for you.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

comment or message me if you want to be added to the taglist! talk to you all soon :)

part four

taglist:

@writingcold @josh-iamyour-mama @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @sinarainbows @gvfmelbourne @jaketsguitar @swiftiepanda21 @itsafullmoon @thetroublegetssoloud71 @vanfleeter @gretasfallingsky @dem0litiondan @dixonbrainrot @p0pscenealright

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #jakegvf #greta van fleet fic #starcatcher #gvf #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #spotify

[showtoonzfan]

Okay,guys. What do you think of fionapollos recent video?

Ganna be straight to the point, I didn’t like it. This is ganna be a long post so if y’all love reading, feel free to but I’m warning y’all now. Of course, what I’m going to say are my opinions only. This is coming from a person who actually follows Fionapollos, I love listening to her art commentary vids and I hope she keeps up the good work! But for this recent video specifically? I don’t think it was good. Not to say that Fionapollos didn’t handle this well for the most part, she’s always respectful and open minded and I’m glad for that, but the structure and overall execution of the video was poorly handled.

Outside of being an inspiring animator and a help to spread awareness of how incredible indie animation is, I have no respect for Vivziepop, but that doesn’t mean I want to be biased or one sided. There were only two sections of this video I agreed with, it’s in three segments. The first segment was about Erin Frost and the evidence they had provided, and like me and some have been saying, the evidence just wasn’t strong enough to indicate a really toxic environment, especially since what Erin had provided was screenshots of her being on good terms with Jane and Sam. I never really saw an issue with Jane deciding to move the assignment to someone else since Erin was struggling, because like Fionapollos said, people in this business just want to get stuff done and if someone can’t do it, they have to take measures where someone else can.

Now maybe this wasn’t mentioned because there isn’t really evidence to support it, (it’s just a statement) but we do know that according to Ashley Nicholas, Viv had talked behind Erin’s back, calling her too mentally unstable to work. I personally believe that there was a lot of gossip provided by Viv and/or Jane and Sam regarding Erin, they’ve all shown to be shady before so I just wouldn’t be surprised if this were true, however let’s move on. Other parts of the video I agree on were Fionapollos simply just being fair. She stated that the fake document is damaging to indie companies and studios, and how her audience has the right to feel the way they feel, but outside of that there wasn’t anything specific that I agreed on outside of the Erin stuff. Her closing thoughts were nice as usual, but I’ll move on to the actual issues I had with the video.

If I had to speak in general, I feel like Fionapollos just didn’t have enough evidence, cause this video is basically a rehash of what her last one was, where she didn’t have enough evidence back then, only this time in her personal opinion, Viv is just a flawed non-perfect person who makes mistakes and needs to stop being put up on a pedestal and idolized as someone who is perfect….something I drastically disagree with but I’ll get into more of that later. When I say that she doesn’t have enough evidence, what I mean is that the stuff that she looked at is only the FROSTING of the iceberg pointing to Viv being a narcissist who mistreats her employees. Like I said there’s only three sections, and the only section where she actually looks at evidence against Spindle is Erin’s section and the document, something that was obviously fake and I’ve already shared how I dislike it when people pay more attention to the fake/troll side of things rather than the real actual evidence. I was shocked/bothered to see that KenDraws’s document isn’t even mentioned here, since the topic of this vid is how Viv/Spindle treats her employees and that document could have been a MASSIVE factor in evidence pointing towards the mistreatment being legit in some areas. Instead, the majority of this vid is very empty and lacks something that you could make a case out of. Of course she was going to go with the “I just think Vivziepop is flawed”- route, because she doesn’t have the same knowledge of evidence and drama that Viv has been through, wether that be in the past few months or past 2 years. It’s just clear that she so far has only seen a few bits and pieces of evidence but not the mass amount pointing to Viv being a problematic childish person. And I get it, she’s not like others where she constantly follows every single move Viv makes or constantly checks her status online, but if you’re going to make a video like this, you should be more informed.

The middle part of the video is the worst. It’s dedicated to talking about the fake document and AnimationCallout, (which this section of the video doesn’t do much, it’s just panting Spindle in a victimizing light) and she also dismisses the transphobic allegations by saying it was included in the false document so it makes her question if that is true as well (despite the fact that the screenshot of Viv’s discord messages had been floating around awhile before the document). The biggest part that made me roll my eyes is where she mentions Viv’s old weird art, indicating that she assumes people spite her all because of old shit she did years and years ago, which if you know me is another thing I hate the people bring up regarding Viv’s controversies. Her old art is irrelevant. This entire middle section felt irrelevant because the topic is about Spindle mistreating their employees so I don’t know why she felt the need to bring that up as well as how fake documents affect animation studios but that’s just me.

There’s also things that weren’t mentioned that bother me. Like I said KenDraws document wasn’t mentioned, but there’s more. The most obvious is that Erin ain’t the only member who left Spindle. For a video about Spindlehorse mistreating their employees, there’s no mention of anyone else, or people who claimed to be mistreated. KenDraws, Ashley Nicholas, Salem Squidder, Nicolas Jordan, Jane Walker, the list goes on. This is evidence that there’s definitely more going than just “Viv is flawed”. You can only use that excuse so long, as more and more people who were close or her or worked on her stuff left.

I also feel like it’s a glaring issue that Spindlehorse/Viv never acknowledge their mistakes or even confront their controversies. Name one time Spindle came out and made an official statement on the allegations or drama. Zero. They always let the fire burn, hide behind the fanbase, and wait for the waters to cool before moving on and pretending nothing ever happened, only speaking up if someone dare call Viv problematic. They silence any ex member and never take accountability, and it’s something the public has yet to acknowledge, no one ever acknowledges this shit and I’m so tired of it. This is why I never agree with anyone who tries to paint them in a victimizing light filled with people who are “just trying to get by” when there’s no evidence that leaves me to believe that’s true, especially when they’re too cowardly to even confront something or make a fucking statement. Doesn’t help that they always ignore allegations against Viv or just shut the other side down by simply saying “she was nice to me end of story”. How are we supposed to believe that these people are genuine who don’t want to hurt anyone if they aren’t saying anything? How are we supposed to believe Viv is just an imperfect person if she NEVER acknowledges her faults and keeps making the same mistakes over and over again?

I truly believe that Fionapollos had good intentions, but I’m really tired of folks just dismissing Viv or the shady stuff that’s been going on at spindle with just “they’re imperfect stop putting them up on a pedestal”. Like I said there’s plenty of evidence pointing to the people at Spindle lacking self awareness and Viv being an abuser who blacklists people and talks behind other’s backs, so this vid just didn’t do any justice. She just doesn’t know the half of it. Sorry.

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva critical #anti vivziepop #helluva boss #Hazbin hotel

[veilantares]

LOST LOST really is 2023's theme for me. I spent most of this past year on my PhD project, so my output has been quite scarce overall - certainly so compared to the industriousness of years past. When I had chances to draw this year it was often like a gasp of air amidst a sea of my other efforts. "What's the next step forward?" I think at times. Consider the center drawing my face of course, because in real life I look like if cannonbolt was a sad refridgerator.

I started a new physical sketchbook and made some breakthroughs in my personal illustrations, but nothing I'm happy to share - in previous years I didn't have as much nervousness to experiment in public. Anyway this feels like a good opportunity to do a bit of a retrospective on the last ones of these I did.

In many ways 2022 was the best year of my work, I both did my most challenging (and correspondingly complex) pieces this year, and had the confidence to make several things a week. Past the initial few months I had really started to hone my mix of solid shapes, lineart and linelessness thats ubiquitous in my pieces now, though I wonder if I have grown too comfortable with the stability of a partial formula.

One disadvantage about only choosing nine pieces was that in wanting them to look good together I had to exclude a series of the coloured background pieces that interspersed the dark background ones. In those, I felt like a lot more of my effort went into the shape language, so there was a synergy with both approaches letting me understand things.

In 2021 I started using colours instead of grayscale, that years inktober could almost be said to be my best work, there was both a variety and scale to it..I drew something virtually every day for almost three or four months straight and crucially, I also shared it all after I was done. It really felt worth it planning art ahead, but also spontaneously filling the blanks it in the moment. That being said maybe that productiveness was not sustainable because I'd have very little time for much else after school, work and art.

Late in that year I realised I could just draw the things I like if I wanted, instead of the things I thought people wanted - so some of the later pieces really resembled discount warframes. That game has so deeply hooked itself into my visual library that I draw it even when I'm not intending to, and so when I started deliberately trying to evoke it (with very fledgling art analysis skills), I think I got more and more familiar with what I wanted.

In 2020 I was just starting out so I did not yet recognise there was something specific to aspire to - I dont have a retrospective montage like these other years for 2020. You can see virtually every piece I've ever uploaded on my instagram page, so I think I might not narrate as much about those in this post. Maybe in the future I'll review all these years through a completely different lens.

#veilantares #digital art #my art #illustration #art vs artist #art vs artist 2023 #artvsartist2023 #retrospective #q&a #voidpunk #character design

[inkabelledesigns]

I know I'm posting a day late here, but Happy Birthday Bendy! February 10th, 2024 marks the 7 year anniversary of when Bendy and the Ink Machine came out. And boy, has it been a wild ride. Normally I would reserve this for my Bendy sideblog, @angelofthepage , but I'm posting it here because this is where I started years ago, and I want some of those people who don't see that blog to have a chance to see this. Because you guys are a part of this story.

In about three months, seven years ago, I was in finals hell, working through my process book for my packaging design class in one of the dorm lounges while my roommate had taken the room for herself again. And the only thing keeping me sane was putting Can't Be Erased and Build Our Machine on loop as I worked. BATIM only had two chapters out, and I didn't know everything about it, but I was so intrigued by what its deal was. I took one look at Sammy Lawrence and I wanted to know everything about him. Something about this barely started game, the idea of your characters coming to life to kill you, it thrilled me, intrigued me. It was something I was really afraid of, being so attached to my characters and putting so much of my identity in my art. And while the story isn't really all that much about cartoons themselves being alive, it gave me something else that ended up changing my life.

Over that summer, I would become obsessed, and for the first time in years, I let myself be a fangirl again. And maybe one day I'll pull up the timeline and tell you how it all went down. But right now, after all the celebrating of yesterday, I just wanna take a moment to appreciate the last seven years. All the people I've met, all the friends I've made. All the experiences we've had together, big and small. Some have been incredibly close, and others have been people I still smile about whenever I see them on my feed, even if we're not all doing stuff in the same fandom anymore. There's some people I've fallen out of touch with that I likely won't ever see again that I miss. There's some I'll be lucky if I never see again. There's the official voice actors for Dark Revival, which I've had the pleasure of working with on community things here in the fandom. I regularly moderate their livestreams (or Lovestreams as we call them) where they sign prints and interact with us fans (and sometimes I'm tech support, once an ink machine technician, always an ink machine technician xD). I'm honored to call a lot of them my friends, we've had some truly wonderful conversations. I've spent a lot of time in a variety of servers, trying to uplift people and make for a positive fandom experience for everyone, fans old and new. Sometimes it lands me in interesting places, like helping out over on the Inky News channel. The host, Brandon, invited me over to guest star on his anniversary stream yesterday, and in the past I've been fortunate enough to showcase my art on two of his interviews, one with Dave Rivas and one with Adrienne Kress. Sometimes it lands me on fun projects, like working on a fan game, and for the first time it's not as a voice actor! I'm a writer. I've had my work uplifted in turn too, meeting people who value me for me and also cheer me on when I try new things (sometimes entirely new mediums like doll customizing). I got my first helpful constructive critique in this fandom, and it was something I ASKED for. That is a huge personal milestone! I have a really complex and twisty set of feelings about critique, and finally, I feel better, because someone helped me start to unravel that just by being themselves and being thoughtful. It's inspired me to want to be better in how I handle critique and problem solving with others.

I spent so much of my life putting my self worth in other people's hands. I thought I would never be good enough to have friends who didn't treat me like garbage. I thought I'd never be a good artist in any sense of the word either. But I was wrong. I've grown. I'm valued, I'm wanted. I don't have to hide parts of myself to be desirable. Sometimes being the silly, goofy, fangirl that is Kat is enough. My art is enough, my ideas are enough, my flavor is tasty, and I am a goddamn treat. And after so many years of not knowing that, I'm glad I finally do. And it's all because of the people. It wasn't ever that my flavor was bad, it's that I hadn't found people with a taste for it yet. Bendy's greatest gift was giving me a fresh start, a chance to meet new people, good people, and for that, I'm forever grateful. Even though things have changed, I'm glad I met each and every one of you, you all taught me something valuable along the way, and I think about those experiences we shared often.

I won't lie to you, I've been rather frustrated with Bendy lately. And I think a lot of it has to do with the games not truly having grown with me. At some point our paths deviated, and there are elements of what's come and what's coming that are getting away from what really enticed me about the very first entry, the things I valued most in it. But in some ways, analyzing that has led me to figure out what made that first game so special. It was human. It was a character focused game, and each of the characters, while vague, gave us just enough about themselves that we could feel for them, get invested, imagine, maybe even sympathize. Everyone is a tragedy, but they're all different flavors of tragedy. And it was seeing people explore that, seeing people write these characters in ways that were so human, that really built a connection. For some people, Bendy is another indie horror experience. For others, it's something to indulge in that hits hard on a personal level. In many ways, it attracts a lot of us who feel like misfits. It's many things. But to me, the magic was in the people. The people in this universe, and the people in its real world community.

It has solidified my belief that people should play with fiction however they want, no matter how far it deviates from the canon, no matter how weird it is. Go be interpretive, go tell your story, go be free to make what speaks to you! (All I ask is that you're thoughtful about tagging it so people can make smart choices about engaging with it.) All stories are worth telling. Even if no one gets into it, having told it makes a difference.

Whether you're someone who's been there from the beginning, or someone that's new to Bendy, I hope you're all having fun. Whether you've finished exploring the world or you've just begun, I hope you've found something valuable. Thank you, for coming along for the ride. Here's to many more fun experiences and stories, be they official or be they in the fandom. Happy Bendyversary!

#long post #bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendyversary #personal thoughts #bendy

[alchemicaladarna]

Well...Happy 1 year of QSMP I guess...

There's just no easy way to say anything about everything that's been happening the past few weeks and everything that's happened since yesterday because it's a fucking dumpster fire and I'm just so tired of it all to be honest...

But this post isn't about that.

I still want to celebrate this server's first year anniversary because of how much it means to me personally. I made a post talking about how I initially started watching the qsmp (two days early 💀) but I'll reiterate what I've always said:

That despite all the problems of the server, despite all the damage that has been done, never forget what it has managed to achieve and hopefully continues to achieve in the future, under better conditions.

The QSMP's mission was to unite people from all over the world to play together and be friends despite speaking different languages and having different cultures. It united communities and formed friendships across the globe. Personally, achieving that takes more than just sticking random people in the same room together because it's about making genuine connections that could last a lifetime. And the qsmp achieved that. I'll never stop saying this because despite all its glaring problems, the qsmp is revolutionary for all the good it has managed to do.

Ok, like think about the translations alone. I'm using Bad as an example because he's the only one so far that I've seen do this but, BBH has set up live translations of multiple languages on his screen so non-english speakers can still understand his streams and his vods even if he's not playing on the qsmp. That wouldn't have happened without the QSMP's influence. That's fucking incredible!

Think about all the CC's and admins that became friends after meeting on the server. Former admins like Lumi (Pomme) and Shade (Dapper) still talking to Bad on his chat and watching his stream. That's still really awesome! Not to mention all the amazing collaboration projects with many qsmp members outside minecraft like Ordem Paranormal and Liar Liar, to name a few.

Look, the last three weeks have been extremely difficult on everyone. I myself am tired of the situation and scrolling through the tag, especially after yesterday, just makes me sad tbh. For the first time since these weeks, I felt so despondent and shocked about everything. It got to the point where, after Shade and Lumi announced their departure, I called my mom and broke down sobbing and vented about the whole admin situation. And bless her heart, my mom actually listened and I'm going to share the advice she gave me:

"Let them fix the problem. Let the company do the restructuring they need to do because right now, it sounds like they have a lot of problems to fix. It's going to take a long time before things can go back to any sense of normalcy, so while they do that, focus on yourself for now. If you're so invested in all the problems of this online world, maybe it's time to step back for now. Maybe it's time to focus on the real world."

And well, she's right. I've been so upset about the situation that my mental health wasn't faring well because of it. Yesterday was kind of a wake up call for me I guess?

I've been in this fandom for 10 months now. It's the longest time I've been invested in a community and qsmp has and will always have a special place in my heart. But I think it's time to let go and move on for now. I'll keep my hopes up and hope that the future is bright, and the qsmp will continue because it has so much potential to achieve more greatness, but I'll leave the project to rest and focus on other endeavors for now.

I'll be posting art and checking in on stuff from time to time, and of course, I'll be watching BBH, but it might be time to depart and say, "Thanks for everything, and I'll see you later."

Most people will be ashamed to mention the fandoms they've been a part of when they were younger, but 10 years from now, if anyone ever asks if I was a part of the qsmp fandom, I'll gladly say yes and tell all the good stories I have about it.

I love the community we made here on qsmpblr, and if I trust the QSMP's mission of uniting people, then I trust that, no matter what happens, this community will be here when I return.

Because...Despite everything, it's all about love, right? And no matter what happens, the love is still there, and will always be.

Thank you for the journey <33

#qsmp #no matter what happens itll be ok #we'll all be ok i promise #sorry for the long post but i wanted to post my thoughts #i have hope for a new and bright future #like pomme said: its not an ending but rather the beginning of a new chapter #so thank you everyone for making the qsmp the most wonderful experience anyone can have #i'll probs be here to reminisce about certain moments and memories that i truly cherish #even tho we all went thru a fucking avalanche i still want to celebrate today at least #above all pls continue making fanart animations fics theories and analyses etc #and pls continue giving love and support to the admins<333

[harenodrawsthings]

A Dream from Last Night: Second Anniversary

The night between the seventh and eighth of April marks the anniversary of my first and very unexpected Douman dream. These drawings were actually supposed to be for the first anniversary last year, but I didn’t have time to do anything in time. I made these sketches later on,and held onto them for months to post for the second anniversary.  I put the rest of the description in a read more because I have much to say!

For the theme I went with a part of the first dream that was influenced by a book I read about graphic design in Cuba. The first three images depict a scene from the first dream I regret not drawing, the segue from the reveal to the mambo montage of Douman in Cuba. Edit, tumblr doesn’t like external links so I’ll have to just mention to see “Que Rico Mambo” by Perez Prado. The song in the montage was indiscernible, but the one mentioned is the closest I could find to it. Douman dropped their disguise via walking past an arcade column.

The other images were for the anniversary, where I had some fun doing studies of the graphic design book that influenced the Cuba segment of the first dream. The “Visit Cuba” image is the only one I referenced directly, with some edits of course, while the rest are inspired by a bunch of different things from the book. (there was no credit in the book for the referenced image other than it was a luggage label) 

I like to think that once Merlin and Dantes are summoned, as individuals who watch dreams, they also see all of Pilar’s encounters with Douman in her dreams. So for the anniversary drawings I wanted to make a sort of comic depicting that in some way. 

The last drawing I had this idea that suddenly came to mind, something like a welcome poster. I had a lot of fun conceptualizing and drawing it. 

I never got to finish some of these and sadly don’t currently have the time to do so, but I wanted to post them anyways since I’ve been holding onto them for months. While I currently have other higher priority art to do, I’m looking forward to continuing drawing all the dreams! The most interesting thing is that after I finished 5.5, I stopped having them. I do like that it worked out that way, the final dream was a perfect last dream encounter before finally seeing one another in 5.5, and plus the dream count is capped and not a growing list anymore lol. 

#Hareno's art #fgo #fate grand order #caster of limbo #ashiya douman #matersona #gudasona #fate gilgamesh #fgo merlin #edmond dantes #fgo dantes #fanart #sketch #if i remember correctly the dream count is a whopping 32 #so happy to post these drawings! #they've been sitting in my sketchbook forever #tumblr is being funky rn so I'm trying to make small edits

[viccharine]

who the HELL is panicking at this disco!!!!

(reblogs greatly appreciated!)

(available on my ko-fi shop!)

process + commentary under the cut!

about the piece: i found myself in a bit of a slump after pushing out so much art in about 2 weeks so this piece took wayyyyy longer than any of my other ones. i knew I wanted the concept of a thermometer as a “cigarette” (do you guys get it. because like. a fever you can’t sweat out. a high fever. right you guys get it right??????) but it took me a LOT of tries to eventually land on a composition i actually liked—do not even get me STARTED on how I incorporated the title. I couldn’t decide on using a font or hand lettering or even where to place the text, it took me a solid two days to get to where it is now and I’m not even 100% happy with it. i tried to mimic a playing card design with the text placement but I’m not sure how well I pulled it off

here are some of the process pics:

the concept itself comes from a lot of the references to addiction in the album as well as the heavy burlesque, early 1900s, circus influence on the album aesthetic (whoever thought of this album theme deserves an award, AFYSCO has genuinely some of the coolest concepts from a design perspective to me)

about the album: AFYCSO is probably one of the best debut albums imo (although that title probably goes to Olivia Rodrigo’s “SOUR” for me)—it’s genuinely in my top three favorite albums of all time, no skips whatsoever on there. regardless of my opinion on Panic! at the Disco (which was pretty much neutral, I never really got into bandom and I didn’t really listen to panic’s music outside of AFYSCO) AFYSCO will always have a special place in my heart, both musically and lyrically it’s SO GOOD

although, I will say that there are some misogynistic undertones (and in some cases just outright misogyny) in these lyrics—I did touch on this topic in my DANCE DANCE commentary so I won’t repeat myself, check that post for more of my thoughts. all in all, the album bangs, but the misogynistic undertones were basically unavoidable if you look at the album in terms of being written by a teenage boy in the early 2000s who got cheated on. hell hath no fury like a woman scorned but the devil himself doesn’t write lyrics like a teen boy cheated on—go figure. im not saying all the songs have misogynistic undertones but I will say there are a couple that are WAY in ur face (looking at you, I write sins)

anyway, that’s basically it, ok byeeeeee!!!

p.s: i was debating mentioning this because I feel like im beating a dead horse, but in light of Brendon Urie’s recent actions (as well as past controversial actions), I don’t support him and feel extremely bad about the people who his actions have hurt—but I don’t think that means much from a person who never really liked him in the first place. again, while I was a BIG fan of AFYCSO, I never really got into Panic! at the Disco (I only listened to Pretty. Odd. recently this month and before that I only really knew the big radio hits). im not gonna pretend like I know everything about what happened with Panic! at the Disco in recent years and truly? I don’t Care to find out—panic! has been disbanded, and while I look at AFYSCO fondly with nostalgia, I don’t feel much about the band itself

p.p.s: AFYCSO almost killed me once because when I had a kidney infection (although I didn’t know it at the time) I had an INSANELY HIGH fever. I thought to myself “haha this is a fever I can’t sweat out!! like the album!!” and then promptly passed out—I wasted my last coherent thought on some stupid P!TAD joke instead of. asking for medical attention. anyway I ended up in the emergency room so I didn’t die but it was a near thing

#panic! at the disco #p!atd #pre split panic #pre split patd #patd #panic! at the disco fanart #a fever you can't sweat out #afysco #a fever you can’t sweat out fanart #afysco fanart #fanart #art #bandom #<-STILL HATING ON THIS NAME #ryan ross #spencer smith #jon walker #I had no business listening to this album at the age I did #middle school me could NOT relate idk what I was going through #artists on tumblr #digital art #ryro #patd fanart #panic at the disco #panic at the disco fanart #xoxo my art

[ghooostbaby]

Rules: tag 9 people you'd like to get to know better!

ooh thank you for tagging me @baiwu-jinji :) :) that edge of the sea book sounds really interesting!

Last song: I put on a playlist of Grouper songs because it started raining hard and I needed something soft & dark to go with the ambience haha. apparently the song being played right now is called “She Loves Me That Way”

Currently Watching: Till the End of the Moon officially but it’s so emotionally intense I take frequent breaks with other things, today I was rewatching No Doubt In Us because it’s so sweet and easy

Currently reading: hmmm actually actually read, or books that I really absolutely definitely have decided I want to start reading Very Soon and have strategically placed it in a pile in a high traffic area of my home, or theory/philosophy books I read a few pages of every few months for the last few years, or (probably danmei) novels that I read a chunk of several months ago and will read more but I just haven’t felt like it yet? because there are dozens of those :P ... actively finishing The Drawing Book by Tania Kovats, various mxtx novel fan fictions or akiangel chainsaw man fan fictions. constantly reading he xuan fan fic ! i just finished vol 2 of the manga Blissful Land, 18th century tibet-based slice of life, (a french translation I got to practice french). I have also been reading in abrupt starts and stops It Was Vulgar and It Was Beautiful, a book about ACT UP and how they used art in their activism in the AIDS crisis.

Current obsession: does this just mean an enthusiastic interest in a topic or something that is consuming you body and soul that you can't escape as much as you would like to while your proverbial wife and children cry themselves to sleep alone at night? tv and movies and music generally is the obsession that devours me, but oddly enough i have been somehow pretty balanced and chill about things lately ... i'm not even gripped with a fervour for he xuan meta as much. i AM often thinking/fantasizing about abandoning living in a city and for a life in the mythical countryside. reading/watching a lot of things about neurodivergence, adhd, trauma, climate change, social activism movements. past obsessions that don't feel as intense i still hold close to my heart: he xuan, the ocean, neanderthals, ancient cave paintings. uhh, coffee. i started taking a ceramics class and it's been really cool, I remember when i was deeply obsessed with the lascaux cave paintings how excited i was by how the drawings seemed so dynamic by how they sat on the three-dimensional and inconsistent surface of the cave in the lumps and hollows of the rock and I couldn't think of anything in the modern world in art in galleries where that was possible and felt this intense nostalgia for 30 000 years ago, but the other day i was like adfjladsjfadlskjf CLAY IS IT! and was getting excited about making a piece like the interior of a cave and drawing on it ... maybe it's a spark of a new obsession

-

ok now is the hard part. i am talkative but SHY!! there is a very small handful of mutuals who say things to me and feels very intense to tag any of the majority of my mutuals who appear in my notes often silently reblogging/liking my posts (as i do the same). i'm going to scroll my dash and when i see an avatar i have good associations with gonna tag you... sorry in advance for perceiving you. please ignore me if you want!

@unfotp​ @muigiel​ @trainstationsparrow @redheadedsidhe @yeyayeya @pretty-dianxia @twinkfvcker @lolitalarva @sparklemotioneer

[mattievictoria]

I’m happy to announce my first public post about a personal project I started last April in 2022: an illustrated horror novelette (a novelette at this point in time, at least!) about turn-of-the-(previous)-century lumberjacks!

Yes, you read that right, lumberjacks. I may have to sell that to some of you, so I’ll keep it brief: isolated wilderness, incredibly dangerous work, superstitions and folklore… Hopefully, some of you have stopped chuckling at how silly the words “lumberjack horror” sounds (hopefully). Why an illustrated novelette and not say, a graphic novel? I just hate drawing comics. I love *reading* comics, manga and graphic novels, but honestly I just hate drawing them, plain and simple.

I am serious about this though, and I’ve spent the last 16 months reading 100+ year old books on Archive.org, knee-deep in Lumberjack facts (shorthand: Lumberfacts). I even took a 2,444 mile round trip-road trip from Los Angeles to the Pacific Northwest, where my story is set. (I mean, I also went with my partner to visit his family that lives up there, fortunately they tolerated me asking about old-timey lumberjacks… and Bigfoot.) Some of the most helpful books I’ve read are Pinery Boys: Song and Songcatching in the Lumberjack era (which is a 1926 book by Franz Rickaby that fortunately had a 2017 re-issue) Holy Old Mackinaw by Stewart Holbrook and The Parish Of The Pines: The Story Of Frank Higgins, The Lumberjacks' Sky Pilot by Thomas Davis Wittles. I’ve also spent a lot of time researching the history of the area, including Chief Jospeh of the Nez Perce and the union history and influence that the IWW had on that region. And back to the subject of Lumberjacks (though we left the subject for like, a sentence), I researched the logging town of Maxville, Oregon. Maxville was a community of Black loggers and their families at a time when Oregon was still a Whites-Only state, and is today historically preserved by the daughter of a Maxwell logger, Gwendolyn Trice. I suppose you can say I spent SO MUCH TIME researching because I just love history, and everything I uncovered were subjects I either knew little about, or nothing at all.

So what is my story about? What’s the deal with the three-eyed black dog and the half-tree lady? In all honestly, a lot of it I’m still figuring out. That’s been the hard part of this project— I started with a setting, not a character or a plot outline. I’ve felt like I’ve been moving backwards, and a lot of the plots I’ve developed during the past 16 months I’ve abandoned. However, I finally feel like I’ve grasped something tangible that I can work with. I don’t want to reveal too much yet, but here are some concepts I’m working with: Isolation, the supernatural, folk songs and folklore, man vs. nature, forgotten history, and of course, the deep, dark woods. Two existing works that have inspired me so far are The Man Whom the Trees Loved and The Willows, both written by classic Weird author Algernon Blackwood. As for the art side, I’ve been exploring various styles and looks, but I haven’t really attached myself to any one style in particular. I’m excited to share more with you all as I work more on this project!

Thank you for your continued support of my work,

Mattie

#dark art #folk horror #lumberjacks #pacific northwest #dark fantasy

[radley-writes]

Hi there! I'm a fanfic writer who has been suffering with burnout for the past, um, three months and I was wondering if you had any advice. Thank you for the writing tips!

I dug back into the dark, mulchy recesses of my inbox to find this ask, because dang, if it ain't relevant at the moment. I'm sorry it took me so long to piece together some relevant advice!

Sweet nonagismus, if you're still stuck in burnout limbo, here's what I want you to do.

I want you to find a mirror.

I want you to look yourself in the eyes.

And I want you to say, 'I have poured my heart and soul into my creativity. I have given my breath, my energy, my life to my art. And I deserve to rest.'

Because we do. We really do.

Burnout is not something that can be cured with a few bulletpointed tricks on a Tumblr post and a flex of your self-discipline. Especially if you have any mental or physical disabilities, burn-out is your body and mind crying out for mercy. If you don't listen, all you're going to do is make it worse.

I burned out hard during university. Seriously, I didn't write a word of original fiction for years.

At the time I remember being so frustrated with myself. I didn't want to write; I couldn't write - I couldn't even bring myself to read. Still, I felt like I had to be creative. Everyone knew me as a writer, an artist, a wannabe-novelist. It felt as if creativity defined me as a person, and I was nothing without it - worthless and lost.

This led to me continuously trying to pressure/threaten/cajole myself into writing - which, in turn, made the overall problem worse. I never gave myself permission to lie back and absorb the world around me, rather than constantly translating it into art.

So, my advice is:

If you have a professional creative deadline coming up that you need to meet, it is worth forcing yourself through the burnout to make money, as we live in a capitalist hellscape and food is kinda important. But know that you are likely to crash hard after, and if you can, prepare. I'm talking lots of easy-watching films, snacks, warm blankets, etc., and minimal responsibilities.

In literally any other scenario, embrace the burn-out.

I finished Liesmyth last weekend. I have spent the last week reading very little and writing nothing at all.

Instead, I've been catching up with a few shows I've been meaning to watch. I've been tending to some household chores that were neglected while I was in creative hyperfocus-mode. I've been baking and experimenting with new dishes, going on long walks, putting in a few extra hours at work. I've been paying more attention to the world around me, embracing every experience, and letting myself be present in the moment rather than lost in a writer's dreamworld 24/7.

It's incredibly hard. I have not always been able to do this, and I am still learning how to let myself rest. But I have burnt out, poured gasoline over myself and set myself alight enough times to know that eventually, all that's left is ash.

If you have rested and regained your energy, but are struggling to figure out how to return to fanfic, I would reccommend returning to your source material and watching/reading/playing it again! Or, if you're an original writer, read a few old favourite novels. We're talking a gentle, familiar reinduction to the craft.

Take it slow. Take it gentle. And remember:

You are under no obligation to create. Don't let creativity become subconsciously associated with stress and misery. You owe yourself that much.

As the old saying goes, if you do not schedule system maintenance, the system will schedule maintenance for you.

#burn out #writing #writeblr #writing advice #fanfic #burnout #my advice #radley rambles